“Rena Leah, thanks so much for telling me. I’m really sorry you’re going through so much”

Shifra:

This is so not my type. It’s the only thought flashing through my mind as I lean back against Rena Leah Abramowitz’s wooden bookcase.

Which is surprising, considering what Rena Leah just told me.

I hadn’t minded when Morah Kraus paired us up for the Tanach report. Rena Leah may not be one of my close friends, but she’s so nice. We’ve totally had fun together in school, dancing together at chagigah, and just appreciating each other’s company without ever crossing into friendship territory. Because let’s face it, that’s some dangerous terrain.

But here we are, 2 a.m., sitting cross-legged on her living room carpet. Apparently, the Abramowitz family doesn’t believe in sleep. Her two older sisters are shmoozing in the kitchen… on two separate phones. Her mother is Zooming with her sisters in Eretz Yisrael, and her father has fallen asleep in his chair at the kitchen table, oblivious to all the commotion. Or more likely, conditioned into it.

I like it, there’s a buzz in the air. But the buzz has faded to a background murmur as I carefully sketch a heart onto the sole of my sneaker as Rena Leah grows silent.

“Wow,” I say at last. I put down my pen and sit up straighter. “Diabetes Type 1. That’s, like, pretty huge.”

Rena Leah laughs shakily. “Yeah, I guess. Wow, I haven’t told anyone in our school yet aside from Frumee.”

Frumee is Rena Leah’s best friend. “Of course,” I say. Best friend rights and all that.

I reach out and put a hesitant hand on her shoulder. “Rena Leah, thanks so much for telling me. I’m really sorry you’re going through so much.”

A grateful smile spreads across her face. “Aw, Shifra, you’re such an easy person to talk to. That felt really good sharing.”

I smile back. I’m glad. This whole secrets-at-two-am thing is so not my type, but I’m glad.