Is it hot in here? I feel sweat beading on my forehead. What’s Ma going to say? How is she going to start off her first class? How come in all my 16 years, I never thought to ask Ma how she opens up the year? Guess I’m about to find out.

“Banos!” she says, clapping her hands. “Imagine your family has a list of chores that must be completed every Friday. Now, those chores annoy you. You don’t enjoy chores.”

Omigosh, why does she keep saying chores? That is the most embarrassing word in the world. Nobody says chores anymore, Ma. It goes with like allowance and cordless phones.

“…Do you say, ‘Ma, I can’t do my chores. Can I have ice cream?’ No, right? So, too, with Hashem.”

Okay, time for me to zone out before I actually melt into a puddle of embarrassment.

My new goal for Ma’s class is to cover an entire loose-leaf page with tiny rosebuds. I begin in the left-hand corner. By the time the bell rings, I’ve done two whole lines. My hands are gray from pencil smudges.

I sit back, feeling accomplished, as Ma gathers up her things and everyone stretches.

“Amazing class!” Temima gushes.

Faiga taps me on the shoulder. “Great class,” she says, winking.

I don’t wink back.

Debbi grabs my hand. “Let’s go, I’m staaaarving.”

I nod, and grab my bag slowly. I think I’m frozen, but the idea of lunch is helping me defrost.

Debbi and I have been doing joint lunches since ninth grade. We switch off bringing a protein and vegetables, and then we make heaven, hearty salads that we pour into a giant purple bowl and stick two forks into.

It’s the perfect system, except for when we both accidently bring protein and no vegetables, or vegetables and no protein.

Today, Debbi brought broccoli, sweet potatoes, and arugula. I brought feta cheese and pine nuts with a Dijon dressing.

Yum!

We settle at one of the outdoor picnic tables. The September weather is stunning, warm, and glowing with just the tiniest breeze.

We’re munching away in silence — I’m still too traumatized to speak — when Debbi clears her throat.

“Incoming,” she whispers.

And then Ma’s behind me.

“Hi, Naomi,” she says.

This is not my first year being in school with Ma. We’ve seen each other, we’ve schmoozed, we’ve even eaten pizza in her office. But today, I’m her student. And so Ma approaching me at lunch feels different.

I’m upset. I’m embarrassed. And I really want to fast forward 11th grade, like right now.

“How you doing?” Ma says, lowering herself onto the bench next to us.

Debbi flashes her a bright smile. “Ah-mazing! That class was sooo great, Morah Taub.”

Ma smiles back at Debbi, and is that gratitude on her face? “Thanks, Debbi. It’s my classic opener, don’t tell anyone.” They laugh together, I join in loudly. Oh, the fun we have.

Debbi steps on my foot. “So, Ma…” I say, desperately trying to think of something normal to say. “Who’s coming for Shabbos?”

Ma looks at me for a long moment and then sighs. “Shabbos? Wow, I haven’t really thought about it. I think Miri mentioned something about wanting to come. And maybe Papi and Savti? Why?”

Because I’m trying to find conversation topics that won’t make me wish I was born into a different family, I say silently.

“Nah, no reason,” I say, chomping on a piece of broccoli. No reason at all.

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Teen Pages., Issue 967)