She puts her hand on my arm. “It’s totally okay that I’m saying this, right? Like you know it’s totally not personal.”

“Totally,” I say tonelessly. I scuff my bag on the floor. Why? Why do people think it’s socially okay to bombard me about my mother? They obviously don’t know my mother very well if they think she shares any of her administrative decisions with her children.

But it’s Shani Berman, dance head, owner of various cute shoes. I’m not going to shut her down. So I shut down instead. I turn off my mind and mentally play “Ah-Yay” by Shaindy Plotzker over and over until Shani runs out of steam.

I snap back in. “Sounds sooo stressful.”

Shani nods emphatically. “It really is. Like extremely. So do you think you can help? Can you talk to Morah Taub for me and just, like, explain to her what I said?”

I stare into her blue eyes wordlessly. What on earth am I supposed to say? Oh, Hashem, please send me an out, like right now. And I’m the first person to tell you I’m not a tzadeikes, but when the nurse calls out “Taub, Naomi?” at that exact second, I know it is a neis from Shamayim.

Debbi doesn’t get it. And I know she doesn’t get it. Her mother is a graphic designer who works from home in a black slinky skirt and a sweatshirt, oversized plastic glasses, and a tichel. She’s always sitting on the couch schmoozing with us, then jumping up, exclaiming she “must do some work!”

She’s basically half Ma’s age, and just so fun and laid-back. So when Debbi tells me to just “enjoy my mother” and “appreciate her,” it takes all I have not to slap a camp label over her mouth.

“Debbi Simons,” I say slowly. “I love you. But like really. So can you just admit that you have no idea what you’re talking about?”

Debbi looks shocked. Her blonde eyebrows shoot upward; she covers her mouth with the palm of her hand. “I think you’re being not regular rude, but fine,” she says loftily. I roll my eyes where she can’t see. I’m rude? She’s the one assuming she gets what I’m going through. Time to change tracks. “’Kay, listen. Zeesy is landing in two days because her mother wants her to go shopping in Lakewood before going to camp. So Libby is going to drive us all to Lakewood, we’ll go Shabbos clothes shopping, we’ll do a fancy dinner, and then come home so we can go to sleep early before camp the next morning. Good?”

Debbi shrieks and pinches me hard. “So good. I’m psyyyyyychedddd!”

I crack up, mainly because I am too.

Last final of the year and that’s it. Goodbye tenth grade, hellooo eleventh. We are all jumping and shrieking and hugging. I’m not going to see some of these girls for eight weeks! And when I do, it’ll be different. Some of us will have had fabulous summers and some of us will not have. Chevy Brinn comes in with two trays of Slurpees for the entire 10-A, and we take the required end-of-the-year photo, uniform shirts untucked, lips blue and bright red from Slurpee dye.

I throw an arm around Debbi as we wander home, school sweaters tied around our waists. “That’s it,” I say happily. “First half of high school down. We did it, Debs. We survived.”

She grins at me. “We sure did! And now we earned our summer vacation. And in the morning, Zeesy will be here. I can’t believe we haven’t seen her since January.”

“I know,” I say, “it’s totally nuts.” We smile like escaped convicts. A car honks behind us. We turn, shielding our eyes from the sun. I bite back a groan. It’s Ma, in our awful old green minivan.

“Happy summer to you, girls,” she says, pulling over next to us.

Debbi grins. “Thanks, Mrs. Taub.”

“Do you girls want a ride? It’s so hot outside.”

Debbi wipes her brow with a hand. “Su—”

I step on her foot. “That’s okay, Ma, we’re fine. Thanks, though.” I smile and wave and wait for her to drive away.

Debbi is glaring at me. “Do not just step on my foot, Naomi, that’s really annoying.”

“You’re really annoying,” I say intelligently.

Big mistake. “Fine,” she says and then doesn’t speak for the rest of the walk home.

“Sorry I said you’re annoying,” I say when we get to her door.

She smiles understandingly. “No prob. I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early.”

“Yup,” I say, giving her a hug. She doesn’t exactly hug me back but she doesn’t push me away either.

You win some, you lose some.

The green van is parked in our driveway, so I guess Ma beat me home. I feel bad. Why couldn’t I have just accepted the ride and made her feel good?

I enter the cool house. Thank You, Hashem for AC.

“Ma?” I call out.

“In here.”

I poke my head into her study. She’s going through papers for a change.

“Ma, thanks for offering us the ride.”

She looks so gratified by my words, that I lean over and kiss her cheek.

“Happy summer vacation, Ma.”

Are her eyes filling with tears? Oh no, guilt overload….

“You too, Naomi. You too.”

To be continued…

(Originally featured in Mishpacha Jr., Issue 951)