I stare at them. “I know.”

They both gape. “You know? But Mommy still shops for you!”

I shrug. “It’s fine. So Ma thought this outfit was blue and it’s really brown. So what?”

They look at each other. “Dahlia,” Temmy says carefully. “Do you think a fourteen-year-old should be wearing browns and grays all the time?”

I think about this. I picture Popular Perel, in a constant shade of pastel. “I guess my clothes are a bit… dull.”

They nod.

“And maybe they don’t always match.”

They nod again.

“But still!”

Now they’re shaking their heads, and honestly, I’ve had enough of their twin-act.

“Ooooookay! Roses are red, violets are blue, I love you both, now get out of my room.”

They stand up.

“It didn’t even rhyme,” Hadassah says sadly.

Temmy nods, wiping an invisible tear.

Crazy. My big sisters are crazy. Also thieves apparently, because when I look around the room, my brown two-piece is nowhere to be seen.

Shopping on Yirmiyahu is an exhilarating experience. We get waffles at this heaven ice cream store and then my sisters march me in and out of stores that would have Mommy shuddering at the prices.

I now own a floral dress that’s gathered on the side, a slip dress with a matching cardigan, a chambray A-line skirt, and five different tees I could have bought in Old Navy for a 25th of the price.

“I love everything,” Temmy sighs when we walk back into her apartment, sweating and tired.

Hasdassah nods. “Me, too.” She unbuckles baby Rafi from his Doona and plops him on the floor.

We’re all guzzling water when the bell rings. “Probably Avrumi,” I say. My 11-year-old brother went out with his older brothers-in-law for bowling and pizza.

But it’s not Avrumi.

Hadassah comes into the kitchen, eyes glinting. “It’s Tili Landau, Sarit’s sister. I told her you’ll be right out. Quick, run and put on the skirt and the blue T-shirt. And the floral scrunchie.”

Uch. Tili Landau.

“No way,” I say. And I can be stubborn when I want to be.

But so can my sisters. “Just. DO IT,” Hadassah says in a scary voice. “Please,” she adds in her regular tone. “For us?”

I roll my eyes. Fine. My sisters have been so amazing to me, how can I refuse them this?

I stomp to my room, throw on my new outfit, pull my newly keratined hair into the scrunchie, and give myself a once-over in the mirror. I don’t recognize myself.

I stare at my reflection, raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow because I’m cool like that, and then drop it.

Whatever.

I stomp back out and head to the living room.

“Hi, Tili,” I say.

“Uh, hi?” She’s looking at me quizzically so I raise my eyebrow back up. What’s her problem?

Then she gasps. “Dahlia? Ohmigosh, I do not recognize you.”

Tili had come over the first day I arrived in Israel, gave me a cursory glance, and then whispered something to her sister Sarit, who is Hadassah’s best friend here in Ramat Eshkol.

“So sorry, Tili is feeling a bit dehydrated,” Sarit apologized as Tili rushed out of there.

Yeah, right. More like Tili is probably Miss Popular back home in Brooklyn and I was Dopey Dahlia from out of town. It was obvious, honestly. She had that shiny thing about her, all perfect straight teeth and glossy hair.

But now, with my new hair and new clothes, Tili seemed to have drunk the perfect amount.

She settled herself on the couch, biting her lip. “Wow, Dahlia, you look ah-maaaaazing.”

I smile politely. “Thanks, we went shopping today.”

She rolls her eyes. “Ohmigosh, there are like no normal stores here, no?”

I mimic her tone. “Ohmigosh, totally.”

Hadassah appears suddenly. “Tili, why don’t you take Leah to the park so Sarit can nap, and Dahlia, if you could take Rafi, that’d be amazing.”

Uch, no. I don’t want to spend time with Tili. She’s shallow and judgmental and I don’t like her.

“Fine,” I grouch.

Tili keeps up a steady stream of chatter all the way to the park.

I make up a limerick about her in my head.

She talks and talks and talks all the way

But nobody can really say

Of what she chatters

She just jabbers

And forgets to drink each day.

I smirk to myself and just nod and say Oh Em Gee and nooo way, and she totally doesn’t realize I’m not listening to a word she’s saying.

We put the kids on the seesaw and soon I find myself actually laughing as Rafi, who’s half Leah’s age, weighs the entire seesaw down.

Tili tries to help her niece get her side down, and we’re actually laughing so hard, having a blast, when a woman in a blue tichel walks by, following a little blond boy.

“Hi! Did you girls come to Eretz Yisrael together for the summer? That is so fun. I used to come with my best friend, too!”

She smiles brightly at us and hurries off as the little boy wanders toward the trees.

Tili doesn’t react to the woman’s words, she’s busy telling a convoluted story about her best friend from school and her best friend from camp, and how they both wanted her to go out to eat with them, but separately.

I tune her out.

That woman thought we were best friends.

I’ve never had a best friend.

Do I now look like the sort of person who could have a best friend? Just because of hair and clothing?

I still don’t like Tili. Not after she snubbed me when I looked different from her. But if I want to know what it’s like to have friends before I start high school, well then Tili Groman is my new bestie.

Oh Em Gee.

(Originally featured in Cozey, Issue 1004)