Tili is getting on my last nerve. We’ve stopped into three different stores in Rav Shefa so she can peek in the mirror. Apparently, she has a teeny tiny dot on her face that she is convinced the entire world is staring at. Which maybe they are, by now, because she is making such a HUGE DEAL about it.

I want to yell at her or at least smack her, but instead I keep my perky voice in check and keep reassuring her that she looks amazing. Having friends is beyond exhausting. I’m going to need a vacation from my vacation.

I am loving having company and having someone built-in to do things with. I think Avrumi is totally relieved that he doesn’t have to hang out with me every day and I can’t say I blame him. Avrumi has always had friends since he was little. I used to watch him, at shul and at the park, at the way kids were drawn to him. I had the opposite effect. I would repel people.

But now… I tuck a stray bit of hair back into my French braid and smooth my skirt. I feel fantastic. Tili obviously thinks I look great, because she keeps insisting we retake selfies over and over and she even rolled her eyes and said “I hate you” when she saw our last one.

Which, according to Temmy, who is giving me Normal Teen Classes 101, is like the highest compliment someone can give you.

Which, according to me, is why I am dreading going to high school.

I follow Tili into Mr. Bagel and order an iced coffee with caramel drizzled all over. Tili mutters something about her skin and buys a water. We sit and sip in silence until Tili leans forward.

“Brilliant idea! Let’s have a sleepover at your sister and then we’ll go to vasikin at the Kosel!”

Oh, my heavens… Tili all night long? Hashem, save me.

“Ohmigosh, amazing idea!” I gush. “But I’m going to my aunt for supper. Do you want to come over after?”

Tili holds out her hand for a high five. “Yaaaaas!”

“Yaaaas,” I echo. Woohoo.

Supper at Dodah Sheva’s is fun though I’m totally intimidated by her kids. They all just seem so confident and grounded. I smooth my hair back, suddenly wishing it was huge and frizzy again. I feel shallow and silly in my ballet flats and my shiny hair. My cousins all have long, long hair pulled back into ponytails. They wear flowing skirts and sandaled shoes and none of them are wearing makeup. They just look so healthy and strong.

“Wow, your English is amazing,” I tell Shlomzion.

She smiles calmly. “Thank you, Dahlia. How is your Hebrew?”

“Terrible,” I say flatly.

“Come, I will teach you. L’eizah beit sefer at holachat?”

I think for a moment. “What school am I going to?”

She beams. “Yes!”

I laugh, very proud of myself. “High school!” and then because she’s my first cousin, even though this is my second time meeting her, I confide, “I’m absolutely terrified.”

We go around to the back of her family’s villa and gently swing in two hammocks nailed into a tree.

She tells me she was also afraid to begin high school, but then she made a new friend and she was so happy in the end.

“Im yirtzeh Hashem by me,” I say fervently.

She smiles at me then closes her eyes. “Amen,” she answers.

Amen.

I’m beyond exhausted; if we stay up any later there is zero chance I’m getting up for vasikin.

Temmy panicked when I told her Tili is sleeping over and ran out to buy me new pajamas. I’m serious. But I guess it was a good call because Tili said, “Oooh I love your pjs,” and gave me one of her eyerolls. So, yay.

Now Tili is showing me all of her albums, teaching me the names of everyone in her life. I can totally take a pop quiz on her life and ace it, so there’s that.

She looks around the room. “Where are your photos?”

I blink, my mouth going dry. “My what?”

She rolls her eyes for good measure and takes a handful of popcorn. “Your photos! I’ve been going on and on about me, what about you? I want to know more about you! Show me some of your photos. Like, who’s your BFF back home? How long have you guys been friends? Are you going to high school together?” She almost sounds jealous.

And while I’m not one to plagiarize, I think everyone will understand if I steal the age-old limerick: liar liar, pants on fire. Because I open my very tired mouth and I straight-up lie.

“Ohhhh. Okay, well my BFF is Kayla Cohen. We’ve been besties, like, since we were babies. And ya, we’re totally going to high school together. I can NOT go by myself,” I squeak. I’m so convincing, I almost believe myself. I’m suddenly very glad that the fictitious Kayla is coming with me to high school.

Tili wrinkles her nose. “You are so lucky. I’m really happy for you. Like, Aviva is coming with me, but Chaya Mushka is not! She’s going to a Lubavitch school, and I’m really going to miss her.”

“Wow,” I say softly, “that’s hard.”

Tili rolls onto her back and looks up at the ceiling. “Yeah. It is.”

We discuss our friends back home, both fake and real, and then we discuss favorite ice cream flavors, colors, and books.

Tili is a lot and I’ve never met anyone like her before, not really, but she’s also really nice.

We finally fall asleep after four.

We don’t make it to vasikin.

(Originally featured in Cozey, Issue 1006)