Playing With Matches

by Suri Rosen

  Exhaustion overcame me. If only I could just drift into a dreamy sleep, then wake to find that all my problems had been fixed. I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes, but the disturbing picture of Bronx jabbed my head. I possibly poisoned him and then made him carsick. With growing dread I pulled my cell phone from my purse.

  There were no messages or texts from Deb.

  I signed into Matchmaven.

  There were two emails in the inbox. The first was a letter from Daniel. I bit my lip and slowly clicked on his message.

  Dear Matchmaven,

  Thank you so much for all your help last night. I’ve been in touch with Deb for the last few hours and Bronx is fine! Deb was beside herself with concern but she actually saved him! I’m so impressed with her efforts and her dedication. I think this is the sign I was looking for. She’s our hero. Don’t say anything, but she’s definitely The One!

  Best,

  Daniel

  Thank. You. God.

  Bronx was okay. And Deb and Daniel too. I felt a drop of relief, which was not quite as much fun as happiness, but I took it anyway.

  And then a seed of hope began to blossom. If Bronx could rise from the dead, then anything could happen. That dog was a beacon of hope: a shining light in the abyss of my life. Bronx was the 2004 Red Sox coming back from a three-game deficit to triumph over the Yankees. Bronx was the brave men who swept the Cardinals and won the World Series, finally ending the Curse of the Bambino once and for all.

  Maybe it was exhaustion or possibly desperation, or maybe it was even insanity, but my mind brimmed with Bronx. For me he was optimism, promise, and redemption, all wrapped in one massive beast.

  I was high on a shot of Bronx.

  “We’ll leave in five minutes,” Mira yelled down from upstairs.

  “Okay, I’m ready whenever you are,” I shouted back.

  The second email was from Tamara.

  Hi Rain,

  I miss you! I’m so sorry that I’ve disappeared into my wedding. Please can we get together next week? You name the night and I’ll be available. Maybe we’ll meet after school and I’ll take you out to dinner.

  I still feel bad about Matchmaven, but it sounds like you’re doing an amazing job.

  Hugs,

  Tamara

  A smile lit up my face. I hadn’t realized how much I missed Tamara while she was gone.

  It was the postscript that made me freeze.

  P.S. Remember I told you about my friend Aviva? She was temporarily working as a secretary at your old high school and the position of chemistry teacher just opened up so she got the job! Isn’t that great? Apparently the previous teacher, (Mr. Sacks — did you know him?) had a heart attack and is in a Manhattan ICU now.

  chapter 27

  Unwelcome Images

  My chin and lips trembled uncontrollably and my body went cold as I followed Mira out the front door, staggered down the icy stairs, and stumbled into her Camry.

  I turned away from Mira and leaned against the window. “You have a sniffle, are you okay?” Mira said, handing me a tissue.

  I battled to control my voice. “I think I’m coming down with something. I just need a good night’s sleep.” By the time I got to school I felt like I had drill bits boring into my brain.

  Mr. Sacks was in the hospital.

  I felt nauseated.

  Let’s see: I go into the computer lab. I sit down at a computer last June. I discover that his browser is still open. I send off humiliating emails from his account poking fun at him and his memory. Two weeks later, he gets notice. Two months later, he’s replaced. Five months later, he has a heart attack. You do the math.

  I plodded to Jewish History class blinking back tears.

  I had to apologize before it was too late. I simply could not spend the rest of my life like Esther. I had no choice. The New York bar mitzvah might be my last chance to apologize to him.

  When I got to class I threw down my knapsack on the desk next to Dahlia. She rose from her seat when she saw my blotchy face.

  “What’s wrong?” she said. “I don’t feel well so I’m going home.”

  “No! You can’t leave.”

  “Sorry,” she said with a pained expression. “I kind of have a … Lillian Shimmel thing. You okay?”

  I shook my head and fell into the seat. “That teacher, Mr. Sacks? He had a massive heart attack.”

  “Oh no!” Dahlia said. The only thing preventing me from throwing myself in the snow were two magical words.

  New. York.

  Dahlia clenched her teeth, then rose and threw her pencil case into her knapsack. “Do you think he got your letter?”

  “I don’t know.” I shook my head. “All I know is that I need to find his hospital and apologize to him personally.”

  She zipped up her knapsack. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Go home and get better,” I said. I opened my notebook, and mindlessly wrote words, fixing my gaze on one of those tiny, inexplicable apple stickers that was stuck to the desk. Unwelcome images violated my mind.

  Like sitting in the waiting room with my parents, before we met with Rabbi Singer.

  The staff at Maimonides murmuring things about me.

  My mother’s stricken face as Rabbi Singer told us that it would be better if I chose another school. Every hair on my head, every cell in my body, and every square inch of me was ablaze with shame.

  There was only one hope of redeeming myself now.

  New York. New York. New York. It was a chant that played over in my head, like a prayer.

  At lunchtime, I ducked outside the school. Dahlia had gone home so I was truly alone. Slumped alone next to the rusting Dumpster, I was able to focus on attaining flawless hysteria. The image of Mr. Sacks lying in a hospital bed with a broken heart hit my internal refresh button every few minutes, setting off a new surge of fear. The biting wind curled around my body like a serpent and tightened me in its grip.

  All I had was the flame of hope. I was going to apologize to Mr. Sacks and really, really mean it.

  New York. New York. New York.

  At the beginning of English class I handed in my paper. Professor K. liked me — because he didn’t know me. Like Tamara. Like everyone.

  The next morning Mira and I set out to the bus, except that she motored past the Number 7 bus stop.

  “Aunt Mira,” I said. “You missed my stop.”

  “Oh sweetie, I’m taking you down to school today.”

  “What about work?”

  “We’re going to have a little meeting at school first.”

  A little meeting? That could mean only one thing — a big meeting. If she was driving me down to school and getting into work late, I was obviously facing a big, horrible, life-­altering meeting.

  We pulled into the school parking lot and I stumbled out of the car across the icy pavement. Could anything make my life worse now? Why, yes it could. When we got to Mrs. Levine’s office, Mrs. Marmor was sitting there too.

  “Why don’t you both sit down?” Mrs. Levine said to my aunt and me. “I trust you’re doing well?” Mrs. Levine said to me. I didn’t bother irritating her with a response.

  I glanced at Mrs. Marmor hoping for an indication of where this was going. She gave me one of her signature knit-eyebrow smiles. You know, the kind that lets you know that she can feel the tragedy of your very existence.

  The three women all nodded at each other, like everything had been choreographed.

  Mrs. Levine was the first to speak. “Raina, the reason that we’re all here today is because we share tremendous concerns about your situation right now.”

  I blinked.

  “You seem to be struggling in most of your classes and we’re concerned that there are deeper issues at the core of your situation.”

 
“I’m really sorry, Raina,” Mrs. Marmor said quietly. “But I’m going to ask you a very difficult question and we would all appreciate a completely honest answer.”

  My heart seized for a moment. Did I leave Matchmaven open on the computer? No one really ever used that old computer in the den. My aunt and uncle owned their own laptops and Leah had gotten one too. So even if I did leave it open, who would have seen it?

  Mrs. Marmor leaned over and peered at me with a grave expression. “I don’t know if there’s a delicate way to ask this.”

  My stomach clenched. “What is it?”

  “Rain, are you on drugs?”

  “What?” I almost jumped out of my seat. “No! Of course not!”

  It was Aunt Mira’s turn now. “Rain, we’re just trying to help you. Are you using alcohol?”

  “Aunt Mira, how could you even ask me that?”

  “We’re all very concerned about you. It’s almost like you have … I don’t know how to put my finger on it. Some sort of double life. Is something going on with you?”

  “Nothing is going on.” I crossed my arms. “Nothing at all.”

  Mrs. Marmor leaned over with her nauseatingly good cop voice. “Rain, this is a safe environment and if you need it we can get you help.”

  “I promise you I’m not doing drugs or alcohol.”

  They all exchanged knowing glances at each other as they prepared to move into the second act.

  “Rain, I called Mrs. Levine to let her know that you were going to New York for the bar mitzvah,” Mira said.

  I held my breath.

  Mrs. Levine clasped her hands together on her desk. “You know that the student rule book says you can’t miss school or take any trips without prior permission of the school,” Mrs. Levine said of her beloved student rule book. “So when your aunt called to ask permission I had to be frank with her. You’re failing too many classes. I’ve spoken to you about it a number of times, but it’s only getting worse.”

  My body seized into one huge muscle spasm. “Sorry?”

  “I’m really sorry, Raina. I’ve discussed it with your mother,” Aunt Mira said. “The trip is too close to exams and you’re in danger of failing too many of your classes. You’d have to miss two school days. It’s too risky.”

  I bolted out of my chair. “You can’t do that.”

  “Rain,” she hissed at me, peering at Mrs. Levine out of the corner of her eye. “Sit down.”

  “Rain,” Mrs. Marmor said in her Soothing Voice. “Try to relax.”

  “Please sit down, Raina,” Mrs. Levine said.

  I dropped back into my chair. “I’ve been living for that. I’ll do anything you tell me, please.”

  “I’m really sorry, sweetie,” Mira said. “I’m happy to get you some extra tutoring until exams. If you work hard —”

  I shook my head back and forth. “I just need some time. Just give me a chance to catch up.” I could only hope that she’d finish up before I threw up.

  “Despite all the support that the school is offering you, your academic situation is deteriorating rapidly,” Mrs. Levine said quietly. “On the surface, it doesn’t look like your move to Toronto is really benefitting you.”

  My heart beat furiously. Was she kicking me out? “But it’s still early in the year —”

  She raised her hands upright.

  “It’s not so early — we’re a week away from the end of the semester. I’m not saying you have to leave. Not yet, anyway. But your situation is very, very precarious. I’m looking at the rest of this year, and the implications for the next one. If your marks don’t rally and go through a dramatic improvement between now and the end of the semester exams, we’ll need to reassess the situation.”

  I gasped. I couldn’t get kicked out. I had nowhere to go. And I could not live in my parents’ living room in Hong Kong.

  “Raina,” Mrs. Marmor leaned over and spoke sympathetically. “You have ten days until exams to turn things around. You’re an intelligent girl. I know that you actually scored high in your entrance exam to Maimonides.”

  “Look, I can easily pass my courses,” I said. “I can throw myself into studying.”

  “Exactly why you need to stay here,” Mrs. Levine said. “Your aunt wasn’t sure about what to do about your trip and I had to be honest with my opinion.”

  “Please, no,” I moaned.

  “I’m sorry, Raina,” Mrs. Levine said. “It’s just not worth trading away your entire academic year for one long weekend in New York.”

  How on earth was I going to apologize to Mr. Sacks? The man could be dying now.

  It felt like the entire insides of my body were lined with lighter fluid. I was completely flammable now. If I looked at Mrs. Levine’s hateful face for a moment longer I would ignite. I stared at the mottled floor tiles and tried to calm my crazed pulse.

  And if I combusted, the first thing I was going to take down with me was that detestable woman.

  chapter 28

  We Feel Your Pain, Blah, Blah, Blah

  I struggled to regain my breath. I wondered: Was this how Mr. Sacks felt about me? And Leah too? The secretary, Mrs. Abrams, knocked on the door and leaned her head in the office. “Mrs. Levine. Can I speak to you for a minute?”

  Mrs. Levine rose from her seat. “I’ll be right back. Mrs. Bernstein, is there anything else you wanted to discuss?”

  “No, Mrs. Levine,” she said, and then turned to me. “It’ll be okay,” she said in a whisper. They both left the office.

  “Rain,” Mrs. Marmor said in a soft voice. “I’m here for you if you want to talk.”

  “Do you want me to share my feelings?” I snarled.

  She raised her hands and nodded. “Only if you want to. I can imagine how upsetting this must be.”

  “Upsetting?” I spat out. I stared at the ridiculous picture of Mrs. Levine with her two young grandsons. Did they have any idea of what a truly hideous woman their grandmother was?

  “I have to go to New York.”

  “Of course you do. But I’ve got to be honest.” She picked up the RESNICK, RAINA file and rifled through a number of papers. “Your uncle tutors you, you’re not in any clubs, and you’re not involved with any extracurricular activities. You’re a month away from the end of the semester and you’re now failing history, English, math, and possibly anthropology. Your highest mark is in phys. ed and that’s only 63 percent. The gym teacher says you’re listless all the time.”

  Mrs. Marmor returned the papers to the file and set it on the table and then looked up at me. “Is something going on?”

  “I have to go to New York.”

  She leaned over and placed her hand over mine. “I’m not sure that it’s worth throwing out the rest of high school for a weekend in New York. Why is this so important?”

  I took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I need to find Mr. Sacks.”

  “Oh, I see,” she said, leaning back in her chair and squeezing her lips together like she was spreading the lip gloss. She nodded slowly. “Why now?”

  “It’s just, the last few weeks … ,” I said, trying to slow my breathing. “I’ve tried writing him.”

  She studied me as if she was recalibrating me.

  “You wrote Mr. Sacks?”

  “Yes. A few times.”

  She peered at me and her face softened into a smile. “Wow. You really should feel very proud of yourself.” I waited.

  “I feel terrible saying this,” Mrs. Marmor said. “But it won’t sway Mrs. Levine. I think you’ll have to wait until spring break or summer vacation to see him. I’m so sorry.”

  “Please,” I said, running my fingers through my bangs. “He’s ill. Can’t you try talking to her?”

  She shook her head. “She’s made up her mind,” she said, rising from her seat.

  And cl
early, so had Mrs. Marmor. I wanted to scream, just do something.

  “Rain,” she said. “You should let this go and focus on fixing things in the next few weeks. You know that my door is always open if you need me.”

  We feel your pain, but there’s nothing we can do, blah, blah, blah.

  She got up and left the office. Alone in Mrs. Levine’s lair and visually assaulted by signs of her existence, I felt yet another tidal wave of hatred wash over me. I stood up to distract myself from the burning tears that were threatening to spew. I stared at that old picture of Mrs. Levine and her husband that hung on the wall behind her chair. The one where she had the huge hair — and I mean gigantic hair. His arm was draped across her shoulder and he lovingly leaned into her. Mrs. Levine’s head was tilted up to him, her eyes crinkled in a smile, with a look of wonder on her face. It was a side to Mrs. Levine that I’d never actually experienced. You know — the human one.

  The outfit was Mrs. Levine Classic. In fact, I recognized her green dress. It was the same outfit that she wore when I met her in her office last Thursday. Mrs. Levine wore a necklace that prominently hung from her turtleneck. I inched over behind her desk and studied the photograph.

  It was an unusual necklace; the pendant was gold and seemed to be shaped like an animal. I leaned in and squinted at the necklace and felt the hairs on the back of my neck prickling. No. It couldn’t be.

  It was an elephant.

  There were three rubies on the gold elephant.

  Impossible. This was impossible.

  There were four Hebrew letters engraved in the gold. Hebrew for Esther.

  Blood rushed like rapids through my body as the reality of the situation flooded me.

  Mrs. Levine was Esther. Matchmaven’s Esther.

  chapter 29

  Playing with Matches

  My feet froze like they were sealed inside two buckets of concrete.

  No. No. It couldn’t be.

  If Mrs. Levine was Esther, then who were these children and grandchildren? Esther hadn’t remarried, and she definitely never had kids. I scanned Mrs. Levine’s sparse office, but there was nothing to indicate her first name anywhere. There were no diplomas or awards on her desk or walls. A pile of papers nestled in a metal tray. I glanced up at the doorway. Mrs. Abrams, the secretary, was chatting on the phone and the reception area was empty. I inched toward the tray, blocking the line of sight to the outer office with my body.