Friendship List #2

by Lisa Greenwald

  We all crack up.

  Even my mom is eating, and I’m not sure I’ve seen her consume more than a few bites at any meal since I’ve been home from camp.

  “It’s delicious,” my mom says, putting her hand on mine. “Who knew we had a chef in our midst?”

  “I didn’t, that’s for sure.” My dad smiles.

  “Me neither!” Gemma yelps.

  We all crack up and eat our mac and cheese, and I think this may actually be a happy, fun family moment. I don’t want to think too hard about it because I don’t want to jinx it. But we’re all smiling. We’re all eating. No one is crying right now.

  We’re all good.

  My parents clean up dinner and I go up to my room to JHH the mac and cheese. I’ve mastered the recipe, sure. But I also mastered taking the stress off, even for a little while. That counts in a big way, too.

  I look over the list as I fall asleep that night.

  Keep our friendship strong.

  Drink enough water (for a glowing complexion). ✓

  Make our mark.

  Master the art of mac and cheese (from scratch!). ✓

  Perfect our handstand. ✓

  Help someone else shine.

  Stay up long enough to watch the sun set and rise. ✓

  Find the perfect man for Kaylan’s mom.

  A doodle a day. ✓

  Tell a boy how we really feel.

  Pursue a passion (first find one).

  Break a bad habit.

  There’s still a lot to do, but I’m definitely on my way.

  Maybe my passion will be cheering people up and calming them down when they’re stressed. It reminds me of that program we had at camp when I got called up to explain my definition of a good leader. Cheering people up is definitely a part of leadership, and to be honest, I think I’m good at it. Maybe better than good. Great, even.

  I think that may be my best skill.

  Or maybe that’s how I make my mark.

  I still have time to figure it out.

  TWENTY-TWO

  BUBBIE AND ZEYDA CALL GEMMA and me to wish us good luck on the first day of school.

  We all talk on speakerphone and the chaos of no one being able to hear anyone else that well cracks me up.

  “Good luck, my darlings,” Bubbie says. “We hope it’s a wonderful year.”

  “We do too,” Gemma says, laughing.

  We talk for a few more minutes, say our I love yous, and Zeyda says “bye now” the way he always does.

  I get to the bus stop five minutes before Kaylan—all set to tell her about my week of self-discovery. Yes, some terrible things happened (my dad losing his job, the ice cream photo incident), but I also had a lot of time for soul searching. And I JHHed the handstand and the mac and cheese. Big stuff.

  “Hiiiii,” she says, running up to me. “Do I have food in my teeth?” She opens her mouth for me to inspect.

  “No. All clear.”

  “K, thanks.” She looks me up and down. “BBA, you look fab!”

  “BBA?” I laugh.

  She whispers, “Big Boob Ari.”

  “Shh. Stop.” I roll my eyes. “You look great, too.” I smile at her, but she’s looking all over the place. “What’s going on?”

  “Oh, Cami and the girls were maybe going to get a ride over here so they could take the bus with us, but I don’t see them.” She takes her phone out of her bag. “Oh, she texted. They’re just going to meet us at the main doors.”

  “Uh, okay.”

  “I didn’t think they’d be ready in time, but they suggested it, so . . .”

  I nod. “Got it.”

  We’re quiet for the beginning of the bus ride, and then Kaylan turns to me and says, “Oh! You were going to tell me about your bad habit and what you did on the list and stuff. Let’s discuss now before we see the other girls. Because they don’t really get it, and it’s weird and stuff.”

  I don’t really feel like talking about it now, it feels almost like an obligation or something, but I force the words out.

  “I’m so tired, so I’m going to just give you an abbreviated version and we’ll have the longer discussion later, okay?”

  She shrugs. “Fine.”

  “Bad habit: always letting my mind wander. It makes it hard to get work done and really be in the moment. You know how you always tell me I zone out?”

  She nods. “Continue.”

  “Yeah, so, I want to be better at being present, focusing.”

  “Okay.” Kaylan considers it. “I can get on board with that. And your passion?”

  I take a deep breath. “So my passion is tricky. I think I have a bunch.”

  She raises her eyebrows, waiting for me to go on.

  “Well, first of all, cheering people up. I really love it. Like, nothing makes me happier, and I think that’s part of being a good leader too.” I pause. “Also, as I’ve been working on my bat mitzvah stuff, I’m kind of feeling passionate about religion, and Judaism. There’s so much to learn.”

  “Interesting,” she says. “You did get all soul-searchy while I was away.”

  I laugh. “I guess I did.” I try to remember what else I wanted to tell her. “I JHHed the handstand. Ask Gemma when you see her—it’s perfect. And I made the mac and cheese for my fam, and they loved it. So I JHHed that too.”

  She claps quietly. “Sounds pretty good. Want to hear mine?”

  “Of course!”

  She giggles. “Okay. Bad habit: freaking out all the time, obviously. Passion: comedy. I want to start a youth comedy troupe at school, see who else is into it. Um, no clue on making my mark, though. No clue on helping someone else shine.” She sits back in the seat and closes her eyes. “I’m about to do my bad habit. About to freak out. Feeling overwhelmed.”

  She stops talking and takes out her phone and texts something to Cami.

  I pretend I don’t see it because I don’t need anything else to bother me before the first day of school.

  I take my phone out and text the camp girls, wishing them all good luck on their first days of school.

  I text Golfy, too.

  And then I quickly scan through my email.

  From: Cantor Simon

  To: Arianna Nodberg

  Subject: something to ponder

  Hi, Arianna,

  Before our next lesson, I’d like you to be thinking about what it means when we say “an adult in the eyes of our people.” We touched on this last week, but we didn’t really get into it. Give it some thought. Also, I need an update on where you are with your speech.

  Thanks. See you soon.

  Cantor Simon

  Kaylan reads over my shoulder.

  “What does that mean?” she asks. “‘An adult in the eyes of our people’? And how come Judaism expects so much of people who are only thirteen? Does any other religion do that?”

  I laugh. “I’m not sure.”

  “It feels like a lot.” She shrugs. “I guess that’s why you get that big party. You’ve really earned it.”

  I consider what to say, if I should tell her about my dad’s job or the fact that I’m not really having a big party anymore. But we’re almost at school, and this doesn’t feel like the right time.

  “Your mind is wandering again! Earth to Ari! Bad habit alert!” Kaylan cracks up as we turn into the school parking lot.

  I laugh. “Okay, well, see, I’m still working on it.”

  The bus rolls through the parking lot and stops in front of the main doors by the gym.

  I have a few baby fireflies rumbling in my stomach, but for the most part I feel peaceful and confident about the year ahead. I take Kaylan’s hand as we get off the bus. “Come on, let’s crush seventh grade.”

  She smiles. “Well, duh.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  ALL OF MY MORNING CLASSES are in the honors block, and I don’t really know anyone in them. Except for math, which Kaylan a
nd I have together, thank God.

  I don’t understand how I was the only one of the lunch table girls who tested into the whole block. They’re all smart. I wonder if there’s been some kind of glitch and if I can switch back. Maybe I’m not even supposed to be in these classes.

  I have a third-period study hall so I’m allowed to use the computer and check email since we don’t have any homework yet.

  And it may only be ten thirty in the morning, but today already has a highlight.

  An email from Golfy:

  Ari Nodberg!

  So sorry I didn’t write back sooner. We just got back from Maine, and school starts tomorrow. You start tomorrow, too? GOOD LUCK. You will crush seventh grade. Text me or call me or email or do that thing where you connect a can to a string and talk into it—whatever it takes. Tell me about the first day! I want to hear all about it. Tell Kaylan I say hey.

  Peace!

  Golfy

  I smile through the rest of my morning classes, only half paying attention because I’m daydreaming about Golfy. I’m not doing so great at breaking my bad habit, but I don’t even care right now.

  It’s fun to daydream about Golfy and what he’s like in school. Imagining him in his classroom, taking notes. Is his hair sticking up in all directions like it did at camp? Or did he comb it down or use gel or something and make it look neat and perfect before the first day? Is he wearing his mesh shorts and a faded tee? Or did he try to look good—a polo maybe? Nice jeans?

  When I get to lunch, the girls are at our same lunch table, and I’m glad that even with our different schedules, we get to eat together.

  “Where’s Marie?” I ask. Now that we’re back in school and it’s kinda too late, I realize that I could’ve put more effort into our friendship over the summer, writing to her or making plans for when I got home. I’ll do better now.

  “She’s taking Japanese at lunch,” Kaylan says. “I told you. Remember?”

  “Oh, um, right.” I have no memory of her telling me, but I don’t want to admit that.

  I sit down at the table and take my chicken salad sandwich out of my lunch bag. I also have cut up cucumbers, a bag of chips, and one of those mini bags of fruit snacks.

  “Ugh, first day and I already have so much homework,” June says, sipping her iced tea. “Ridiculous, right?”

  “Well, at least we’re off next Monday and Tuesday,” Sydney replies. “So we don’t have a full week for a while.”

  M.W. says, “Yeah, but we’ll be in temple.” She rolls her eyes in my direction.

  “Oh, sad times.” Kira frowns. “I think we were all going to go to that new arcade down near the beach. Right?”

  Everyone nods.

  Cami jumps in. “Not all of us. I’m Jewish, too. I mean, half. But I still have to go to temple.” She pauses. “So don’t have too much fun without me.”

  They all laugh.

  June is about to say something else about the arcade, I think, but Cami interrupts her. “Wait, Kaylan, you never finished telling us what happened. I don’t even understand how you weren’t so completely mortified.”

  I crinkle my eyebrows and look at Kaylan, no clue what’s going on.

  “It wasn’t that bad. I just changed my shorts and stuffed the gross ones at the bottom of my bag, and then I went to the little convenience store in the hotel and bought pads and stuff,” she explains. “I was just scared Ryan would see, and my dad, and ew.”

  “Super crazy, though,” Amirah adds.

  “That’s why I’m so glad to have older sisters,” Cami announces. “It’s honestly a lifesaver.”

  “Was it weird to get it at camp?” June asks me, unwrapping her sandwich.

  I don’t understand how they’re not totally grossed out discussing this while eating.

  “Um, I didn’t get it at camp, actually,” I say. “But it would’ve been fine. My mom sent me to camp with supplies and stuff.” I pause. “Can we discuss this later, though? When we’re not eating?”

  “It’s a totally normal thing,” Cami defends the discussion. “You don’t need to be weird about it, Ari. We’re all friends here.”

  “I’m not being weird about it.” My head feels like it’s on fire because Kaylan clearly told everyone else what happened on her week away with her dad and brother. But she didn’t tell me. “Also, if we’re all friends, why didn’t you invite me to ice cream last week?”

  They freeze and stare at one another, and Kaylan nudges me with her knee.

  “What? It’s just a question.”

  “Ari,” she says, like she’s warning me about something.

  “You didn’t respond to our text,” M.W. says. “We all said we were free that night, but not during the day, and then you didn’t respond.”

  “So? I thought it was a given that if you were all doing something you’d invite me. I was the one who suggested all getting together in the first place.”

  Cami exhales in a really over-the-top sort of way. “Sorry, Arianna. You’re really worked up. I’ve never seen you this way.”

  “I’m fine!” I put all my lunch stuff back in the bag and stand up. I think I’ll go eat on the bench by the main office and hope no one sees me. If anyone asks, I’ll say I need to be picked up early for a doctor’s appointment. “I need to go talk to a teacher, though. See you guys later.”

  I walk out of the cafeteria more slowly than I normally would because I’m totally expecting Kaylan to run after me.

  She doesn’t, though.

  As I wander through the halls, the whole keep our friendship strong thing keeps flashing across my brain like a neon sign above a pizza place.

  I kind of thought keeping our friendship strong would be the easiest thing on the list this time.

  But it seems to be getting harder and harder the closer we get to the deadline.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  I DON’T SEE ANY OF the lunch table girls for the rest of the day because of my stupid honors track schedule. I’m kind of grateful for that, though, because I don’t feel like dealing with any of the fallout from what happened in the cafeteria earlier today.

  Cami’s one of those girls who brings the drama wherever she goes, and that has seeped into the rest of the girls. Even Kaylan. And Kaylan Terrel is a girl who has enough drama to last the rest of her life—she doesn’t need any help with that.

  I plan to discuss this with her on the ride home, but she’s not on the bus line. I take my phone out of my backpack to check for a text from her, but nothing.

  So this is how it’s going to be, I guess.

  Fine.

  We’ll work through it.

  I get off the bus and walk home, and I find a note on the kitchen table.

  Ari, Dad and I have an appointment this afternoon. Grandma’s picking Gemma up at school, and then they’ll be home. Grab a snack and start HW, and then practice for your bat mitzvah. I love you. Mom

  I shake my head. It’s amazing that she finds a way to be this intense and naggy even in a kitchen table note! Do moms automatically become that way the minute they have a baby? Or is it something that’s always been there, lying beneath the surface, waiting to pounce?

  My grandma’s not really like that, at least not to me. And Bubbie isn’t either. Maybe it’s just full-on intense when you’re a new mom and then it evaporates when you become a grandmother.

  I open the fridge to take an apple out of the crisper drawer, but it’s stuck. I pull and pull, yanking it open, until the whole drawer falls out, and all of the fruits and vegetables scatter all over the floor.

  “Oh my God!” I scream out loud, even though no one is home to hear me.

  I grab an apple and put it on the counter and then spend the next twenty minutes trying to get the drawer back in. Finally, I give up and put the whole thing on the kitchen table.

  Someone will have to deal with that later.

  I wash the apple and take it upstairs to my room to start h
omework, but I decide to text Alice first.

  Ari: AlKal! How was ur day? Mine sucked. Drama w/ lunch table grls. Drawer broken in fridge. Mom will freak. So much hw. Uggghhhh. XOXO Noddie

  She writes me back right away.

  Alice: I was just thinking abt u! miss u so, so much. My day = ok. My grandma fell tho—in the hosp. worried. ☹ love u

  Ari: Sooooooo sorry 2 hear that. Keep me updated. Ilysm

  I’m halfway through my science lab when our landline rings. I don’t answer it because the calls are never for me.

  But then it rings again.

  And then my cell phone rings.

  My mom.

  “Hello?”

  “Ari! I totally forgot to tell you that the cantor called earlier and she had to change your bat mitzvah lesson. It’s today at five. Please be ready, and I’ll swing by and get you.”

  “Um. Okay.” I wonder if she realizes how often she forgets to tell me things.

  “Make sure you practice before.”

  I roll my eyes, feeling grateful she can’t see me right now. “I will, Mom.”

  I sit back in my desk chair and close my eyes. I guess I’ll have to do this mountain of homework after my lesson, but probably not until way later because I’ll have to deal with a lecture from my mom about how I broke the drawer in the fridge.

  At four forty-five, I hear the honk, grab my bat mitzvah notebook, and head outside.

  “Have a good lesson, Ar,” my dad says as he gets out of the front seat and I get in.

  “Quick. Buckle your seat belt. We’re going to be late,” my mom tells me.

  “We still have fifteen minutes,” I remind her.

  “But there’s always a slowdown at the light on Sullivan and East Fields Road this time of day.” Her hands are so tight around the steering wheel that I bet she could crack the whole thing in half if she tried.

  “The drawer in the fridge is broken,” I announce. “I tried to put it back, but I couldn’t.”

  “Again?” she shrieks. “Seriously, how many times have I told you and Gemma not to be so rough with it?”

  I laugh. “Mom, it’s a refrigerator drawer. It’s not like a delicate piece of Grandma’s china.”

  “This isn’t funny.”

  “Okay. Sorry.”

  I stare straight ahead and pray there’s no slowdown because I’m not sure how long I can stand being in the car with my mother.