Friendship List #2 Page 20

  “HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!” I scream into the phone. “So sorry I won’t be on the bus, but I’m getting a ride to school because I need to talk to Ms. Yarden about Mindfulness Club.”

  “Uh-huh. Whatever.” She laughs. “See you soon, Ari.”

  She totally knows I’m lying, but she doesn’t fight me on it.

  Our birthdays are a guaranteed ride-the-bus-alone day, which is sad because, duh, it’s our birthday. But it’s essential.

  Birthdays mean locker decorations. And that requires getting to school early.

  And today is Kaylan’s thirteenth birthday. Real teenagerhood.

  And that means the best locker decoration in the history of the world. That’s the goal, at least.

  I meet Cami and the rest of the girls by the main doors so we can decorate together before Kaylan gets to school.

  “Ooh, this was such a good idea,” I say, standing back and admiring everything. Cami cut out pictures of all these different famous comediennes—Ellen DeGeneres, Amy Schumer, Tina Fey, Wanda Sykes—and people like Lucille Ball and Betty White.

  “She’s going to love it!” M.W. squeals.

  “Did you bring the glitter streamers?” Cami asks me, and I nod, and we spend a few minutes pulling it off the rolls and taping it to the top and bottom of her locker.

  “I picked up the Harvey Supreme Sandwich,” Amirah says, running in with Sydney and June by her side. “And I got some iced tea, too.”

  “Fab!” Cami and I say at the exact same time. We high-five each other and go back to decorating.

  “I think we’re good, guys,” Kira says, surveying everything, hands on her hips. “Oh, the buses are rollin’ in! Quick! Everyone sit.”

  We all plop down in front of the lockers, acting all chill and nonchalant. Kaylan comes in a few minutes later and yelps, “Oh my God! Guys!” She does a little tap dance right in front of her locker. Then she carefully admires everything. “This is amazing.”

  I whisper in Kaylan’s ear, “I know it’s your birthday, but can we go a few minutes before first period, so we can drop off the note?”

  She nods. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  Dear Mr. Gavinder:

  We are students in your seventh-grade honors math class. We think you’re a great teacher; however, we have realized that you call on the boys way more than the girls. You pretty much never call on the girls. Maybe you don’t even realize you’re doing this.

  Also, do you know Isabela Gomez-Wright tutors elementary students in math? She is the strongest math student in our whole grade. Maybe even our school.

  We think you should notice that.

  Sincerely,

  Anonymous

  We check to make sure the main office is empty before we put the letter in his mailbox. Then, when we’re on our way to first period, Ms. Yarden stops me in the middle of the hallway.

  “Am I in trouble?” I ask her, scanning my brain for anything I could’ve possibly done wrong with the Mindfulness Club.

  “Oh no. Don’t be silly.” She smiles. “But can we talk for a second?”

  I nod. “Can Kaylan come, too? It’s her birthday.”

  “Sure,” she says, and we pop into the computer lab.

  “So,” she says quietly. “I was at a meeting with other middle school teachers from our county this morning, and we were sharing extracurricular ideas, and I told them about your suggestion for the Mindfulness Club, and they were in love with it.” She claps. “Really, truly in love. They thought it was brilliant.”

  “Really?” I squeak. “That’s so awesome.”

  “Ari! Go you!” Kaylan yells, and then tones it down to a whisper. “Sorry, it’s my birthday.”

  “It is awesome,” Ms. Yarden agrees. “And they want to start one at the other schools, too. And eventually we may make it some kind of countywide program.”

  I lift my eyebrows. “Wow. I can’t believe it.”

  Ms. Yarden shifts her weight from foot to foot. “I just wanted to tell you. We’re in the early stages, but I’ll be getting back to you about how you can be involved and what the next steps are.”

  “Yay! I am so excited.” I almost reach out to hug her, but it doesn’t feel quite right. Hugging a teacher is always kind of awkward.

  “Me too. Congrats, Arianna.” She smiles. “Okay, now we must get to class, yes? And happy birthday, Kaylan.”

  “I just need to stay here for a second, and make sure I printed out my English essay.”

  “Okay, Arianna. Have a great day.”

  My cheeks are still up high, tight into a gigantic smile.

  “Ari! What! This is huge!” Kaylan spins around and puts her hands on my shoulders once Ms. Yarden has left the room.

  “I know! I’m JHHing right now. I think a countywide mindfulness initiative counts as Making our mark.” I wait for her to reply. “Right? I mean, right?”

  “Totally. Go for it.”

  After I JHH, I quickly look over the list and check off Make our mark.

  Kaylan and I walk to our next classes together, and I say, “Kay, it’s your birthday. Mine is tomorrow. My bat mitzvah is in two days.” I clench my teeth. “We are so close to the finish line.”

  “Crushing it,” she says. “Totally crushing it.”

  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. (in progress)

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

  Find the perfect man for Kaylan’s mom. ✓

  Draw a doodle a day. ✓

  Tell a boy how we really feel.

  Pursue a passion (first find one). ✓

  Break a bad habit. ✓

  After school, my dad drives me to my bat mitzvah lesson. My mom is finalizing the order for the balloons at Get Ready to Party, the store in Carlton Park, the town a few miles away from Brookside.

  At least I’ll have balloons in the social hall. That’ll make it feel different than any regular after-the-service luncheon. Balloons make a big difference; they’re basically tangible happiness.

  “How are things?” he asks, when we’re stopped at a red light.

  It’s now or never, Ari. Time to do this. Your bat mitzvah is in two days. The list deadline is looming.

  “Um, well, not the best. Not the worst,” I start. “But I need to talk to you.”

  He keeps staring at the road, straight ahead. “Okay . . .”

  “I feel like this job-loss thing has been really hard and you’ve been really distant, and everyone expects me to cheer everyone up,” I start, feeling small puddles of tears forming behind my eyes. “I can’t always cheer everyone up. Or calm everyone down. Mom is always freaking out.”

  “I know,” he says softly. “It’s been a tough time. And you’ve been handling it really well.”

  I wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t. Is that all he can offer? Grown-ups should be able to do better than that. They should be capable of explaining things and making tough times make sense.

  I look at him even though he doesn’t make eye contact with me, and I wipe my tears away with the sleeve of my corduroy jacket. “I wasn’t sure if you knew it was tough for me. Everyone always expects me to be the calm one, because that’s how I’ve always been. But it’s not possible to be that way all the time.”

  “I know.” He pauses. “I see how hard you’re trying. But also how much you’re hurting, too. And I’m sorry. About all of it.”

  We get to the temple, and my dad says, “I’m glad we talked. And, uh, have a good lesson. I’ll wait for you out here.”

  I get out of the car, and I can’t tell if that conversation was what I expected or not. He didn’t really say anything. He listened, I guess, so that’s good. But he didn’t have a
ny explanations or solutions or anything, really.

  Maybe there’s not always an answer or a way to fix anything. Or maybe it takes a while to figure out if there’s a solution.

  “Hello, Arianna!” Cantor Simon says when I get to her office, as cheerful as can be.

  “Hi.” I sit down in the leather chair and take out my folders.

  She puts a finger in the air. “Oh wait! This is your last lesson. We need to practice on the bimah, imagine that there’s a whole congregation out there in front of you!”

  I follow her out of her office and down the hall toward the sanctuary. It’s strange to see it empty, dark without the lights on.

  She flicks a light switch and the whole place lights up.

  “Sorry it’s so cold in here,” she says.

  “I have layers on,” I reassure her.

  “It’ll be warmer in here on your bat mitzvah day. I promise.”

  We walk up the steps and then I stand there, in front of the podium, looking out into an empty sanctuary.

  “Imagine this whole room full of people who love you.” She smiles.

  We start going through the prayers in the early part of the service. My Hebrew is sparkling, all the pronunciations come out perfectly, even the words I stumbled on during our lessons.

  Cantor Simon takes the Torah out of the ark and moves the wooden rollers to get it to the exact spot. And then I stand there, ready to read from this scroll that thousands and thousands of people have read from before me. And now it’s me doing it.

  My turn. My time.

  It’s hard to believe it.

  “Are you ready?” Cantor Simon asks me. She hands me a long, skinny silver pointer thing. It’s called a yad, which means “hand” in Hebrew, and it’s used to help keep your place as you move from word to word.

  “I think so,” I say.

  “You are.” She smiles. “I know you are.”

  I chant from the Torah—my portion—the Life of Sarah. And as I’m chanting, it hits me. All of it. Everything that led to this moment—all of my questioning, and soul-searchiness, and even the drama with the lunch table girls and my parents.

  Judaism—its teachings and its community—was always there for me to lean on. It was something to fall back on, something bigger than myself and my problems.

  This whole experience wasn’t about fulfilling obligations and milestones that are set out for you.

  It was about religion being there for me, during the hard times and the good times and everything in between. Religion gives us a guide to follow when nothing makes sense.

  Religion is there for us, no matter what.

  It’s having faith in what you cannot see.

  “Arianna, that was outstanding,” Cantor Simon says when I’m done chanting. It felt almost like an out-of-body experience since my mind was wandering so much while chanting, but somehow that made it even more meaningful. Because I had that beautiful epiphany. And I finally figured out my speech!

  See—a bad habit isn’t always bad.

  Nothing is ever one thing.

  Everything is multilayered and messy and complicated and blurred.

  That’s what life is.

  The Life of Sarah.

  The life of Arianna, too.

  “Ready for your speech?” she asks. “I know you’ve been struggling, but I just have a feeling you’ll nail it.”

  I swallow hard. “I need to redo it. I promise it’ll be ready for my bat mitzvah, though. I mean, I don’t have a choice, right?”

  She laughs a little.

  “I got this. I promise.” I smile. “I finally figured it out, like literally, just now.”

  Cantor Simon raises her eyebrows. “A little suspense is always good, I guess.” She puts her hand on my shoulder. “You sure you don’t want to discuss anything else? Give me a little taste of what’s to come?”

  I shake my head. “You’ve taken me this far, but I need to do the rest on my own.”

  FORTY-THREE

  I STAY UP UNTIL MIDNIGHT working on my speech, so I expect to be super tired when I wake up on my birthday morning. But the thing about birthdays is that adrenaline always kicks in. So even if you’re tired, you don’t feel it.

  The best night of the year to stay up really late is the night before your birthday.

  My phone alarm goes off, and I already have birthday texts from so many people, even Cantor Simon.

  Cantor Simon: Happy birthday almost bat mitzvah girl! Yay you! ☺

  Alice: happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dearest girl in the world Arianna Nodberg, happy birthday to you! see u in 1 day!!!!!!!!! XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

  Hana: Ari, it’s your birthday and I love you and you’re the best girl ever. mwahhhhhhhhh

  Zoe: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ARIANNA SIMONE NODBERG! I LOVE YOU!

  Jason: happy bday 2 u

  Cami: happy bday!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  Golfy: did u think I wld forget ur bday? Obv not. Happy bday, ari <3

  I kind of love how he doesn’t even bother with emojis; he just tries to make a heart symbol on his own.

  When I get down to breakfast, I find a spread of banana nut muffins (my mom got the recipe from Kaylan’s mom), bagels with lox and cream cheese, fresh-squeezed orange juice, and a platter of fresh fruit.

  “Happy birthday, Ari!” my whole family yells at the same time.

  “Thank you,” I say, sitting down at the table.

  “I’ll drive you to school today,” my mom says. “No taking the bus for the birthday girl.”

  I smile and cream cheese my bagel.

  “How does it feel to be thirteen?” Gemma asks, picking a strawberry off the platter. “A teenager.”

  “Feels normal. So far.”

  The phone rings as I’m checking my teeth for poppy seeds.

  “Ari, it’s Bubbie,” Gemma yells out.

  I take the phone from her and say hello.

  Bubbie and Zeyda start singing right away.

  “Thanks, guys. You’re good singers,” I tell them.

  “Only the best for you, our darling girl,” Bubbie says. “We’re singing from the airport! And we get to see you so soon! How lucky are we?”

  “I can’t wait,” I say. “But I gotta get to school now. See you later! Love you!”

  “Love you more,” they reply at the same time.

  I get to school, a little relieved to see that my locker has been decorated, too. There was a tiny part of me that wasn’t totally sure.

  “Heart sunglasses all over!” I clap. “Guys! I love it! Where did you even find this?”

  “It’s wrapping paper!” Marie says, putting an arm around me. “I actually found it last spring, and I’ve been saving it for your birthday locker decoration. Can you believe it?”

  “Not really!” I giggle. “Guys, this is awesome.”

  “Look inside, look inside,” Kaylan says. When I open the door, I find about fifty of those spiral lollipops I love—the big ones you can only find at specialty candy stores. They take like a day and a half to eat.

  “Kaylan! Did you spend your whole life savings on these?”

  “You’re worth it, dahling.” She pulls me into a hug.

  The first bell rings, and we all gather our stuff. Kaylan puts her arm around me as we walk to math.

  I say, “Do you think Mr. Gavinder is going to say anything about the note?”

  “I don’t know,” she says. “I still want to switch out of his section, whether he makes a change or not.”

  We get to class and take our seats, and Mr. Gavinder is at his desk, not looking at anyone.

  “Do you think he knows it was us?” Kaylan asks. “Or that Isabela was involved?”

  “Shh,” I say.

  Class starts, and he takes attendance. And then, when he asks for volunteers to complete the geometry proof on the board . . .

  My heart beats furiously.

 
; The moment of truth.

  Owen raises his hand. And Kenny. And Rafa. And Daniel.

  And Isabela.

  I don’t raise my hand because I seriously don’t know how to do it. Neither does Kaylan.

  Plus what girl wants to do a geometry proof in front of the class on her birthday?

  Not me. That’s for sure.

  “Isabela, please come up,” he says, half smiling, not looking at anyone in particular.

  Isabela smiles at Kaylan and me as she walks up to the board.

  She completes the proof perfectly and sits back down, still smiling.

  “Excellent job, Isabela,” he says. “Now, let’s take out our workbooks. Please complete pages seven and nine, and then we’ll go over our processes.”

  Kaylan scribbles me a note.

  Ari,

  I feel so great. We will JHH this at home. XX K-K

  P.S. Rip up this note when Mr. G isn’t looking and throw it away after class.

  P.P.S. AMAZING BIRTHDAY PRESENT FOR YOU (and me too ☺ LIST IS COMPLETE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And don’t you think this Isabela thing also brought us back together?)

  I smile for the rest of the day, not only because it’s my birthday. I smile because I keep thinking about Isabela and how the note worked and how Mr. Gavinder has realized his mistake.

  He sees Isabela’s genius now. And hopefully he’ll call on girls as often as he calls on boys. Maybe more. Who knows.

  I feel like we really did something—as good friends and good leaders—and I’ve never felt so proud of anything in my whole life, I don’t think.

  Golfy calls me after school and sings me happy birthday. Once in English and once in Hebrew, the way we sing it at camp.

  “Great singing, Golfy. I didn’t know you had such a good voice.” I’m only half kidding; his voice is actually pretty good.

  “Thank you. And also, your bat mitzvah is tomorrow,” he says. “Just wanted to remind you.”

  “Thanks. I don’t think there’s any way I could forget.”

  He laughs. “Not to change the subject, and sorry if you don’t want to talk about this on your birthday, but I’ve been meaning to ask you—what ever happened with that piece of paper and the millionaire who wanted to buy your house?”

  I pause and get up to close my door, quickly listening out to make sure no one is close enough to overhear.