The Truth About My Bat Mitzvah (8 page)

Things Are Looking Up Already

“I like your necklace,” Megan said to me when I got on the bus and sat down on the seat next to her. I shoved my backpack under my feet and rested my hands on my knees.

“Oh, thanks,” I said.

She didn't say anything, but I was so ready with my answer that I gave it to her anyway.

“I'm Jewish,” I told her. “I mean I'm half and half. Sort of.”

“Really?”

“Well, my mom is Jewish and my dad isn't.”

“Oh.”

I got the feeling Megan wasn't all that interested, but I went on. “I just found out that my grandparents didn't want my mom to marry my dad because he wasn't Jewish. They tried to bribe her with a car. So I'm not sure what I am, really.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…”

We were coming up to Ryan Berk's stop.

“I mean, if I'm Jewish it might upset my dad, right? And my mom doesn't care either way. In fact, I get the feeling that if I wanted to be Jewish, it would upset her, too. Because of that car thing, you know?”

“Boy, that's funny,” Megan said.

The bus hissed as it slowed down.

“It is, isn't it?”

The doors opened and Ryan appeared on the steps and then inside the bus. He never looked at me once. He walked right by and headed all the way to the back.

“He likes you,” Megan said.

“What?”

“Ryan Berk. He likes you, you can tell. By the way he never looks at you.”

“He does? No, he doesn't,” I said. Did he? And as ridiculous as Megan's theory sounded, I found myself wanting it to be true. “How do you know?”

“He goes out of his way not to look at you,” Megan went on. “I've been noticing for weeks now.”

“Really?”

 

The bus stopped at school and as always everyone stood up instantly. We used to have a bus driver named Mr. Mackey who made us exit the bus one row at a time, starting in the back, in perfect order. You weren't even allowed to stand until the seat behind you had emptied.

But that was then. Mr. Mackey retired last year.

Now it was every man for himself. The biggest and strongest, or fastest and smallest, got into the aisle first and headed for the bus doors.

Unless, of course, someone stopped for you. And
if
someone halted right at your seat and waited for you to get out, holding up everyone behind them, well, that was big. It definitely meant something.

 

“Caroline?”

I looked up. Ryan Berk was standing by my seat, holding up the line and every single kid behind him, now shoving forward eagerly to get off the bus. He had stopped to let
me
out.

I was in the outside seat, Megan by the window. She nudged me.

“You can go now,” she whispered, in case I hadn't noticed Ryan waiting.

But of course, I had. How could I have missed that?

My Star of David

We were all in one long line in the sixth-grade hallway. I was feeling pretty good so far. Walking into school with Ryan Berk was definitely a good way to start the morning. I could barely keep the smile off my face, which might not be a bad thing for picture day.

Each class had a specific time to report to the library, where the photographer was all set up. The photographers always run late. They always get the little plaque with the teacher's name wrong, and somebody always slips off the little bleachers or makes rabbit ears or generally screws things up for the first shot.

“I'm going to steal a bunch of those free combs,” Brandon Newkirk said to no one in particular.

“Isn't that an oxymoron, you moron?” Nikki Cooper whispered to Brandon Newkirk. I was right behind Nikki Cooper, and Sebastian Charles was right behind me.

If we went in alphabetical order by teacher names there was
a good chance Rachel's homeroom class would be right after mine and I'd see her as we left the library. But I wished she were here now.

I wanted to ask her again if she thought I should have a bat mitzvah. I wanted to show her my necklace, that I was wearing it. I was dying to tell her about Ryan Berk.

After about three more minutes, kids started pushing. Sebastian Charles bumped into me, me into Nikki, and Nikki into Brandon.

“Get control of yourself, Nikki. I mean, I knew you liked me, but this is ridiculous,” Brandon said.

“Oh, shut up,” Nikki told him.

Three minutes more and two boys were physically fighting down at the end of the line.

“Okay, I've had it. We're going in,” our homeroom teacher announced. She opened the library door. “Everyone just take a seat.”

It looked like the class before us was just finishing. They were coming down off their places on the bleachers. The photographer looked completely exasperated already. It was only eight thirty in the morning. There was a certain amount of confusion as our two classes filled the room, avoiding the bleachers, the camera stand, and the backdrops. Teachers hate these moments.

It was pretty much a free-for-all.

I looked over to see Brandon reaching into the box with the combs. And that's when I saw Lauren Chase. I didn't know she was in this homeroom. But that was dumb. Why would I know who was in this homeroom? Or which homeroom Lauren Chase would be in? She was turning and heading right this way.
My mind flashed to the night of her sleepover, the darkness, and the sound of her voice.

My Star of David.

I reached up to try and tuck it into my shirt, just for a second, just for the moment we would pass each other. I don't know why. I just didn't feel like having her say anything to me. I didn't feel like answering to her, or even having her look at me. I didn't want to be different or stand out. I didn't want her to know who I was. And maybe have a reason not to like me even more than she already did.

It was none of her business.

I just needed to get my necklace off my turtleneck. If I could just pull the fabric out from under the chain and let the necklace fall inside. I had to be fast.

Quickly, before she would get here.

The chain was tight but the turtleneck should just slip out. Had she seen me? Finally, I took one good yank. I felt something snap.

“Oh, hello, Caroline.” Lauren said. She barely looked at me as she made her way past and out the door.

I slapped my hand flat against my chest.

No! It couldn't be.

My necklace was gone.

I stretched my turtleneck out all the way. I reached under my shirt and felt inside my bra. I didn't even care what I looked like doing this.

No necklace. It was gone. It must have fallen completely off.

Onto the floor.

There were feet everywhere. Bodies and voices. The two homeroom teachers were arguing. A whole other homeroom
class had decided to come in as well. We were half an hour behind. It looked like the photographer was yelling at his assistant. Brandon Newkirk was the only one in the whole room who looked content.

I was on my hands and knees.

This couldn't be. How could I have been so stupid? So thoughtless. The chain was so fragile. It was gold. It had broken so quickly. I had only had the necklace for a couple of months. This was why my mother never let me have anything valuable.

I could feel the tears filling my eyes. They didn't run down my face, they dropped right onto the carpet.

“Caroline, what's wrong?”

It was Rachel. Her homeroom
was
next for picture taking, thank God.

“My necklace,” I cried to her. “I broke it. It was my grandmother's. Her Jewish star. It's real. It snapped right off my neck.”

“We'll find it,” Rachel said. She was on the floor right beside me. “It's got to be here somewhere, right?

First I tried to hide my necklace, then I broke it. I hadn't even made it five minutes without doing another stupid thing. I estimated I might begin to like myself again when I was around the age of eighty, but I was so grateful that I wouldn't be alone.

It Can't Be Broken

Rachel was explaining to me that the chain could be fixed. It was just one of the little links that was pulled apart. We had found my necklace on the floor under one of the library tables.

“It's not broken. The links can be reconnected. Right here.” She showed me. “It will be fine.”

“Thanks, Rachel.”

“Anytime.”

I held the necklace in my palm, just as I had when my grandfather first gave it to me. So much had happened since then. This necklace had come to mean so much, more than just something my grandmother wanted me to have. It had also caused so much trouble and made me think about things I never would have. But then again, maybe that's exactly what she would have wanted.

Rachel and I were sitting outside. We'd both decided to skip next period Spanish. If we got caught we'd be breaking two
rules, being outside of the building without permission and cutting class. Detention for sure.

But nobody knew about this spot but us. We had discovered it one day in fourth grade when we both arrived late for school. We were trying to sneak in without passing the front office. Our spot was to the side of the cafeteria, near the big Dumpsters that blocked anyone from seeing you from the parking lot. The sun cut across the roof of the school and lay a perfectly rectangular beam of light directly onto the stoop where we sat.

Rachel called it Our Sanctuary.

“Were you mad at me?” Rachel said after we sat quietly for a few minutes.

“Me? Mad at you?”

“For asking Lauren to invite you to her party too.”

“Oh, that.” It did hurt when Rachel mentioned it again, sort of like a little kick in the stomach I had been able to ignore until just then.

“No,” I said slowly. “What happened? Why didn't you tell me?”

“I dunno. I didn't want to hurt your feelings. But I kind of wanted to go and I thought you'd want to too.”

“So what really happened?”

“Well, Lauren asked me to go,” Rachel went on. “Then she asked me if I knew anybody cool…. I mean, it wasn't like I forced her to invite you. When I mentioned you, she said yeah, good idea.”

“Would you have gone if she said she wouldn't invite me?”

“No way,” Rachel answered, and I believed her with all my heart.

 

We were quiet. We only had another few minutes before the first bell was going to ring. You could see winter ahead—not that it was cold out yet, but you knew it was coming. The way the trees seemed prepared, the leaves turning from red to gold and some already curling brown. The ground was harder; the light from the sun was lower and not as strong.

“I wanted to thank you for what you did,” Rachel said. “What you said to Lauren that night.”

“What? That? I thought
you'd
be mad at
me
for ruining our chances of ever getting invited to a popular party ever again.”

“Why? You were sticking up for me. For both of us, right?”

So Rachel thought I was Jewish?

That's when I understood. If that's what I wanted, I didn't have to convince anyone. The only person doubting it was me.

“Yeah, sure, for both of us—until I saw Lauren this morning and I practically tore my whole shirt off so she wouldn't see my necklace.”

“Well, that's understandable. Lauren's pretty scary.”

“And dumb. I think mostly she's just dumb.”

“Who cares about her dumb party,” Rachel said.

“Who wants to be like her, anyway?”

“Not me.”

“Me neither.”

Rachel laughed as the bell sounded inside the school. We both stood up and brushed the dirt from our pants. Even if I didn't get to have a bat mitzvah, that didn't mean I wasn't Jewish. I didn't need to prove anything to anyone, not to anyone but myself. I could be whatever I wanted, even Jewish.

It was mine if I wanted, like a gift that someone gave me a long time ago that I forgot to open.

I Should Have Known Then

The last time Sammy and I came into the city by ourselves to visit our grandparents was probably six months ago. Nana was already sick, but I didn't know it. I guess I didn't want to.

 

That was the day we went to Gold's Deli. That was the day I had my first chocolate egg cream, and that was the last real day I got to spend with my nana alone.

At Gold's Deli they put a metal bowl of pickles on the table before you even order your food.

“Are they free?” Sammy asked, but he was already touching one.

“Can we just eat them?” I asked.

“It's required, in fact.” My grandfather took one of the ones that was a lighter shade of green and bit it nearly in half. “My favorite,” he told us. “The sour ones.”

I had never seen so much activity in one restaurant. There was a counter with people lined up to get take-out sandwiches, salads,
bagels. And there were small tables with checkered tablecloths and waiters, all men, older men, running all over the place. They seemed to know who had come in, who was leaving, who had ordered what, without writing anything down. They were also gruff and impatient.

“Whadda want to drink, young lady?”

I thought he was talking to me, but when I looked up from my menu he was addressing my grandmother. She smiled.

“An egg cream,” she told him. “Vanilla, please. Would you like one, Caroline?”

“What is it?”

“It's good, kid. Want one? Chocolate?” the waiter said to me.

This was no time for procrastination. “Yes, please,” I said. “Chocolate.”

My grandmother just nibbled at her sandwich. She didn't even ask for a doggie bag. When we left we walked slowly, and at the corner we split up. My grandfather headed back to the apartment with Sammy, and Nana and I headed toward her doctor's office. We were going to get a taxicab for the ride.

“We're taking a cab?” I asked. I was excited. I liked getting into cabs. I liked the broad leather seat that sometimes didn't even have seat belts.

“I thought you liked to walk when Poppy wasn't with us?” I said. I had scooted over and I was already playing with the air-conditioner controls.

“Not today, my
shayna
,” my nana said.

I noticed sometimes I was
shayna
. Sometimes
shayna madel
. And sometimes
shayna maideleh
. But I should have been paying more attention to my nana. She barely ate her lunch.

We took a cab because she was too tired to walk, and I didn't even notice it.