Maya snorted. “You’re her best friend. You tell her.”
“Sophie—”
“You’re not invited either,” Sophie said, even though he was, obviously. He was family. He had to come. That was the rule. The night before the bat mitzvah, Sophie couldn’t sleep. She lay in bed, running through her Torah portion in her head, and her mind kept circling back to the same image: Elena’s face when she’d laughed at the lockers. Not mean, exactly. Just careless. Like Sophie was a joke she’d gotten tired of telling.
“I’m being principled.”
She put the phone down and didn’t sleep. The next morning, Sophie stood at the bimah in her silver flats, looking out at the congregation. Her voice did crack—twice, actually, once on a high note and once on a Hebrew word she’d practiced a hundred times. But people smiled anyway. Her grandmother cried. Her father gave her a thumbs-up so enthusiastic it looked like he was hailing a taxi.
Elena shrugged, picking at her nail polish. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ll just be ‘sick’ that day.”
“You’re still not invited,” Sophie said. “Not to the party.”
Sophie stared at it for a long time. Then she wrote RETURN TO SENDER in black marker and dropped it back in the mailbox.
Maya snorted. “You’re her best friend. You tell her.”
“Sophie—”
“You’re not invited either,” Sophie said, even though he was, obviously. He was family. He had to come. That was the rule. The night before the bat mitzvah, Sophie couldn’t sleep. She lay in bed, running through her Torah portion in her head, and her mind kept circling back to the same image: Elena’s face when she’d laughed at the lockers. Not mean, exactly. Just careless. Like Sophie was a joke she’d gotten tired of telling.
“I’m being principled.”
She put the phone down and didn’t sleep. The next morning, Sophie stood at the bimah in her silver flats, looking out at the congregation. Her voice did crack—twice, actually, once on a high note and once on a Hebrew word she’d practiced a hundred times. But people smiled anyway. Her grandmother cried. Her father gave her a thumbs-up so enthusiastic it looked like he was hailing a taxi.
Elena shrugged, picking at her nail polish. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ll just be ‘sick’ that day.”
“You’re still not invited,” Sophie said. “Not to the party.”
Sophie stared at it for a long time. Then she wrote RETURN TO SENDER in black marker and dropped it back in the mailbox.