withvanilla ice cream in it. “It’s how they do it in Israel,” she says. We all get them.
“I’m moving to Israel!” I declare after my first few sips, being very careful not to spill a single drop on my clean black shirt.
“Me too!” says Marissa. “Right of return—they have to take us; we’re Jewish!”
“Damn,” says Kendra. “I’m converting!”
“But wouldn’t you miss your dad’s peanut butter and bacon sandwiches?” asks Marissa.
“Well, I don’t have to go the whole hog,” says Kendra. “Get it?”
“We get it, we get it,” says Marissa, and we all laugh.
It goes on like that for more than an hour—silly jokes, happy banter—but the whole time I am acutely aware that they are not Alexis and that Alexis is not there.
CHAPTER 11
STREAMERS
After school Thursday, I head up to McKelvy’s room to retake the Katrina quiz. This time I really read those chapters and then looked up more stuff. It’s horrific. We have to do a long report soon, and I’m definitely going to do mine on New Orleans and Katrina.
“I changed the questions, so if you got them from other kids, forget about it,” McKelvy says.
“I did not cheat. You know I wouldn’t do that!” I am truly insulted.
“I know,” he says, with a tinge of doubt.
I show him . I’m done in five minutes, he grades it right away, and I get them all right.
“Good for you, Rachel.”
“Horrible topic,” I say to him. “I can’t believe all the poverty there still and how much those people need.”
“Sure is awful, Rachel. I’m glad you see that. Speaking of need, you ready to go to Union tomorrow?”
Oops. Totally forgot.
First reaction: What a pain. Don’t want to do it.
Second reaction: I know in my heart I should. Tikkun olam , repairing the world.
Third: What else do I have to do on Friday afternoon? Nothing.
“Sure,” I say.
McKelvy gives me the rundown on the school. The kids are mostly poor; something like 75 percent are on free lunch. The teachers are good and dedicated, but they need as much help as they can get. Since I leave at one-twenty on Fridays, I can give them a full hour.
“Want me to go with you?” McKelvy asks. “I have a free period; I could take you down.”
I would love it if he came. But I should be able to do this by myself. “I’ll be fine,” I say.
“You can catch the bus right outside, the number four.”
I know that bus. Alexis and I used to take it all the time to go shopping at Morrison’s.
On the bus the next afternoon, I find myself thinking about Alexis and feeling so blue. Stop it! I’m on my way to help some kids who really need it. Focus on that. Tikkun olam , which I heard about from the rabbi, of course. First when I was little, and later, a few months after Grandpa died.
I was alone at temple one Friday after school, setting up for a coffeehouse in the small social hall. Alexis and I were trying out Youth Group and had volunteered to do the decorations, but she was home sick that day.
So there I was trying to hang up the streamers by myself—it is really hard to hang streamers alone! I’d tape one end of the streamer to the ceiling, standing on a ladder that the janitor had given me with all kinds of warnings (“Do not stand on the top step, young lady”), and then I’d move the ladder, go back and get the end of the streamer, and carefully, without ripping it, twist it and take it where I’d put the ladder, climb up the ladder, and tape the streamer to the ceiling there. It was taking forever. I was up on the ladder when my phone beeped. I rushed down to get it out of my bag, hoping it was Alexis saying she was feeling better or hadn’t really been sick at all and that she was coming over to help. I slipped off the ladder, crashing it—and me—to the floor. Landed right on my knee. Man did that hurt.
I slid to get my phone, even with my knee throbbing. But it wasn’t Alexis. This girl Leslie, who was a senior and had said she might come help,
“I’m moving to Israel!” I declare after my first few sips, being very careful not to spill a single drop on my clean black shirt.
“Me too!” says Marissa. “Right of return—they have to take us; we’re Jewish!”
“Damn,” says Kendra. “I’m converting!”
“But wouldn’t you miss your dad’s peanut butter and bacon sandwiches?” asks Marissa.
“Well, I don’t have to go the whole hog,” says Kendra. “Get it?”
“We get it, we get it,” says Marissa, and we all laugh.
It goes on like that for more than an hour—silly jokes, happy banter—but the whole time I am acutely aware that they are not Alexis and that Alexis is not there.
CHAPTER 11
STREAMERS
After school Thursday, I head up to McKelvy’s room to retake the Katrina quiz. This time I really read those chapters and then looked up more stuff. It’s horrific. We have to do a long report soon, and I’m definitely going to do mine on New Orleans and Katrina.
“I changed the questions, so if you got them from other kids, forget about it,” McKelvy says.
“I did not cheat. You know I wouldn’t do that!” I am truly insulted.
“I know,” he says, with a tinge of doubt.
I show him . I’m done in five minutes, he grades it right away, and I get them all right.
“Good for you, Rachel.”
“Horrible topic,” I say to him. “I can’t believe all the poverty there still and how much those people need.”
“Sure is awful, Rachel. I’m glad you see that. Speaking of need, you ready to go to Union tomorrow?”
Oops. Totally forgot.
First reaction: What a pain. Don’t want to do it.
Second reaction: I know in my heart I should. Tikkun olam , repairing the world.
Third: What else do I have to do on Friday afternoon? Nothing.
“Sure,” I say.
McKelvy gives me the rundown on the school. The kids are mostly poor; something like 75 percent are on free lunch. The teachers are good and dedicated, but they need as much help as they can get. Since I leave at one-twenty on Fridays, I can give them a full hour.
“Want me to go with you?” McKelvy asks. “I have a free period; I could take you down.”
I would love it if he came. But I should be able to do this by myself. “I’ll be fine,” I say.
“You can catch the bus right outside, the number four.”
I know that bus. Alexis and I used to take it all the time to go shopping at Morrison’s.
On the bus the next afternoon, I find myself thinking about Alexis and feeling so blue. Stop it! I’m on my way to help some kids who really need it. Focus on that. Tikkun olam , which I heard about from the rabbi, of course. First when I was little, and later, a few months after Grandpa died.
I was alone at temple one Friday after school, setting up for a coffeehouse in the small social hall. Alexis and I were trying out Youth Group and had volunteered to do the decorations, but she was home sick that day.
So there I was trying to hang up the streamers by myself—it is really hard to hang streamers alone! I’d tape one end of the streamer to the ceiling, standing on a ladder that the janitor had given me with all kinds of warnings (“Do not stand on the top step, young lady”), and then I’d move the ladder, go back and get the end of the streamer, and carefully, without ripping it, twist it and take it where I’d put the ladder, climb up the ladder, and tape the streamer to the ceiling there. It was taking forever. I was up on the ladder when my phone beeped. I rushed down to get it out of my bag, hoping it was Alexis saying she was feeling better or hadn’t really been sick at all and that she was coming over to help. I slipped off the ladder, crashing it—and me—to the floor. Landed right on my knee. Man did that hurt.
I slid to get my phone, even with my knee throbbing. But it wasn’t Alexis. This girl Leslie, who was a senior and had said she might come help,
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