You Asked for Perfect(43)

But being with Amir seemed more like an inevitability than a choice.

Amir looks hopeful, happy. This is huge for him. “Of course I’ll be there.”

Eager shouts erupt from the sidelines. We look to the field and watch as Rachel scores a goal.

“Told you they’d get it back,” I say.

“She’d make a great chaser.”

“Does everything relate to Harry Potter in your mind?”

“Hey, don’t knock it. What’s so bad about seeing magic everywhere?”

“You’re right.” I lean against him again, my body at ease. “Nothing wrong with a little magic.”





Thirteen


“All right, everyone. You may get started. Feel free to brainstorm with your classmates,” Mrs. Chen says.

I grip my pencil and try to concentrate, but my eyes won’t focus. A vicious headache beats against my skull. I should’ve packed more than a granola bar, or made time to run by the cafeteria for a slice of pizza. I need sleep, and if not, calories. Covertly, I sneak a sip of my energy drink under the table.

We’re supposed to make up our own government and map out the power structure. At least it’s only a completion grade.

I feel Pari’s stare on me. “Are you okay, Ariel?”

“Yeah, fine.”

“You can talk to me, you know,” she says. “Whatever it is.”

She probably means it. Probably.

But my interior is already cracking. I can’t let my exterior fall apart also. Soon we’ll both play the Rimsky-Korsakov solo. If I show weakness now, she’ll know she has a chance to steal my chair and practice harder to do so.

“It’s nothing.” I twist my pencil. “A busy week. I’m fine.”

“I know it’s hard, but keep perspective. None of this will matter in a year.”

“Really?” Hostility edges into my tone. “You really think this won’t matter?”

“It’s only high school. I’ve been telling myself this for months. I still don’t always believe it, but it’s true. We’ll graduate and go to college, and none of this will matter.”

Every muscle stiffens, prepared for flight or—

“It all matters, Pari. Don’t be ridiculous.”

She opens her mouth, then shuts it. Her eyes shine. When she speaks, her choked voice cuts into me. “I’m not being ridiculous.”

The energy drink churns in my stomach. I shouldn’t have said that. I start to apologize when she continues, “You can be a jerk, Ariel. I’ve worked as hard as you. I’m as smart. You think I’m ridiculous, why? Because you found the online AP class and I didn’t? Congratulations. That definitely makes you better than me.” She clenches her jaw. “I was trying to help you, but I guess you’re fine on your own. Good luck. I hope you end up with everything you think is so important.”

She turns away from me and leans over her paper, hair falling to block her face.

I go back to my empty page.

*

I wince as I button my shirt. It’s Wednesday morning and Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the year, so I’ll be at services instead of school. My fingers are tender with new blisters. Last night I skipped my family’s annual tradition of pizza dinner before fasting for Yom Kippur because Sook called for an extra emergency practice. Then I was about to go to sleep at two in the morning, when I remembered I had to email my Spanish teacher a short story analysis since I’d be missing the in-class quiz.

By the time I crawled into bed, the sun was threatening to come up, and then the wink of sleep I did get was filled with stress dreams, snatches of Mrs. Rainer lecturing me and Pari’s eyes filling with tears. She doesn’t get how difficult this is for me, but still, I shouldn’t have treated her like that. I owe her an apology.

My stomach growls as I walk into synagogue. My family is already here. I took my own car since I was running late. There are hundreds of people streaming in and milling around the lobby. My stomach growls louder, but the noise covers it. I think I might have only had lunch yesterday, a rushed turkey sandwich between classes. Not a smart move the day before fasting for Yom Kippur.

I find my parents standing near the sanctuary doors. Rachel usually skips off to say hi to her friends, but today she’s glued to our parents’ sides. “How was pizza last night?” I ask her.

“Fine.”

I gnaw a hangnail. She seems down. “You going to the animal shelter with me next weekend? Ezekiel misses you.”

Rachel gives a half smile. “I miss him too. I’ll come.”

I knock into her shoulder lightly. “Good.”

We head into services, bodies pressing around us. I falter a step, feeling light-headed and overwhelmed by the crowd. We make it inside and sit on folding chairs near the back of the shul. Sitting feels good. I run my hand through my hair before pinning my kippah. My fingers fumble with the bobby pin.

My phone buzzes. Malka: Where are you?

I reply: Near the back. Folding chairs. You?

Malka: Benches on the left. Parents aren’t going to stay the whole time. Can you give me a ride home after?

I text back: Sure I check my to-do list for the rest of the week. I should reassess, break the work down by the hour again, but I’m worried if I do, I’ll realize I don’t have enough time to get it all done. At least I finished reading both the books for English. Now I just have to write the paper.