-no Estas Invitada A Mi Bat Mitzvah- Now

“She really thinks she’s going to sing at her own bat mitzvah?” Elena was saying, her voice doing that mean-girl lilt she’d been practicing lately. “Her voice cracks like a frog with a cold. I’m just saying, someone should tell her before she embarrasses herself.”

“Sophie—”

“She said my voice cracked,” Sophie told her mom, arms crossed. “At my own bat mitzvah. She was going to fake sick.” -No estas invitada a mi bat Mitzvah-

“I’m being principled.”

“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. “She really thinks she’s going to sing at

Elena shrugged, picking at her nail polish. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ll just be ‘sick’ that day.” “At my own bat mitzvah

Elena’s face fell.