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WALKING TO
school that Monday, I expected to be teased, put down, and otherwise insulted halfway into the twenty-second century. Who knew what horrible punishment Eddie and Fudge had come up with over the weekend? All I knew was that whatever they had in store was certain to be terrible.

And it was—only not in the way I pictured it. There were no more wedgies, no more insults. It was even worse. From the moment I set foot in the main hallway, I was flat-out ignored. Completely and absolutely. No hellos, no nods, no nothing. No dude, no Brain, no Goldman. At least when people are making fun of you, they're paying attention. For that
whole horrible week, I ate lunch alone, walked to class alone, did everything totally alone. You'll know how bad it was when I tell you that I even hoped Patrice and Archie would call. But no; I had managed to alienate not just the cool kids but the losers and freaks as well.

As you can imagine, by the time I stepped onto the plane to New York that Friday afternoon, I was desperate for something—anything—to go better. My trip definitely got off on the right foot. The flight attendants on the plane really enjoyed the fact that I was traveling alone and gave me four snack packs and two Cokes.

Then there was my dad. Angelina had made herself scarce so Dad and I could have some time alone. With a single hug at the gate, it was like everything was forgiven. First we had an early dinner. Chinese. Moo shoo pork. Orange chicken. Then we hopped on the subway to Shea Stadium. Mets vs. Cardinals, box seats, halfway up the third-base line. We won, too, on a double in the bottom of the ninth.

By the time we got back to my old apartment, I had forgotten about everything in Indiana. Who needed those jerks? My dad and I were getting along like old times, easy and loose, just like the last two months hadn't happened. After sleeping in the next morning, we went to our favorite greasy diner for eggs and
bagels. Then we hurried home so I could throw on my khakis, button-down shirt, tie, and jacket for Aaron Siegel's bar mitzvah.

“Have fun, buddy,” Dad said as I headed out the door. “I'll be here when you get home.”

Home. I liked the sound of that.

Minutes later, I was cutting up 79th Street toward the Park Avenue Synagogue. And that is when I started to get really excited. As psyched as I had been to see my father, I was even more pumped to see my friends. Around 77th Street, I spotted some of my old gang mingling outside the synagogue, waiting to go in. Everyone was dressed up, boys in ties, girls in dresses.

Rudy Albright saw me first.

“Yo, look! It's Goldman!”

Just like that, everyone was at my side like I was some sort of rock star. I was back-patted and high-fived. And then Steve materialized out of the crowd. It was sort of weird to see him after all that time, especially after how strange things had been on the phone. But with a single hand slap, the weirdness vanished.

“Evan, buddy!”

God, did it ever feel good to have someone call me by my real name. And I'll admit that I was sort of relieved not to see Bill yet. I'd be lying if I didn't admit to having some major-league fantasies about me and Nina getting back together. Sure, I knew that she and
Bill had made out. But only because I wasn't available, right? Here's how I pictured it: With a single glance in my direction, Nina would crawl down the synagogue aisle, curl up in my lap, and whisper “I love you” in Hebrew. That's what I was thinking about while Steve and Rudy started to describe their new English teacher to me. Apparently he had a black belt in karate and could speak Russian.

“Seriously, dude,” Rudy was saying. “The guy actually kicked a dictionary clean in half. He's awesome.”

Pretty amazing, I supposed. But before I could respond, I heard it: A girl's voice.

Her
voice.

Saying
my
name!

“Hey, Evan!”

There she was, decked out in a bright blue dress that hugged all the body parts that required hugging.

“Nina!” I gasped.

My heart went from zero to ninety in a millisecond. But then it practically exploded out of my chest. Because I saw her lips forming into a big, fat pucker. Her head was moving forward—toward me! I nearly fell over. This was happening more quickly than I had even anticipated! Thank God I had brushed my teeth after breakfast. There was nothing to do but go for it. I licked my lips and spread my arms wide.

But then…well, at the last second, each of us turned our head so instead of touching lips we touched cheeks. Chickened out, I guess. Aha, I thought. She doesn't want everyone to see how badly she wants me. She's saving the good stuff for later. All right, then, the day was young. All I had to do was bide my time.

“Come on,” Steve said, tugging my arm. “Let's find some seats.”

“See you inside,” Nina said with a smile.

“Yeah,” I said. “See you!”

Who ever said New York wasn't the greatest city on earth?

 

The Park Avenue Synagogue looked like a church in some Christmas special, except instead of stained-glass windows and pictures of Jesus there were stained-glass windows and gigantic Stars of David. It inspired awe, feeling like you were in the presence of the Lord and serious money. I was suddenly relieved that none of these people would be at my dinky little Methodist church basement ceremony a week later. Honestly, how would I explain my sorry new life if they came? How would people react?

Now that the doors were open, the place was filling fast, and I caught a glimpse of Nina taking a seat with a group of girl friends on the other side of the
synagogue. I waved at her, but she didn't see it. Seconds later, Bill squeezed in next to me.

“Dude!” Bill said. “How's it hangin'?”

Despite everything I was feeling about Nina, meeting up with him and Steve was like putting on an old pair of sneakers; they just fit somehow. We began some light banter—the typical “how's school?” “how've you been?” sort of stuff. But all I wanted to do was cut to the chase: Was Bill going out with Nina? Before I could work up the nerve to ask, a cantor in a black robe led the congregation in a prayer. Then a second cantor sang a song, followed by a third who chanted a blessing. Then the rabbi himself got up. He was no geezer like Rabbi Weiner, but a young guy who looked like he should've been wearing a football helmet instead of a yarmulke.

“Today,” he began, “we gather to celebrate the bar mitzvah of Aaron Guevara Siegel.”

Things moved along pretty quickly after that. A few prayers later and Aaron got up to do his thing. You should've heard him: He whipped off his Torah reading like he was reciting box scores out of the sports section—the words just flowed. And his speech? It was a thing of beauty: It started with an allegory about some ancient scribe who had founded the world's first orphanage, and then it moved on to a section where he thanked his family for supporting
him and loving him; it was actually very moving. Then he thanked his stepmom for being such a good friend! I debated running up to the bimah and just stealing his speech for my own ceremony next week.

In any case, as soon as the ceremony was over, Steve, Bill, and a bunch of other guys decided to walk over to the reception instead of waiting for the girls. Ten blocks later, we barged into the main lobby of the Pierre Hotel, ten obnoxious boys in suits running screaming down the elegant hallways.

I knew that Aaron's parents were rich, but this was insane. It was like their money had money. First off, the lobby had so much famous art dripping off the walls, it looked like a wing of the Met. Then we were directed down a mirrored hall, past a plush bar, and into this absolutely enormous ballroom. Waiters glided here and there with trays of appetizers and glasses of punch and champagne. A chocolate fountain pumped away into what looked like a chocolate lagoon filled with pineapple chunks and strawberries. Two huge black guys were onstage, singing and rapping, and a DJ was pounding music through the room. Tables with place cards were arranged in perfect symmetry around a glistening dance floor. On the ceiling there were four of the largest chandeliers I had ever seen. A far cry from Pam's plastic chickens.

“Let the festivities commence,” Bill said. He signaled
for a waiter. “Who wants champagne?”

Steve shrugged. “I'm in.”

I got nervous. “Will they let us?”

Bill shot me a glance. “This is a bar mitzvah, dude. Nobody's going to card you.”

Despite everything you might hear to the contrary, most New York kids aren't drug-using sex addicts. That's only the private-school kids. When I clinked glasses with Steve and Bill and took a big swallow of champagne, I'm not embarrassed to say that it was my first drink ever. And even though we had had the typical talks in health class about the evils of alcohol, I downed the entire glass in just under a minute. Felt good, too.

“Not bad!” Bill said, putting his empty glass down and emitting an enormous belch.

“Yes sirree!” Steve said. “This hits the spot.”

I grabbed a mushroom tart off a passing tray, but when I turned back, Bill was heading across the floor.

“Where you going?” Steve called.

Bill wheeled around then kept walking backward. “To find me a woman!”

I got a sick feeling in my stomach. What woman? My woman? Where was Nina, anyway? But before I had a chance to make my own move, Rudy and a gang of guys came over, and I was suddenly in the middle of a conversation about their new school.

“Wild about what happened to Mr. Henry, right?” one kid said.

“Right,” Rudy said. “The dude didn't even ask permission.”

“Permission for what?” I asked.

Nobody seemed to hear me.

“I know,” Steve said, laughing. “And did you hear what happened in math class? You know, last Friday.”

With that, the other kids broke up.

“What?” I asked.

Maybe my friends just didn't want to take the time to catch me up? Whatever the reason, I never found out what Mr. Henry did or what happened in math or about twenty other things that came up in that conversation. At first I tried to keep up, but it wasn't long before I just shut my mouth. With each word I felt farther and farther away. Had it only been a month and a half since I'd moved to Indiana? Sure, the guys had all switched schools because it was the beginning of junior high, but was it really possible for me to be so out of touch so quickly?

I slipped away when they started ragging on their new gym teacher. I had been scanning the room and finally hit pay dirt.

Nina Handleman—on the dance floor!

With a group of girl friends!

With Bill nowhere in sight!

It was all I could do not to pump my fists and shout. So what if I couldn't relate to the guys? Nina would be different. Taking her in my arms, I would tell her about the trouble with my parents, the anguish of moving, the strange people at my new school, even Archie! Yes, ours would be a love for the ages. By the time I actually reached the dance floor, it all seemed possible. Until I felt this sort of clammy hand on my shoulder.

“Hi, Evan. Remember me?”

There I was, staring down at the unfortunate face of Rachel Hadassah Zisser. Buckteeth. Black-rimmed glasses. Chin zits. Back in third grade we called her “the creature.” She made up for her vastly unattractive face and figure by being unimaginably loud and irritating.

“Rachel!” I said.

That's when I noticed her embarrassingly low-cut green dress, exposing actual cleavage. Some boobs, I discovered on that day, are better left to the imagination.

“So how are you?” Rachel said. “Tell me everything!”

I glanced at Nina. She and her friends were dancing in a circle now, taking turns shimmying into the center for solos.

“Look,” I said, “I've really got to run.”

“I bet you didn't know that my dad is from Lafayette,” Rachel went on. “That's in Indiana too. My grandfather taught at Purdue. I love the Midwest. Everything is so clean.”

As the band segued to “Hey Ya,” Nina's group suddenly decided they had had enough and started wandering off the floor.

“Hey, listen, Rachel,” I said. “Let's talk later, okay?”

But Rachel pivoted to block my getaway.

“Wait,” she said. “I promised myself that I would do something at this party and I'm going to just do it. Just put aside my fears and go for it!”

“Oh?” I stammered.

Nina was disappearing into the crowd! I feinted to my left. Again Rachel stood her ground.

“Just give me a second, okay?” Rachel said. “Would it surprise you to hear that ever since second grade, I've had a massive crush on you? We used to play freeze tag at recess, and I just thought, That's him, that's the man of my dreams. Oh my god, I said it! I told you! Please don't hate me! I just had to tell you!”

I'm supposed to be flattered when a girl tells me she has a crush on me, right? Well, that wasn't happening.

“Listen, Rachel,” I said, looking frantically over her head—disaster! Nina was nowhere to be seen!
“That's such a great thing to hear…”

Her eyes got wide.

“But I just…”

Her eyes narrowed. I could see her preparing herself for rejection.

I caught a glimpse of Nina's hair by the entrance to the ballroom.

I gulped. “You know, I'm in Indiana and everything. I just don't see how…”

A single tear descended Rachel's cheek. “Right. I know.”

Nina was out the door.

I wanted to be kind to Rachel, but there just wasn't time. “We'll talk later, okay?” I said, and just like that I was gone, weaving and cutting through the crowd like a commuter running for a train.

“Wait!” Rachel called.

I almost knocked over a waiter with a plate of mini quiches.

“Watch it, buddy!”

Zoom, a second later I narrowly missed tackling Aaron's grandmother. But then I was at the door. I looked both ways.