-no Estas Invitada A Mi Bat Mitzvah- -

“I’m being principled.”

Elena and Sophie had been inseparable since kindergarten, when they’d both cried over a broken crayon and decided to share the remaining pieces. They’d made friendship bracelets, matching Halloween costumes (salt and pepper shakers in third grade), and a pinky-swear promise to be each other’s “person” at their bat mitzvahs.

Their eyes met. Elena gave a small, trembling wave. -No estas invitada a mi bat Mitzvah-

They stood there for a moment. The DJ started playing “Waka Waka” by Shakira, and a pack of seventh graders ran past, laughing.

“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

They didn’t hug. Not yet. But Elena followed her to the dessert table, and they shared a piece of chocolate cake, standing side by side, while the DJ played on.

Then: Sophie, that was a stupid joke. Maya was being weird. I was trying to fit in. I’m so sorry. Elena gave a small, trembling wave

Elena wiped her eyes with the napkin. “There’s a ‘but’?”