The Enchanted Circle

Tzippy and Ezra are twins, but you would have never guessed that. Tzippy just wants to be with friends and sit in a corner and read a book and be cozy. But Ezra has other plans like go on adventures!

Apr 22, 2025

Tzippy Goldberg sat quietly at her desk, her hands folded neatly in her lap as she stared out the classroom window. The sky outside was a pale blue, with just a few wisps of clouds drifting lazily across it. The bell hadn’t rung yet, and the classroom was filled with the soft rustling of papers, the hum of whispered conversations, and the occasional shuffle of feet.

She glanced at the clock again. Only a few more minutes.

Her thoughts drifted to the moment when the final bell would ring and she could finally leave. As much as she liked school, she was always looking forward to the quiet comfort of home—or better yet, the cozy corner of the living room with her book and blanket. But today was different.

Today, she was looking forward to something else: spending time with Leah.

Leah was her best friend, the one person who always seemed to understand exactly what Tzippy needed. The one who didn’t mind when Tzippy wasn’t in the mood for big adventures. Leah was the kind of friend who could sit in silence with her for hours, reading side by side, or share a quiet conversation over lunch.

Tzippy looked down at her own curly hair, her red and blonde curls bouncing slightly as she shifted in her seat. She loved them — even though they often made her the center of attention. She tucked a few curls behind her ear and looked over at Leah, sitting two rows ahead, her long brown hair pulled back into a neat ponytail, her bright eyes scanning the room.

Leah smiled at her, catching Tzippy’s gaze, and gave a small, reassuring wave. Tzippy smiled back, feeling the weight of the day lift just a little.

The bell finally rang, and Tzippy stood up quickly, her backpack already slung over her shoulder. She knew exactly where Leah would be waiting—by the door, just like every day.

As she made her way toward her, she couldn’t help but think about Ezra. He would probably be at home, plotting his next big “adventure” with his wild ideas. Maybe today he’d come up with something about climbing that mountain they always saw on the way to school. He was always full of plans, always ready to drag Tzippy into his schemes.

She sighed, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Ezra’s adventures always seemed so... big, so chaotic. But somehow, he was always so convincing, and Tzippy often found herself reluctantly going along with him. She couldn’t imagine life without his unpredictable ideas, even if they did sometimes drive her crazy.

But for now, she was happy to be with Leah. They didn’t need big adventures to have a good time. Just the quiet moments, the shared smiles, and the comfort of knowing someone else understood.

Leah was waiting for her, holding her own bag and looking up at her with a friendly grin. "Ready to go?" she asked, her voice calm and steady, just like Tzippy’s.

“Yep,” Tzippy replied, relieved to have a few hours of peace ahead of her. “Let’s go home.”

As they started walking home, Tzippy had a good idea. “Hey, why don’t you come to my house and hang out?” she suggested, her tone light but purposeful. This was the perfect way to avoid Ezra’s latest adventure plans.

Leah glanced at her with a smile, clearly pleased. “I’d love to! I always enjoy hanging out at your place. It’s so cozy there.”

Tzippy grinned, relieved. "Exactly! We can just relax, maybe read a little, or talk. Anything that’s better than getting in the middle of my brother’s adventures!”.

Leah laughed softly. "Yeah, that sounds a lot better than some of Ezra's adventures. He’s always thinking up the craziest things."

Tzippy couldn’t help but smile at the mention of her twin. As much as she loved him, Ezra's constant whirlwind of ideas was the last thing she needed after a long day of school. A quiet afternoon with Leah was exactly what she needed.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” Leah asked, adjusting the strap of her bag.

Tzippy thought for a moment, glancing up at the sky. “I was thinking we could sit on the porch, maybe drink some lemonade, and just... relax.”

Leah nodded eagerly. “That sounds perfect. I could really use a break from everything.”

The two of them continued down the street, their footsteps in sync, each feeling the promise of a peaceful afternoon ahead.

Tzippy and Leah walked into the Goldberg kitchen, the sweet smell of freshly baked pastries filling the air. Mrs. Goldberg was just setting down a tray loaded with cookies and croissants, the steam rising from them.

“Hello, Tzippy! Hi, Leah! How was school today?” Mrs. Goldberg asked, her voice warm and inviting as she gestured for the girls to sit.

“It was okay, I guess,” Tzippy replied, sinking into the chair and helping herself to a croissant.

Leah, always more animated, jumped in. “Yeah! Math with Mrs. Sternfeld is so hard! I don’t know how Rina manages!” She rolled her eyes. “She’s a genius, and she’s too good for friends.”

Tzippy raised an eyebrow.

“Who’s Rina? I’ve never heard of her before. Is she your friend, Tzippy?” Mrs. Goldberg asked, taking a sip of her tea as she sat down.

Tzippy snorted. “No, no one is!” She shook her head. “But don’t worry, we’re not meant to be her friends. She’s mean to us.”

Leah laughed, nodding. “Yep. She’s a genius in our class, and she thinks she’s too good for all of us girls.”

Mrs. Goldberg tilted her head thoughtfully. “Hmm...”

Mrs. Goldberg placed her cup of tea down gently, her expression thoughtful. “Well, if Rina is really that smart, maybe she’s just struggling to fit in with everyone else. Sometimes, when people are really good at something, it’s hard to find others who understand what they’re going through.”

Tzippy shook her head, not entirely convinced. “I don’t know, Ima. She’s just… cold. Like she’s got her own world, and she doesn’t want anyone in it.”

Leah nodded in agreement. “Exactly! She acts like we’re all beneath her. Even if she is smart, it doesn’t give her the right to be rude.”

Mrs. Goldberg sighed softly, a gentle smile crossing her face. “True, but remember, kindness goes a long way, even when people aren’t always kind in return. You never know, maybe one day she’ll surprise you.”

Tzippy didn’t look too convinced, but she smiled at her mother. “I guess we’ll see. But for now, I’m happy just hanging out with you, Leah.”

Leah grinned, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Same here! No geniuses or mean girls here. Just us!”

Mrs. Goldberg chuckled. “That’s the spirit, girls. Now, eat up before the cookies disappear!”

The two girls laughed and dug into the pastries, their worries about school and Rina momentarily forgotten. For now, all that mattered was the warmth of the kitchen, the comfort of good food, and the quiet peace of spending time with a friend.

After enjoying the pastries and chatting for a little while, Tzippy and Leah decided to take a walk to the park. The sun was beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over everything.

As they walked along the familiar streets, Tzippy couldn’t help but feel the peace of the afternoon settle around her. The sound of birds chirping and the soft rustling of the leaves in the breeze was a comforting soundtrack to their quiet conversation.

“Do you think Rina will ever change?” Leah asked, her voice thoughtful.

Tzippy shrugged. “Maybe. I just don’t know if she’s the kind of person who would.”

Leah nodded. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. But hey, at least we don’t have to deal with her today!”

“True,” Tzippy said with a smile.

As they approached the park entrance, Tzippy spotted a familiar figure walking across the grass. It was Ezra. His head was bobbing up and down as he walked, his fiery red and blonde curls bouncing with each step. He looked deep in thought, his eyes scanning the area like he was planning something big.

Leah nudged Tzippy. “Uh-oh. Here comes your brother. I bet he’s got some wild idea in mind.”

Tzippy groaned quietly but couldn’t help but smile. “I have a feeling I know exactly what it is.”

As they got closer, Ezra spotted them and immediately broke into a wide grin. “Tzippy! Leah! You’re not gonna believe this!” he exclaimed, practically bouncing on his feet.

Tzippy crossed her arms, bracing herself for whatever he was about to say. “What is it now, Ezra?”

Ezra leaned in conspiratorially, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Okay, so get this: I’ve been thinking about that mountain we see on the way to school. You know, the one that looks like it goes on forever? I’m this close to figuring out how we can climb it. We’re going to discover something amazing up there. I just know it!”

Tzippy sighed dramatically. “Ezra, no one even knows what’s up there. What if it’s not even safe? What if it’s dangerous?”

Ezra waved off her concerns, not even slightly deterred. “Pfft. It’s fine. We’ll bring supplies, be careful. But trust me, Tzippy—there’s something up there. I can feel it!”

Leah raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “A secret cave? Hidden treasure?”

Ezra grinned widely. “Exactly! Or maybe even a lost city. Who knows?”

Tzippy’s eyebrows furrowed. She glanced at Leah, who was looking at Ezra with a mix of amusement and curiosity. “Ezra, you’ve been reading too many adventure books,” she said, trying to sound calm.

But Ezra was already on a roll. “No, seriously! It’s going to be epic. I’m telling you, we have to do this. What do you say, Tzippy? Leah? Are you in?”

Tzippy hesitated, glancing at Leah. The thought of a wild adventure didn’t exactly appeal to her, but seeing the look on Ezra’s face—his excitement and determination—made it hard to say no.

Leah chuckled, clearly enjoying the spectacle. “I don’t know, Tzippy. It sounds pretty interesting…”

Tzippy hesitated, putting a finger to her chin thoughtfully. “I don’t know… What if it’s private property? We can’t just go up there without knowing!”

Ezra looked from Tzippy to Leah, his excitement dimming just a little. She was right. He scratched his head and then brightened, as if a lightbulb had gone off in his head. “I know! We ask Ima and Abba!”

Tzippy raised an eyebrow. “You really think they’ll let us go? You know how cautious they are about stuff like this.”

Ezra grinned, undeterred. “I’ll convince them. I always do!”

Leah laughed. “You have a way of getting people to say yes to the craziest things, Ezra.”

Tzippy rolled her eyes but couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, just as long as I’m not the one who has to clean up the mess when things go wrong.”

Ezra winked at her. “Deal. But you’ll see. This will be the best adventure we’ve ever had!”

The next morning, Tzippy and Ezra stepped out of the house and began their walk to school. As they reached the corner where they always split to go their separate ways, they stood waiting for their friends.

“Hi, Tzippy! Hi, Ezra! So when’s the next big adventure?” Leah called out, running towards them with her usual energy.

“After school today!” Ezra answered proudly, before Tzippy could even get a word in. Tzippy rolled her eyes but couldn’t hold back a smile. “I guess it’s going to be fun…”

Leah grinned. “Yeah! I wonder what’s up there…”

Tzippy raised an eyebrow. “Oh no! Don’t tell me there are two Ezras now!”

Leah laughed. “Nope, just one! But Ezra actually opened something in my heart last night. I really want to know what’s up there now!”

Ezra’s face lit up with excitement. “Maybe it’s going to be even more epic than I thought!”

“Anyways,” Ezra continued, scanning the area, “where’s your brother?”

Leah’s expression shifted slightly. “Oh! I forgot to tell you. Yehuda is sick today. Sorry, Ezra. Do you have other friends?”

Ezra’s frown deepened for a moment, but then he shrugged it off. “That’s fine! Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty of friends.” His face lit up again, excitement still buzzing under the surface.

Leah’s face brightened. “Okay, well, we don’t want to be late! See you after school!”

“Bye, Tzippy! Bye, Leah! See you later!” Ezra waved as he turned and ran toward his school.

Tzippy and Leah walked off together, their footsteps in sync as they headed to their own school. The day ahead felt full of potential, and though Tzippy wasn’t sure about the adventure, she couldn’t deny that she was curious to see what Ezra had planned.

The school bell rang, signaling the start of the school day. Tzippy and Leah sat down in their usual spots as Mrs. Cohen, their teacher, walked into the classroom. She had a warm smile on her face, and the students immediately quieted down.

“Good morning, class,” Mrs. Cohen greeted, her voice calm and friendly. “I hope you all had a good evening and are ready to learn today.”

Tzippy turned to Leah and whispered, “Do you think Mrs. Cohen knows what Ezra is up to today?”

Leah giggled softly. “I think she’d be surprised if she did.”

Mrs. Cohen cleared her throat and began to speak again. “Today, we’re going to start with a bit of math review, but I also want to take a moment to talk about something important.”

The class grew quieter, sensing that Mrs. Cohen had something significant to say. Tzippy sat up straighter, curious.

“We’ve all been learning about working together as a team,” Mrs. Cohen continued, pacing slowly in front of the chalkboard. “And sometimes, we find that teamwork isn’t just about sharing ideas—it’s about helping

each other through challenges, even when we don’t always agree.”

Tzippy looked at Leah, a little confused. What did this have to do with math?

Leah raised an eyebrow and whispered, “Maybe she knows about the adventure too.”

Tzippy shook her head, half-laughing. “I don’t think so.”

Mrs. Cohen’s eyes twinkled as she turned to the class. “I want you all to think about what makes a great team, whether it’s for schoolwork, sports, or even just helping a friend out. So for today’s activity, I want you to work in pairs. Think about something you’ve wanted to do together and how you could work as a team to achieve it.”

Tzippy’s eyes widened as she realized what Mrs. Cohen was suggesting. “She’s talking about teamwork…” Tzippy whispered to Leah. “It’s like she knows what we’re all up to!”

Leah smirked. “Maybe she does. I’m definitely getting some ‘adventure’ vibes from this lesson.”

Mrs. Cohen smiled warmly at them, noticing the whispered conversation. “Tzippy, Leah, do you have a suggestion for how a team should work together?” she asked, her voice light but pointed.

Tzippy hesitated for a second, feeling a bit caught off guard. “Well… I think teamwork means everyone has to be willing to listen to each other and support each other’s ideas, even if they’re a little… unexpected.”

Leah nodded, adding, “And sometimes, you have to go along with the crazy ideas, even if they don’t make sense at first.”

Mrs. Cohen’s smile widened. “Exactly. Working together means trusting that everyone has something valuable to contribute.” She glanced around the class, making eye contact with several students. “I’m sure you all have your own great teamwork stories to share. Let’s see what you can come up with today.”

Tzippy sat back in her chair, thinking about the adventure that Ezra was planning. As much as she wasn’t sure about it, Mrs. Cohen’s words had planted a little seed of curiosity. Maybe teamwork could make the whole thing a little more bearable—and maybe even fun.

Lunchtime finally arrived, and Tzippy, Leah, and the other students filed into the cafeteria. The chatter of excited voices filled the air as everyone grabbed their trays and found spots to sit.

Tzippy, Leah, and a few other friends took their usual seats at one of the long tables by the window. The sun shone through the glass, casting a warm glow over everything. Tzippy unwrapped her sandwich and smiled at Leah, enjoying the calm moment.

“So, what do you think of Mrs. Cohen’s lesson today?” Leah asked, taking a bite of her apple.

Tzippy shrugged, her lips curling up into a half-smile. “It was alright, I guess. I mean, it’s not like anyone would be in a team with Rina.”

Leah chuckled. “True. She acts like she’s too good for everyone.”

As if on cue, Rina walked into the cafeteria, head held high, her long brown hair flowing behind her like a model on a runway. She had a stack of papers in her hand, clearly the result of some project or homework. She scanned the room, her sharp eyes immediately locking onto Tzippy and Leah's table.

“Look who it is,” Leah whispered, rolling her eyes.

Rina approached their table, the sound of her perfectly polished shoes clicking against the floor. She stopped in front of them and glanced down at the table with a mix of disdain and curiosity.

"Hey, Tzippy. Leah," she said coolly, almost as if she was doing them a favor by acknowledging their existence.

Tzippy raised an eyebrow. “Oh, hey, Rina. What’s up?”

Rina smiled just a little, like she knew a secret no one else did. “I’m just finishing up some extra work. You know, trying to get ahead of the rest of you.” She placed the papers down on the table with a dramatic flourish.

Leah shot Tzippy a look. “As if we needed to know that,” she muttered.

Tzippy sighed. “I’m sure the rest of us will catch up... eventually.”

Rina ignored them both, carefully arranging her papers as though they were the most important thing in the room. “You should try it, Tzippy. Maybe then you’d be able to keep up with real adventures. You know, the kind that requires more than just daydreaming.”

Tzippy’s face flushed slightly, but she bit her tongue, not wanting to rise to the bait. She glanced at Leah for support.

Leah, always quick with a comeback, smiled sweetly. “Yeah, like the real adventures you have, huh, Rina? Like when you get lost in your own notes?”

Rina’s smile faltered for a second, but she quickly recovered, tossing her hair back with confidence. “I’m just saying… Some of us have goals that don’t involve wasting time. Maybe one day, you’ll understand.”

Tzippy couldn't help but grin. “Maybe. But for now, I’m good with my kind of adventures. No need to get ahead of ourselves.”

Rina didn’t respond, just gave them one last look as if she were measuring their worth before turning and walking away, her perfect posture never wavering.

Leah sighed in relief. “And there she goes, leaving behind all the unnecessary drama.”

Tzippy shook her head, feeling both irritated and somewhat entertained. “I swear, Rina’s always trying to make us feel like we’re doing something wrong just by being ourselves.”

Leah smiled. “Well, we’re doing just fine, Tzippy. And whatever adventure we go on today, it’ll be a lot more fun than anything she’s ever done.”

Tzippy grinned, feeling reassured. “You’re right. Let’s see where this mountain adventure takes us.”

“So?... Where do we start?” Leah asked Ezra, eyeing the mountain with uncertainty after school.

“I don’t know for sure,” Ezra said, glancing at the steep incline ahead. “All I know is that we have to be extra careful!”

“Yeah, he’s right! This mountain is really steep!” Tzippy added, stepping cautiously onto the dirt, her eyes scanning the rocky path ahead. Her stomach fluttered with a mix of excitement and worry.

Leah followed Tzippy, her expression still doubtful. “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I thought ‘adventure,’ you know…”

Before anyone could say more, they heard footsteps approaching, and a familiar voice rang out.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Rina’s voice was sharp as always, as she walked toward them with Nina, her younger sister, trailing behind her.

Tzippy sighed inwardly, not wanting any interruptions, especially not from Rina.

“Rina, what are you doing here?” Ezra asked, narrowing his eyes. “We’re about to start, and we don’t need any distractions.”

“Oh, I’m just making sure you’re all doing it right,” Rina said, smirking. “And Nina here—well, she’s been dying to show you how it’s done.” Rina stepped aside, and Nina hesitated, looking up at the mountain.

Tzippy noticed the nervous look on Nina’s face. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, Rina called out, “Come on, Nina! Show them how it’s done!” She gave Nina a gentle push, unaware of how scared her sister was.

Nina, looking down at the steep incline with wide eyes, hesitated. “I don’t know, Rina... I’m kind of scared...” she murmured, her voice trembling.

But Rina, with a confident grin, insisted, “Nina, you can do it. Don’t be scared. You’ve climbed worse, remember?”

Nina looked at Tzippy and Leah, anxiety in her eyes. “I don’t want to,” she said softly. “It looks too dangerous.”

But Rina wouldn’t take no for an answer. “Don’t be silly! You’ll be fine. Just go ahead and show them,” she urged, her tone dismissive.

Tzippy stepped forward, concern written all over her face. “Nina, it’s okay. You don’t have to do this if you’re not ready,” she said gently.

But before anyone could stop her, Nina’s small hands reached for the nearest boulder, and with a deep breath, she started to climb, her fear apparent in her hesitant movements.

“No, Nina, wait!” Tzippy cried, rushing forward, but it was too late. Nina had already begun scaling the mountain.

Leah shot a worried glance at Tzippy. “This isn’t like the playground, Tzippy. It’s steeper than it looks.”

“I know,” Tzippy replied, her voice tight with concern. She glanced at Ezra, who stood frozen, unsure of whether to intervene or let Nina continue.

Rina, completely unaware of the danger, watched with pride. “See? She’s fine,” she said, crossing her arms.

But the mountain wasn’t forgiving. Nina reached for a rock that seemed stable, but it gave way beneath her fingers. With a yelp of surprise, she lost her footing, and before anyone could react, she was tumbling down the slope.

“Tzippy, Leah—help!” Ezra shouted, panic clear in his voice.

Tzippy’s heart dropped as she watched Nina slide down the rocky incline. Without thinking, she rushed forward, her feet slipping on the loose dirt as she tried to catch up. "Nina!" Tzippy called, her voice trembling with worry.

Leah was right behind her. “Hold on, Nina!” she shouted, but Nina was already sliding faster, unable to control her fall.

Suddenly, there was a sickening thud as Nina’s body hit the ground. She cried out in pain, clutching her arm.

Rina gasped, finally realizing the danger. “Oh my gosh! Nina, are you okay?”

Tzippy reached Nina first, her breath short from the sprint. She knelt beside her, heart racing. “Nina, what happened? Are you hurt?”

Nina’s face was pale, tears welling up in her eyes as she whimpered. “I think I broke my arm... it hurts so much…”

Ezra rushed over to them, his face pale. “We need to get help. This is bad…”

Tzippy’s heart sank. “Nina, we need to stay calm, okay? We’re going to get you back to the house.”

Leah pulled out the phone that her parents gave her for only emergencies. “I’m calling for help. We can’t take her down like this.”

Rina stood frozen, her usual confident demeanor completely gone. “I didn’t know it would be this bad…” she muttered under her breath, a look of guilt crossing her face.

Nina, tears still streaming down her face, looked up at her sister. “I didn’t want to climb. I was scared, but you kept saying I had to. You made me do it,” she said through sobs.

Rina’s face tightened, and she straightened up, suddenly defensive. “This is all your fault, Tzippy!” she snapped. “You and Leah and Ezra—you all encouraged her to climb this stupid mountain! If you didn’t let her go up, none of this would have happened!”

Tzippy was taken aback by Rina’s words. “What? Rina, we didn’t force her! We told her not to go if she wasn’t ready!”

Leah frowned, her brow furrowed. “That’s not fair, Rina. We tried to stop Nina, but she—”

But Nina, still holding her arm, cut them off, her voice full of hurt. “No! Rina... Rina made me do it!” she cried out. “I didn’t want to climb, but she said I had to, and I didn’t want to let her down!”

Rina's face turned red with frustration, her jaw tightening. “I... I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she muttered, clearly overwhelmed with guilt. She turned to Nina, her tone softer now. “Nina, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push you so hard.”

Nina, still holding her arm and sniffling, shook her head. “You told me I had to prove myself, to these girls. You said I had to be better than anyone else…Just like you.”

Tzippy could see the remorse in Rina’s eyes, but her attempt to shift the blame onto the others stung. “It’s not just your fault, Rina,” she said firmly. “You can’t blame them for your choices.”

Rina fell silent, the weight of her sister’s words sinking in. “I... I don’t know what I was thinking. I just wanted to show off... I didn’t realize how dangerous it was for Nina. I’m sorry.”

Tzippy nodded, relieved that Rina was beginning to understand. “Nina, we’re going to get you help, okay? Just stay with us.”

Leah continued speaking into her phone, her voice filled with urgency. “We need help now, it’s an emergency!”

Ezra, who had been silent through most of the exchange, knelt beside Nina and took her hand gently. “We’ll take care of you, Nina. Just hang in there.”

Tzippy turned to Rina, her tone serious but not unkind. “It’s not about blame right now, Rina. We need to focus on getting Nina help.”

Rina’s face softened. “Yeah… you’re right. I was just scared. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

Nina’s tear-streaked face looked up at Rina, her voice small but resolute. “I’m not mad, Rina... I just wish you would have listened when I said I was scared.”

Rina nodded, guilt washing over her again. She knelt down beside Nina, gently brushing a strand of hair away from her sister’s face. “I know, Nina. I’m so sorry.”

All of a sudden, the sound of sirens echoed in the air, growing louder and louder until an ambulance appeared at the base of the mountain, followed closely by the familiar sight of their parents' car pulling up to the scene.

Tzippy's heart leapt in her chest. She looked up and saw Mrs. Goldberg, her mother, stepping out of the car, her face filled with worry. Mr. Goldberg, her father, was already out and rushing over, his usually calm expression replaced by concern.

The ambulance came to a stop, and the paramedics rushed out, carrying a stretcher. Tzippy’s breath caught as they approached Nina, who was still lying on the ground, her arm cradled against her chest.

“Nina, sweetheart, hold on!” Mrs. Rosenbaum called out, rushing to her daughter’s side. Mr. Rosenbaum quickly came to stand beside Rina, his hand on her shoulder for comfort. His eyes met hers briefly, full of worry but also a sense of determination to help.

The paramedic knelt beside Nina, checking her arm gently. “It looks like it’s broken, but we’ll get you fixed up in no time,” she said soothingly.

Nina, though in pain, managed a small nod. “It hurts a lot,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Rina, standing behind the group, looked on in helpless silence. She had stayed quiet since her apology to Nina, now feeling an overwhelming sense of regret.

The paramedic looked up at Mrs. Rosenbaum. “We’re going to need to get her to the hospital right away. We’ll take good care of her,” she assured.

Mrs. Rosenbaum nodded, her voice tight with emotion. “Thank you. Just make sure she’s alright.”

As the paramedics carefully helped Nina onto the stretcher and began wheeling her toward the ambulance, Rina stepped forward, her voice cracking. “I’m so sorry... I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

Nina, still looking pale but more aware now, turned her head toward Rina. “I didn’t want to climb,” she said quietly, her eyes filled with both pain and understanding. “I was scared, but you made me do it.”

Rina’s face tightened, her eyes welling up with guilt. She looked down, not knowing what to say, and then muttered, “I just thought you could handle it… I didn’t think it’d be so dangerous.”

Tzippy, watching everything unfold, crossed her arms. She didn’t like how Rina had been so insistent that Nina climb, but now wasn’t the time for anger. “Rina, you can’t just push her into things like that,” she said, her voice firm but not unkind. “Nina said she was scared.”

Rina didn’t argue. She just lowered her head. “I’m sorry, Nina. I should’ve listened. I didn’t think about how scared you were.”

Nina gave her a small, sad smile. “I just... I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

Rina wiped her eyes, finally acknowledging her mistake. “I pushed you too hard,” she said softly. “I’ll never do it again, I promise.”

Ezra, who had been standing quietly by Tzippy, finally spoke up. “You can make it up to her by helping her get better,” he said, trying to lighten the mood with a small grin, though his eyes were still worried.

Tzippy nodded in agreement. “Yeah, Nina’s going to need all the support she can get.”

As the ambulance doors closed, and the vehicle slowly pulled away with Nina inside, the group of friends and family stood in silence for a moment, watching the car disappear down the path.

Mr. Rosenbaum gave Tzippy and Ezra a small nod, “We’re going with them to the hospital,” he said, his voice steady but clearly worried. “You two can come with us if you want.”

Tzippy exchanged a glance with Ezra. “Of course,” she said quietly, her mind racing as she thought about what had just happened.

“Let’s go,” Leah said, her voice calm but with a sense of urgency. The group began walking toward the parents’ car, and soon, they were on their way to the hospital.

Tzippy and Ezra sat on the soft carpet in their room in silence. Leah had gone home early, and Rina and her family were at the hospital, visiting Nina. The twins had planned to go on their mountain adventure today, but now it seemed like that was no longer an option.

“At least we didn’t go up there! It could have been one of us!” Ezra said, trying to sound upbeat but his voice was still tinged with worry.

Tzippy shuddered at the thought. She couldn’t help but imagine what it would have been like if one of them had slipped or fallen like Nina had. It was enough to make her stomach tighten. She glanced at Ezra, who was staring thoughtfully at the floor, his red curls falling messily over his eyes.

“Well, Baruch Hashem,” Tzippy said softly, offering a small smile as she closed her book, “at least we’re safe. And I think it taught Rina to listen better.”

Ezra looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “You think so? She didn’t seem all that sorry when she was talking to Nina.”

Tzippy nodded, her expression serious. “I think she really did feel bad, though. I mean, it’s not easy, being the older sibling, and pushing Nina so hard like that... but it wasn’t right. I think she’ll be more careful next time.”

Ezra lay back, resting his head on his arm, looking up at the ceiling. “Yeah, you’re probably right. She always acts so tough. I guess she just doesn’t think things through sometimes.”

Tzippy glanced over at him. “She’s just used to thinking she knows better, but sometimes even the smartest people make mistakes.”

Ezra chuckled, his mood lifting a little. “Well, I don’t think we should be the ones to teach her a lesson. We were just trying to have fun!”

Tzippy smiled at him, feeling a bit of the weight from the day lift. “True. But maybe next time, we’ll think about the risks a little more carefully. Not every adventure is meant to be climbed.”

Ezra chuckled, his mood lifting a little. “Well, I don’t think we should be the ones to teach her a lesson. We were just trying to have fun!”

Ezra grinned, sitting up and giving his sister a teasing glance. “But you know what? I bet one day we’ll get to climb that mountain. When it’s the right time, everyone prepared.”

Tzippy sighed dramatically, but then she smiled. “Only if I get to bring my cozy blanket and snacks for the road!”

Ezra laughed. “Deal. But only if we have a real adventure—one where no one gets hurt this time.”

“Agreed,” Tzippy said with a smile, glad to be able to laugh about it now. They sat in silence for a moment, just feeling the peace that had settled over the room.

They might not have gone on their mountain adventure today, but they had learned a lot—and sometimes, that’s the best kind of adventure of all.

As she passed by groups of girls in the hallway, she could hear snippets of conversation, their words cutting through the usual chatter.

“I heard Rina made Nina climb the mountain even though she was scared.”

“Yeah, she pushed her to do it! That’s so mean.”

“Did you see Nina’s arm? It’s totally broken.”

Rina’s footsteps slowed for a moment, her heart sinking as she tried to ignore the whispers. She had always been the confident one, the girl who held herself with an air of superiority. But today, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the other girls were looking at her differently.

As she walked past a group of girls in the hallway, one of them, Miriam, leaned in and whispered to her friend, loud enough for Rina to hear, “Rina’s always been so bossy. Pushing Nina like that... not cool.”

Rina’s face flushed, and she quickly glanced away, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. She had never been the subject of gossip like this before. Her usual confidence had turned into discomfort, and with each step, she felt smaller and smaller.

Tzippy, who was walking toward her locker, saw Rina’s expression and caught her eye. Tzippy’s gaze softened for a moment, but she didn’t say anything. She’d seen the way Rina had tried to act like nothing had happened yesterday. She could tell Rina wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of gossip like this, and Tzippy knew that Rina was feeling the weight of it.

Leah, who was walking with Tzippy, leaned in and whispered, “It’s hard, isn’t it? When you realize people aren’t looking at you the same way anymore.”

Tzippy nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Yeah, I think Rina’s learning the hard way that people won’t forget if you don’t treat others right.”

As they reached their classroom, Tzippy noticed Rina walking to her seat, still with her head held high, but her shoulders were a little slumped, and her eyes didn’t sparkle with the same confidence they usually had. It was clear she was trying to act like everything was fine, but the gossip was taking its toll on her.

When everyone — except for Tzippy — was engrossed in class, Tzippy let her gaze drift out the window. The late morning sunlight filtered through the leaves of the tree outside, and she watched as a small bird hopped along the branches, pecking at another bird that was perched just a little lower.

For a moment, Tzippy frowned. The pecking bird seemed so determined, so focused on showing its dominance over the other. It looked almost like the way Rina acted sometimes — always putting herself ahead, always thinking about what made the Rosenbaum family great, never really considering the feelings of those around her.

Tzippy’s mind wandered as she thought about the previous day. Rina had been so caught up in her own pride and ambition that she hadn’t realized how reckless she had been with Nina. She had always been the one to lead the charge, the one who wanted to prove she was the best — but now, everyone knew how wrong she had been. It wasn’t just that Rina had forced Nina to climb. It was how she never thought about the consequences of her actions, how everything was always about her image, her reputation, and the “greatness” of her family. Tzippy couldn’t help but notice the shift in how Rina carried herself around school these days. Before, she’d walked with a kind of arrogance, like the world was at her feet. But now, that same arrogance felt... fragile, like a facade waiting to crumble.

Tzippy’s thoughts were interrupted when she heard a loud tap on her desk. She turned quickly to see Mrs. Horowitz standing over her, her arms crossed with a raised eyebrow.

“Tzippy, are we daydreaming again?” Mrs. Horowitz asked, her voice light but firm.

Tzippy flushed, quickly sitting up straighter. “Oh, no! Sorry, Mrs. Horowitz . I was just, uh, thinking.”

Mrs. Horowitz gave her a small smile. “Well, make sure your thinking is done after class. Let’s focus on the lesson, shall we?”

Tzippy nodded sheepishly, her gaze lingering for a moment longer on the window. The bird was gone now, and for a brief second, she wondered what it would be like to not worry about the weight of expectations like Rina did — to just be free, without the need to prove anything to anyone.

But then, Tzippy shook her head. She didn’t need to think like that. She didn’t need to prove anything either. She had her own strengths, her own quiet way of being. Maybe it was time for Rina to learn that lesson too.

Rina sat at her desk, her pen poised over a fresh sheet of lined paper. The sun was setting behind her, casting soft gold across her bedroom wall. Nina was asleep already — her cast propped up on a pillow — and the house was unusually quiet. Too quiet.

She stared at the blank paper for a long time before finally writing the words:

She paused, biting the edge of her pen. The words sounded stiff. Maybe even fake. But she meant them. She really did.

Her handwriting slowed as her eyes began to blur. She blinked back tears and kept writing.

She stared at the letter when it was done — pages folded neatly, her name signed with a shaky hand.

She could picture the moment: walking up to Tzippy, handing it over. The look of surprise. Maybe even forgiveness.

But then the fear crept in.

What if they laughed? What if they thought it was too little, too late? What if they passed it around the class like a joke?

Rina folded the letter again, slower this time, and slipped it into her planner. Just for now, she told herself. She will give it to them tomorrow. Maybe.

She closed her drawer quietly and lay back on her bed, staring at the ceiling.

The letter was written.

Folded.

Tucked away.

But the next morning, it stayed in her planner.

And then the next day too.

And the day after that.

But the letter never went to Tzippy and Leah.

And they never knew.

It was just after lunch when Dassy bent down to tie her shoelace near the third-grade cubbies — and spotted something fluttering on the floor.

It looked like a piece of notebook paper, folded once, but a corner was torn. She almost left it alone… but then she saw what was written across the top:

"Dear Tzippy and Leah,"

Dassy’s eyes widened. That was her sister’s name. And Leah! Everyone knew they were best friends.

She picked it up gently, turning it over. The rest of the note had been torn clean through, so the words after the greeting were missing. She squinted, hoping she could read more — but that was all there was.

“Dassy, come on! We’re playing ‘Four Corners’ in the hallway!” one of her friends called.

“Coming!” she shouted back — then slipped the paper into her pocket.

Later that night, while Tzippy was brushing her hair in their shared room, Dassy climbed onto Tzippy’s bed, swinging her legs like she always did when she had something big to say — or show.

“Hey, Tzippy?” she said, in that singsong voice that meant: I found something and I’m not sure if I should’ve.

Tzippy raised an eyebrow, brushing a curl behind her ear. “What’s up?”

Dassy held out the folded, half-torn paper like it was made of glass. “I found this by the cubbies. I wasn’t looking for anything, I promise. But it has your name on it. And Leah’s.”

Tzippy took the paper slowly, frowning. The words were written in neat, slanted handwriting:

That was it. Nothing else.

No signature. No date. Just the beginning of something that never got finished.

Tzippy stared at it, the room suddenly quiet except for the ticking of the little clock on her desk. “Where exactly did you find this?” she asked.

“Right by the wall. Next to the lost-and-found box,” Dassy said. “Do you think it’s a note someone dropped? Maybe a secret?”

Tzippy’s stomach fluttered. Dear Tzippy and Leah. There was only one person who would ever address a note to the two of them together… and have it sound this serious.

Rina.

She didn’t say the name out loud, but she tucked the paper under her notebook and gave Dassy a quick hug. “Thanks for giving it to me.”

Dassy grinned. “It felt important.”

“It might be,” Tzippy murmured.

As Dassy climbed down and ran off to get her pajamas, Tzippy sat still, staring at the edge of the torn letter, wondering what it had once said — and why it had never reached them.

“So…Who found this?” Leah asked picking up the norte and reading the same line over and over again:

Dear Tzippy and Leah

“Dassy…” Tzippy said, biting into a chip from the bag.

“Where?” Leah asked, settling on the brown bench near the swing set at the school playground.

“She said she was tying her shoelace near the third grader’s cubbies when she found it!” Tzippy said, taking the paper that was ripped. Leah nodded her head thoughtfully.

“I think I know who might have written this!” Tzippy said. Leah jumped up the same time Tzippy jumped up.

“Rina!” they both said at the same time.

Leah stared at the torn paper, her eyes wide. “It has to be her. Who else would write to both of us like this?”
Tzippy folded the note carefully, slipping it into her pocket like it was made of gold. “She probably wrote it after… you know. Everything.”

Leah sat back down slowly. “But if she never gave it to us… does that mean she changed her mind? Or lost it?”

Tzippy shrugged, chewing on her lip. “I don’t know. But maybe… she was scared.”

Leah was quiet for a second, kicking a small pebble near her foot. “I would be too.”

Just then, the school bell rang in the distance — a sharp little reminder that lunch was over, and class was waiting.

Tzippy stood up, dusting crumbs off her skirt. “Come on. Let’s not say anything to her yet.”

Leah nodded. “Right. We wait.”

But even as they walked back toward the building, the little torn letter stayed between them — not a secret exactly, but a quiet thread connecting them to something that hadn’t fully ended.

Not yet.

The classroom was quiet during independent reading — just the soft flipping of pages and the ticking of the big round clock on the wall. Rina sat at her desk near the window, pretending to read her science book. But her thoughts were far from planets and weather cycles.

She reached into the side pocket of her planner, like she had so many times before, fingers brushing against the folded paper she hadn’t touched in weeks. The letter. The one she wrote. The one she never gave.

Maybe she’d read it one more time. Maybe she’d finally find the courage to hand it over.

She slipped it out quietly, careful not to draw attention. The folds were still crisp, the corners slightly worn. Her heart thudded a little as she opened it.

Then she froze.

The top was missing.

The part that said “Dear Tzippy and Leah.”

Gone.

Her stomach dropped. She flipped through her planner, searching for the torn piece like it might be hiding somewhere, caught between pages or stuck to a sticker.

Nothing.

Rina’s breath caught in her throat. Her hand clenched around the letter. She hadn’t touched it in days. Had someone found it? Read it? Given it to them?

No. It wasn’t signed. And without the top, they wouldn’t even know who wrote it… right?

But deep down, she had a sinking feeling.

Tzippy’s not dumb, Rina thought, panic tightening in her chest. And Leah’s practically a detective. They’d figure it out. They already have.

She quickly refolded the letter and stuffed it back into her bag, her cheeks burning. Her eyes flicked toward the back of the room where Tzippy and Leah were sitting together, whispering about something.

And for the first time in a long while, Rina didn’t feel like she was one step ahead.

She felt exposed.

Tzippy and Leah sat on the school steps, their knapsacks tossed beside them, the afternoon sun warming their backs. Recess had ended a few minutes ago, but Mrs. Cohen had let everyone stay out a little longer because the weather was “too nice to waste.”

Leah was quiet, peeling the label off her water bottle. Tzippy was quiet too — but her mind wasn’t. It was swirling with the same thought that had been hovering for days.

“Leah?” she said softly.

“Hmm?”

Tzippy pulled her knees up and rested her chin on them. “What if… what if we did something for the class? Not just for fun. But… for peace. For real friendship. Something nice.”

Leah looked over, her eyes curious. “Like what?”

Tzippy hesitated. “Like a Shabbaton.”

Leah’s eyes lit up instantly. “That’s actually a great idea!”

“Really?” Tzippy asked, sitting up straighter.

“Yes!” Leah said, bouncing a little on the step. “We could make it simple. Just the girls. Shabbos afternoon. Singing, divrei Torah, dessert. It doesn't have to be big.”

“We could host it at my house,” Tzippy added, her cheeks turning pink. “If my mother agrees. She usually does.”

Leah smiled. “And if Rina comes… maybe that’s the opening we’ve been waiting for.”

Tzippy nodded slowly. “Even if she doesn’t talk… being there would be something.”

That night after supper, Tzippy helped clear the table, her mind still buzzing. She waited until her father went to learn and the house was calm, then approached her mother, who was folding napkins at the kitchen counter.

“Ima?” Tzippy asked. “Can I ask you something?”

Mrs. Goldberg looked up with a smile. “Of course, sweetheart.”

Tzippy took a breath. “Me and Leah… we want to host a Shabbaton. Just for the girls in our class. It would be simple, just Shabbos afternoon. Some treats, maybe a d’var Torah or two. And we’d clean everything up after.”

Mrs. Goldberg paused, her eyes searching her daughter’s face. “You want to invite all the girls?”

“All of them,” Tzippy confirmed. “Even the ones we don’t always get along with. Especially them.”

Her mother’s face softened into a full smile. “I think that’s beautiful. Yes, Tzippy. You can do it. I’ll help however I can.”

Tzippy beamed. “Thank you, Ima!”

The next day, Tzippy and Leah got to work during lunch. They passed out small folded invitations — handwritten in Tzippy’s neatest penmanship, decorated with tiny hearts and stars from Leah’s marker set.

When they handed one to Rina, she looked surprised… and a little unsure.

But she took it.

And tucked it carefully into her bag.

The table was long and beautiful.

Mrs. Goldberg had laid out her nicest lace tablecloth, and the silver tray in the center held homemade cookies, rugelach, and bowls of colorful fruit. A pitcher of lemonade gleamed beside it. The house was filled with the gentle hum of Shabbos — warm light, laughter, and the comforting smell of potato kugel still drifting from the kitchen.

Girls trickled in one by one, wearing Shabbos dresses and wide smiles, complimenting the table, thanking Mrs. Goldberg, and finding their seats.

Leah was busy pouring cups. Tzippy was helping adjust chairs. Everyone had a place.

Well… almost everyone.

Near the middle of the table, just left of the big fruit platter, sat one empty seat.

Next to Rina.

She was already sitting — straight-backed, hands folded, her face unreadable. She hadn’t said much since arriving. She nodded hello to Mrs. Goldberg and answered a quiet “Good Shabbos” to Leah. But mostly, she just… sat.

Tzippy noticed it. So did Leah.

And so did Freida, who caught Tzippy’s sleeve as she passed. “Tzippy, sit here with me,” Freida offered sweetly, patting the open chair beside her.

Tzippy hesitated.

She looked at Freida — her friend, always kind. Then she looked toward the center of the table.

That one chair. Still empty. Still waiting.

Rina glanced at it once, just for a second, then looked away like she hadn’t.

Tzippy’s heart pounded. Her feet didn’t move right away. But then she took a breath, smiled gently at Freida, and whispered:

“Save it for me next time, okay?”

Freida blinked in surprise but nodded.

And then Tzippy walked to the center of the table…

And sat down beside Rina.

Silence. Just for a beat.

Then Rina looked over. Her lips parted like she wanted to say something — maybe thanks, or you didn’t have to — but nothing came out.

Tzippy offered her a small, warm smile.

“Here,” she said quietly, sliding the bowl of fruit a little closer. “The grapes are good.”

Rina nodded. Her throat moved like she was swallowing something heavy.

Leah noticed, too. And across the table, she met Tzippy’s eyes and smiled.

There was still a lot unsaid.

But sometimes, friendship begins again with just sitting down.

The laughter had quieted.

Bellies were full, cups were half-drunk, and the mood had settled into that warm Shabbos hush — the kind that made everyone lean back in their chairs and listen a little deeper.

Leah had just finished sharing a short d’var Torah about ahavas Yisrael — loving every Jew, even when it’s hard. The room was still. A few girls murmured “beautiful,” and someone passed around a cookie platter.

Then Mrs. Goldberg smiled from the kitchen archway. “Would anyone else like to share something?” she asked, her voice light but hopeful.

Silence.

Then…

A soft voice from the center of the table.

“I… I have something.”

Heads turned.

It was Rina.

Tzippy froze for a second. Even Leah looked stunned — but not in a bad way. Just surprised. Hopeful.

Rina cleared her throat. “It’s not very long,” she said quickly, almost apologetically. “And I didn’t plan it. But I… I heard something once from my grandfather that stuck with me.”

The girls leaned in. Even Freida stopped chewing.

“He said,” Rina began, her voice a little steadier now, “that people are like puzzles. We all have missing pieces — and sometimes, the only way to feel whole… is to be near someone who holds the piece we’re missing.”

She looked up briefly.

At Leah.

At Tzippy.

Then back at the table.

“And I think,” she said, quieter now, “maybe that’s what friendship really is. Not being the same. But holding the piece someone else needs.”

No one spoke for a moment.

Not because they didn’t know what to say — but because it was enough.

Tzippy swallowed the lump in her throat. Leah blinked quickly and smiled.

Someone across the table whispered, “Wow.”

And Rina?

She looked down at her plate, her cheeks pink, but her shoulders — just slightly — lighter than before.

Monday morning smelled like sharpened pencils, fresh paper, and the faint hint of leftover rugelach from someone’s lunchbox.

The hallway buzzed as girls trickled into school, their voices lively with weekend stories. But something felt different — calmer, maybe. Like Shabbos hadn’t fully left.

Tzippy stood by her locker, slipping her math folder into her backpack. Leah was beside her, humming quietly and fixing her headband.

“Psst. Tzippy.”

Tzippy turned to see Bracha from the other class smiling. “Your Shabbaton? It was beautiful. My older sister couldn’t stop talking about it. She said it made her want to start hosting her own.”

“Aw, thank you,” Tzippy said, a little bashfully.

More girls started passing by — some with quick waves, some with big smiles.

“That divrei Torah about ahavas Yisrael? I told it at my table,” said Chani.

“And your table setup was so nice,” said Mushka. “It felt like a real grown-up Shabbos.”

Leah giggled. “We had fun doing it. We just wanted everyone to feel... together.”

“You did,” someone else said. “It worked.”

Tzippy blinked. She hadn’t expected so many people to notice — or to care. But they had.

Just then, Rina walked past, her books hugged to her chest. She hesitated when she reached them, just for a second.

“Hi,” she said. Not cold. Not distant. Just... simple.

“Hi,” Tzippy and Leah replied at the same time.

Rina nodded. Then, barely louder than a whisper, she added, “Thanks… for making space.”

And then she walked on, her braid swishing behind her.

Leah grinned. “I guess not all letters need paper.”

Tzippy smiled softly. “Yeah. Sometimes, just showing up is enough.”

Tzippy and Ezra met up at the same corner they always waited for each other once the school day was over.

“So did Rina come around?” Ezra was interested in the girl’s school and drama.

“Somewhat” replied Tzippy who was looking over at the mountain.

“What is that supposed to mean? I mean like, is she a little bit better or is she still somewhat cold?” asked Ezra.

“She’s a little bit better!” Tzippy turned to Ezra then pulled out a paper. “Look, I think this is Rina’s handwriting, if I'm not mistaken! I think she tried to write something to me and Leah but was scared to hand it over!”.

Ezra took the paper from Tzippy’s hand, squinting at the neat, slanted letters.

“That’s definitely her handwriting,” he said, tapping the page with his finger. “She used to write her name like this on her science binder. See that little swirl on the y?”

Tzippy nodded. “I thought so.”

Ezra studied the torn edge. “Where’s the rest of it?”

“I don’t know,” Tzippy said with a sigh. “Dassy found this half near the third grade cubbies. Just this one piece. But the way Rina’s been acting lately… quieter, softer — it makes me wonder if she really wanted us to read it. She just… couldn’t follow through.”

Ezra tucked his hands into his pockets and looked toward the mountain in the distance, the one they always passed on the way home.

“She’s kinda like that mountain,” he said after a moment.

Tzippy raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Like, she looks all hard and cold on the outside. Sharp edges, steep cliffs. But maybe—just maybe—there’s something beautiful at the top. If you’re willing to climb.”

Tzippy blinked, surprised at the sudden burst of wisdom from her twin brother. “Wow. That was actually really deep.”

Ezra grinned. “Don’t act so surprised.”

They walked in silence for a little while, the gravel crunching under their feet. Then Tzippy looked up at him.

“Do you think I should tell her I found it?”

Ezra shrugged. “Only if you’re ready. Some people need time to get to the top. Even if they started climbing already.”

Tzippy nodded slowly, watching the mountain rise in the distance. “Yeah. I think... we’re all still climbing.”

Wednesday morning started like most others — with yawns, rustling notebooks, and the soft thud of backpacks hitting the floor. Tzippy was halfway through her apple when Mrs. Cohen walked in with a clipboard tucked under her arm.

That was never a casual clipboard.

“All right, girls,” she said, her voice bright. “I have a little surprise.”

Instant attention. A few girls sat up straighter. A couple of heads tilted with curiosity.

Mrs. Cohen smiled. “Next Monday, our class will be going on a special trip to the Sunlight Nature Trail. It’s a peaceful hiking path surrounded by Hashem’s beautiful world — trees, birds, even a stream or two.”

Excitement spread like wildfire.

“A hike?!”

“Is there a waterfall?!”

“I hope it rains! That’s the best!”

Mrs. Cohen laughed. “Rain or shine, we’re going. It’s a trip about teamwork and connection — with nature, with Hashem, and with each other.”

She lifted the clipboard.

“I’ve assigned groups of three. You’ll walk the trail together, help each other, and stay together the entire time. No changing partners. This is part of the experience.”

Tzippy glanced at Leah. They shared a hopeful look.

Mrs. Cohen began reading names.

“Racheli, Meira, and Bracha.”

“Chaya, Miriam, and Shira.”

More names came.

Then—

“Tzippy… Leah… and Rina.”

Silence.

Leah blinked. Tzippy’s mouth opened slightly. And across the room, Rina looked up — not with her usual cool expression, but something more like surprise.

Mrs. Cohen didn’t seem fazed. “I’m excited to see what beautiful teamwork you three come up with,” she said with a little nod. Then she moved on.

Leah leaned over to whisper, “Did she really say Rina?”

Tzippy nodded slowly. “Yep.”

Leah sighed. “Well. This is going to be… interesting.”

Tzippy stole a glance at Rina, who hadn’t looked away. For a moment, something unspoken passed between them — not warmth, but not frost either. Just the quiet weight of what was coming.

The bus smelled like pretzels, excitement, and a little bit of sunscreen.

Girls chattered in pairs and trios, backpacks tucked at their feet, water bottles clinking, and peanut butter sandwiches peeking out of lunch bags. Leah sat beside Tzippy, who stared out the window as the scenery zipped past — trees, road signs, and finally the small brown wooden sign: Ravina Nature Trail.

“This is really happening,” Leah whispered, adjusting her baseball cap. “Rina’s probably going to walk ten steps ahead of us the whole time.”

Tzippy shrugged. “Let’s just see what happens. Mrs. Cohen said this trip is about teamwork. Maybe Rina actually listened.”

Behind them, the bus bounced over a gravel path, and the engine finally sighed to a stop.

“Everyone off!” called Mrs. Cohen. “Buddies and water bottles ready!”

The girls poured off the bus into the fresh, pine-scented air. A wide dirt trail stretched before them, lined with tall trees and patches of wildflowers. The sky was clear blue.

Tzippy spotted Rina near the back of the line, tightening the straps of her backpack. She looked… focused. Serious. Not cold — not yet.

Rina met Tzippy’s eyes and gave a nod.

Tzippy blinked. Did Rina just… acknowledge her?

Mrs. Cohen stood at the front of the group, clipboard in hand. “All right, girls! Your groups are your safety nets. Stay together, stay hydrated, and enjoy Hashem’s creations. This hike is about noticing, helping, and listening.”

Tzippy stepped closer to Rina and Leah.

“So,” Leah said, her voice light but edged with hesitation, “should we… walk together?”

Rina pulled her water bottle from her side pocket. “We’re a group, right?” she said simply. “Let’s go.”

The three of them fell into step together — not perfectly, not shoulder-to-shoulder — but side by side enough.

Birds chirped overhead.

Leaves crunched underfoot.

And the hike… had officially begun.

The trail twisted gently through the woods, dappled sunlight peeking through tall evergreens. Tzippy, Leah, and Rina walked together in a quiet rhythm. Not much was being said — but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

Tzippy was humming softly under her breath, eyes scanning the bushes for wildflowers. Leah was reading aloud bits of the nature guidebook Mrs. Cohen had handed out. And Rina… Rina was walking slightly ahead, calm, alert, focused.

They reached a part of the trail where roots tangled like ropes across the path, hidden under a thin layer of fallen leaves.

“Careful here,” Rina said, glancing over her shoulder.

But the words came a second too late.

Tzippy’s foot caught under a root, and suddenly—THUMP—she hit the ground hard, scraping her knee and elbow against the dirt and rocks.

“Ow!” she cried, wincing as she rolled to her side.

“Tzippy!” Leah rushed over, kneeling beside her. “Are you okay?!”

“I—I think so. Just my knee,” Tzippy said, her voice shaking a little.

Then, to both of their surprise, Rina was already beside them, crouching down and unzipping a pouch from the side of her backpack.

“I brought a small first aid kit,” Rina said calmly. “My mother made me.”

She pulled out a wipe and a small bandage. “Let me see.”

Tzippy hesitated.

“It’s okay,” Rina added, her voice softer now. “I know how. I’ve been on hikes like this since fifth grade.”

Tzippy blinked. “Oh… okay.”

Gently, Rina dabbed at the scrape, careful not to press too hard. She wrapped the bandage around Tzippy’s knee, then checked her elbow.

Leah watched, stunned. “You… actually came prepared for this?”

Rina smirked. “Of course I did.”

Tzippy couldn’t help but laugh, even through the pain. “You’re full of surprises.”

Rina shrugged as she helped Tzippy to her feet. “Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my mysterious reputation.”

Leah giggled.

And for the first time that day — maybe ever — the three girls laughed together.

Not because they had to.

But because they actually wanted to.

The sun had been warm for most of the hike, but as the girls reached a clearing near the stream, the wind shifted. A chill swept through the trees, and the sky dimmed just slightly — enough to make everyone glance up.

“Uh-oh,” Leah said, pulling her sweater tighter. “Is it just me or do those clouds look... angry?”

Rina narrowed her eyes at the horizon. “They’re moving fast. If we’re going to get rained on, it’ll be soon.”

Tzippy groaned. “Of course. And I didn’t bring my raincoat.”

“Neither did I,” Leah added.

“Don’t worry,” Rina said, already looking around. “There was a rest stop shelter not far from here. About five minutes back. Come on.”

Without waiting for approval, Rina turned and started walking quickly, her ponytail swishing behind her. Tzippy and Leah exchanged surprised glances — and followed.

By the time the first raindrops fell, they were halfway there.

By the time it poured, they were ducking under the wooden awning of a tiny open-air rest stop, huddled together, soaked at the edges but grateful.

“I thought nature trails were supposed to be relaxing,” Leah muttered, wringing water from her sleeve.

Rina was already pulling snacks from her bag. “Chip mix?” she offered.

Leah blinked. “You brought a chip mix?”

“I told you,” Rina said with a little shrug. “Prepared.”

Tzippy chuckled as she sat on the bench, rain dripping from her curls. “You know... you’re not the person I thought you were back in September.”

Rina looked down at her hands.

“I used to think you hated everyone,” Tzippy said honestly. “Like… you didn’t want to be here. That we were just obstacles.”

“I know,” Rina replied softly. “That’s how I acted.”

Leah tilted her head. “Why though?”

Rina sighed. “Because it was easier. I switched schools twice before I got here. I was tired of always starting over, always pretending I wasn’t nervous or lonely or behind. So I just... stayed cold.”

Tzippy was quiet. Then, “You were the one who wrote the letter, weren’t you?”

Rina stiffened.

Leah leaned forward. “It was you, right?”

After a long pause, Rina nodded.

“But I couldn’t bring myself to give it to you,” she whispered. “By the time I wanted to, it felt... too late.”

Tzippy reached into her pocket and pulled out the torn paper.

“We only found this part,” she said gently.

Rina’s eyes widened.

“I meant to say I was sorry,” she said, her voice cracking just a little. “For the way I acted. For Nina. For pretending like I didn’t care.”

The rain kept falling.

But inside the shelter, something else was beginning to clear.

“Thank you,” Leah said, her voice soft.

“Yeah,” Tzippy added. “We forgive you.”

The three of them sat together in the quiet rhythm of the storm — three girls, one long year, and maybe… the beginning of something new.

It started with a note passed under the desk during math class.

Tzippy — sleepover this Thursday? Just us & Rina?? -Leah

Tzippy smiled and scribbled back a quick, YES! before sliding the note back.

Rina, who sat one row behind, got her own note a few minutes later.

She stared at it for a long time.

Come to my house Thursday night? Just me, you, and Tzippy. Nothing fancy. Just chill. -Leah

Rina read it twice. Then tucked it into her book and didn’t say anything all day.

Leah’s house was glowing with soft lights and the smell of popcorn. The table was already set with pink paper plates, matching slippers were lined up by the door, and a stack of board games waited in the living room.

Tzippy arrived first, of course. “Wow! Leah, this looks so cozy!”

“I just wanted it to feel normal,” Leah said with a shrug. “Like, not weird or too party-ish. Just fun.”

Then came the knock at the door.

It was Rina — wearing her long hoodie and holding a duffel bag like it might bite her. “Hi,” she said quietly.

“Hi! Come in!” Leah said brightly, trying not to sound like she was holding her breath.

Inside, Rina looked around, taking in the room, the games, the smell of cinnamon tea.

“This is my first sleepover,” she blurted suddenly.

Tzippy blinked. “Ever?”

Rina nodded, setting her bag down slowly. “We’ve moved a lot. And I never really... got invited.”

Leah stepped forward and handed her a fuzzy pair of socks. “Well, you’re invited now.”

Rina smiled — a small, real one — and slipped them on.

The popcorn bowl was nearly empty. Pajamas were on. A game of “Guess the Jewish Song” was halfway through when Tzippy got stuck.

“Um... ‘Moishe in the Middle?’” she guessed.

“Nooo!” Leah laughed. “It’s obviously Ani Yehudi’—you were literally humming the part before it goes all slow!”

Rina was laughing now too. “You two are ridiculous.”

“But you're laughing,” Tzippy pointed out, poking her lightly with a pillow.

“Only because your singing is terrifying,” Rina teased back.

Leah gasped in mock offense. “That’s it. Karaoke time.”

And somehow, karaoke happened. And then came nail polish. And then came whispered stories under the blanket tent they built behind the couch.

Rina lay there in the half-dark, blinking at the twinkly fairy lights Leah had strung across the ceiling.

“I’m glad I came,” she whispered.

Tzippy looked over. “Me too.”

Leah reached over and passed Rina another cookie. “Sleepovers aren’t about doing everything right. They’re just about being here.”

Rina smiled, eyes soft. “Then I think I finally did one right.”

The classroom was unusually quiet after dismissal. Most of the girls had gone home, their backpacks bouncing down the hallway. But Rina stayed behind, slowly packing her books.

“Rina?” Mrs. Cohen’s voice came from behind her desk.

Rina turned. “Yes?”

“I wanted to ask you something.” Mrs. Cohen smiled, tapping her pen gently on her notebook. “There’s a girl in the younger grade — Naomi Feldman, she’s in fourth. Quiet. Very bright. Struggles a little… not with the work, but with the class.”

Rina tilted her head. “What kind of struggle?”

“She reminds me of someone else I know,” Mrs. Cohen said gently. “Someone who used to carry herself like she didn’t need anyone — even though she did.”

Rina blinked. “You mean… me?”

Mrs. Cohen smiled. “I think you might be the perfect person to help Naomi feel seen.”

Rina looked down at her hands. “What would I even say to her?”

“Start with what you would’ve wanted someone to say to you,” Mrs. Cohen said. “The rest will come.”

Naomi Feldman sat quietly at the small tutoring table in the back of the school library, a thick workbook open in front of her. Her long brown braid was slightly frizzy. Her glasses kept slipping down her nose.

Rina approached slowly, a little nervous herself.

“Hi. I’m Rina,” she said.

Naomi barely looked up. “I know.”

Rina sat down across from her and opened her notebook.

“I used to be like you,” Rina said simply. “Smart. Quiet. A little angry that no one really got me.”

Naomi glanced up for real this time.

“I used to get called ‘too serious’ or ‘too cold.’ Really, I was just tired of feeling different.”

Naomi blinked.

“I don’t want to make you talk,” Rina said. “I’m just here to help with the stuff you already know how to do. Like maybe figuring out how to show your work without showing off.”

Naomi cracked a tiny smile.

“You get it,” she said.

Rina nodded. “Way more than you think.”

Rina met up with Tzippy and Leah after school one day.

“How’s tutoring going?” Leah asked.

Rina adjusted her backpack. “She’s kind of amazing.”

“She?” Tzippy blinked. “Naomi?”

Rina smiled, a real, full smile. “Yeah. She’s going to do great. She just needs someone to remind her that she’s allowed to be smart and kind.”

Tzippy tilted her head. “Sounds like someone I know.”

Rina rolled her eyes, but her cheeks turned pink.

“She reminds me of… me. From before.”

“And you’re different now?” Leah asked, teasing gently.

Rina paused. Then nodded.

“I think so.”

And for once, she didn’t feel like she had to prove anything. Not to them. Not to anyone.

The library was quiet except for the soft hum of the air conditioner and the tick-tick of Naomi’s pencil.

Rina sat across from her, legs crossed, notebook open, watching closely as Naomi worked her way through a tough set of word problems.

“Nope,” Rina said, pointing gently at Naomi’s page. “Check that second step again. You multiplied too early.”

Naomi groaned. “Ugh! I thought I had it this time.”

“You almost did,” Rina said. “But math’s not about being perfect. It’s about learning to look again.”

Naomi looked up. “You make it sound easy.”

Rina smiled. “It’s not. But it gets easier when you stop being scared of being wrong.”

Naomi was quiet for a second. Then she whispered, “Do you think people in your grade ever think I’m weird?”

Rina blinked. “Why?”

“Because I like puzzles and books and... being by myself. People always say I’m ‘a lot’ or ‘too much.’”

Rina’s voice softened. “I used to think the same thing about myself.”

Naomi looked up. “Really?”

“I acted like I didn’t care what anyone thought. But I did. I still do, sometimes.”

Naomi smiled slowly. “But now people like you.”

Rina tilted her head. “Not because I changed who I was. Just because I opened up enough to let people see who I was.”

Naomi thought about that, her pencil tapping the side of her notebook. Then she reached for her eraser and fixed the mistake.

“That was it,” she said. “I got the right answer.”

Rina beamed. “Told you.”

As they packed up their things, Naomi paused.

“Rina?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for not treating me like a little kid.”

Rina looked at her and gave a small smile. “Thanks for reminding me what it feels like to be brave.”

They walked out of the library side by side.

And for once, Rina didn’t feel like she was “above” anyone.

She just felt... proud.

It was lunchtime on a cloudy Tuesday. The girls’ voices echoed around the schoolyard — bouncing off the brick walls and the rustling trees above.

Rina had gone back inside for a tissue, the kind that didn’t make your nose feel like sandpaper. When she stepped out into the hallway again, she paused.

She heard her name.

“…Rina? Seriously, Rina?” a voice whispered.

Rina stayed still, her heart tightening.

It was Frieda. Her voice came again, quieter but sharp.

“I mean, I get that she’s smart now and all, and she helps people or whatever — but she was awful. Don’t you remember how she acted at the start of the year?”

Rina leaned slightly toward the edge of the hallway, out of sight. Her fingers curled around the tissue in her hand.

Then came another voice — strong and sure.

“People change, Frieda.”

It was Leah.

“And Rina has. She’s kind now. She’s helpful. She listens, "Leah said.

There was a pause. Frieda said, “But it’s weird, right? To suddenly be her friend?”

“No,” Leah replied firmly. “What’s weird is holding onto a grudge when someone’s trying so hard to be better.”

Another pause.

“She’s not perfect,” Leah added, “but guess what — neither are we.”

Frieda let out a sigh. “I guess.”

“We are proud to be her friend,” Leah said. “You don’t have to be. But don’t ask us why we are.”

Rina slowly stepped back, away from the corner, heart pounding. Her eyes stung — not with sadness.

With something else.

She hadn’t expected that. Not from Leah. Not like that.

The girls sat in their usual spot at recess. Tzippy was mid-story about something Ezra had done that morning (“he put scrambled eggs in his lunchbox because he thought he’d want a ‘surprise snack’”) and Leah was laughing, her eyes bright.

Rina sat quietly beside them.

“Hey,” she said softly to Leah when Tzippy was distracted.

Leah turned. “Yeah?”

“Thanks,” Rina said, voice just above a whisper.

Leah blinked. “For what?”

Rina smiled just a little. “For seeing me now… not who I used to be.”

Leah gave her a gentle smile in return. “We all deserve that.”

And Rina — for the first time that week — felt completely part of something real.

It was late Tuesday afternoon, the kind where the wind tugged at scarves and the sidewalks shimmered with golden light. Tzippy, Leah, and Rina were walking together — backpacks bouncing, challah rolls from school still warm in their hands.

They laughed as they walked — about Ezra’s new invention, and about how Rina finally understood Tzippy’s sense of humor.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Rina said, “but I kind of… missed this all week.”

Tzippy smiled, “See? Told you we’re not that weird.”

But just as they turned the corner toward Tzippy’s block, two girls stepped out from behind a hedge — Frieda and Dina.

“Wow,” Frieda said, her voice sugary sweet. “Look who’s besties now.”

Dina smirked, looking Rina up and down. “Rina Rosenbaum. In a friend group. What’s the world coming to?”

Rina froze.

Tzippy did not.

“Excuse me?” she said, stepping forward. “You two have nothing better to do than stand around and mock people walking home?”

“Oh, we’re not mocking,” Frieda said, pretending to look innocent. “Just surprised, that’s all. I mean, you used to call her ‘Ice Queen’ behind her back, remember?”

Tzippy’s eyes flared. “And maybe I grew up. Maybe we all can.”

Dina scoffed. “You’re just saying that because now you have your little trio.”

“No,” Tzippy snapped. “I’m saying that because Rina earned our friendship. Because she worked to change. And she doesn’t deserve this kind of pettiness from girls who are still stuck in the beginning of the year.”

Leah stepped closer. “Tzippy’s right. You don’t get to bring her down just because you’re uncomfortable seeing someone grow.”

Frieda let out a dry laugh, then raised an eyebrow. “Wow. Listen to you, Tzippora Shaina Goldberg. So now she’s perfect?”

Tzippy didn’t flinch.

“No. But none of us are. That’s the point.”

Tzippy’s chin lifted. “If that’s what standing up for someone looks like to you, then sure.”

Dina rolled her eyes. “Ugh. I still don’t get it. What did she even do that’s so amazing? Say she’s sorry and suddenly she’s a special person?”

“No,” Tzippy said sharply. “She showed up. She changed. She started helping people, not hurting them. That’s more than either of you are doing right now.”

Rina hadn’t said a word. But her hands were clenched at her sides.

And now they slowly loosened.

Frieda made a sound like she was going to reply — but then didn’t. She gave a short laugh that didn’t sound very convincing.

“Whatever. Come on, Dina.”

The two girls turned and walked off.

Rina exhaled slowly.

“I didn’t think you’d…” she started, then trailed off.

Tzippy looked at her. “Didn’t think I’d what?”

Rina shrugged. “Defend me like that.”

Tzippy smiled. “We don’t pick our friends based on popularity anymore. We pick them because we mean it.”

Leah grinned. “And we really mean it.”

Rina’s eyes stung a little — but this time, for a good reason.

And they walked on, heads high.

Together.

It started with a pencil.

Tzippy had dropped hers on the floor during science class, and as she crouched to pick it up, she noticed something beneath the desk behind hers — a thin spiral notebook, wedged between the legs of Rina’s chair and the wall.

It had a floral cover and a blue pen clipped to the coil.

“Someone dropped their…” she began, reaching to grab it before realizing whose name was scrawled in cursive on the inside cover.

Rina Rosenbaum.

She froze.

She wasn’t going to open it. Of course not. That would be nosy. Invasive.

But when she lifted the cover to check for a name tag, one line — just one — caught her eye on the very first page.

Her eyes skipped down the list before her brain could stop her.

Smile more, even when I’m nervous.
Don’t interrupt people.
Ask Tzippy how her brother is doing — she likes talking about him.
Say sorry to Frieda (even if I’m still mad).
Don’t act like I know everything.
Be a real friend. Not a pretend one.
Let people help me.

Tzippy’s fingers softened around the edge of the page.

There were tiny doodles in the margins — stars, flowers, little hearts she clearly didn’t want anyone to see.

Tzippy gently closed the notebook and tucked it into Rina’s backpack without a word.

Rina hadn’t noticed a thing.

“Do you ever feel like... you judged someone too soon?” Tzippy asked Leah as they sat curled up on her porch after school, sipping hot cocoa.

Leah blinked. “Rina?”

Tzippy nodded slowly.

“I think… I think she’s trying even harder than we see,” she said, her voice quieter than usual. “Like deep down, she really wants to get this right.”

Leah smiled softly. “I know. I see it too.”

They both sat in silence for a moment.

Then Leah added, “It takes a lot of courage to write something like that — even if no one ever sees it.”

Tzippy didn’t say anything else.

But in her mind, she quietly added one more line to Rina’s list:

Let someone see the real me.

The hallway was quiet after dismissal. Most of the girls had already left for the day, their voices fading down the stairwell, their footsteps echoing behind them.

Rina was at her locker, moving slowly. She didn’t mind being the last one out. Lately, the quiet gave her a chance to breathe.

That’s when she heard footsteps behind her — soft but deliberate.

She turned. It was Frieda.

Rina straightened. “Oh. Hey.”

Frieda gave a small, tight smile. Not warm. Not cold. Just unreadable.

“I came back for my water bottle,” she said, then paused. “But since you’re here…”

Rina waited.

“I just wanted to say… sorry.” Frieda’s tone was flat. Her words sharp like a pin instead of soft like a hug. “Sorry for calling you bossy and cold. Sorry for telling people not to sit with you. Sorry for… I don’t know. Whatever else I did.”

Rina blinked, unsure if she’d actually heard kindness or a performance.

Before she could say anything, Frieda gave a quick shrug.

“There. I said it. Feel better?” she added with a little laugh, then turned back down the hallway without waiting for a response.

Rina just stood there.

And didn’t move. She knew that this wasn’t how a real apology looked liked.

Tzippy was the first to notice at the supper table.

Rina was unusually quiet. Her food untouched. Her eyes were shining but not with joy.

After everyone else left, Tzippy caught up with her near the coat rack.

“Hey… are you okay?”

Rina gave her a tight smile. “I’m fine.”

But Tzippy saw her lip tremble.

And then the tears came. Quiet. Hot. Embarrassed.

“She said sorry,” Rina whispered. “But it didn’t feel like a real one. It felt like… like she was just trying to get rid of me. Like I didn’t matter at all.”

Tzippy didn’t say anything right away. She just gently reached for Rina’s hand and held it.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “That’s not how it should’ve been.”

Rina nodded, still crying.

And Tzippy thought about how brave it was — to want to believe someone meant their apology. To let it hurt, instead of pretending it didn’t.

“Okay girls,” Mrs. Cohen said, clapping her hands at the front of the classroom. “As we talked about last week, today begins our Class Rep Election Week! You’ll each vote by Friday — and the winner will represent our grade at school meetings.”

There was an excited buzz around the room. A few girls whispered to their seatmates. Frieda immediately reached for her sparkly gel pens.

Leah leaned toward Tzippy. “Watch. She’s going to have campaign stickers.”

“I brought glitter glue just in case,” Tzippy whispered back, grinning.

Across the room, Rina sat still — but her eyes were wide with thought.

When recess rolled around, Rina pulled Tzippy and Leah aside near the lockers.

“I think…” she started slowly, “I think I want to run.”

Tzippy blinked. “You do?”

Rina nodded, clearly nervous. “I just… I think I could actually be good at it. But I don’t know how to convince people. I’m… not exactly Miss Popular.”

Leah smiled. “Rina, you’ve changed so much. People have noticed.”

“But they still remember the old me,” Rina whispered.

Tzippy glanced at her. “Then don’t campaign like you’re trying to impress them. Just be honest.”

Rina looked between the two girls — her first real friends — and smiled. “Okay. But only if I can make you both help me.”

The next day, the three of them stood at the front of the classroom while Mrs. Cohen handed out index cards and said, “Campaign speeches, girls! Let’s keep it kind and creative.”

Rina stepped up. No fancy signs. No glitter.

Just her.

“Hi,” she said, a little shakily. “I know some of you might not expect to see me standing here. And honestly… I wouldn’t have expected it either.”

A few girls leaned in, curious.

“I used to think being smart or having opinions made me a good leader. But that’s not what leadership is. It’s listening. It’s apologizing. It’s remembering what it felt like to be left out.”

She took a breath. Tzippy gave her a quick thumbs-up from the side.

“I don’t want to just be your class rep. I want to be someone you can trust. And if you vote for me… I promise I’ll try my hardest to be that kind of leader.”

The room was quiet for a moment. And then a few girls started clapping. Then more. Even Frieda gave one small, slow clap (before rolling her eyes like it was nothing).

Mrs. Cohen smiled as she held up the envelope. “By a very close vote… our class rep this semester will be… Rina Rosenbaum!”

Cheers echoed through the room.

Rina looked like she might faint.

“But wait,” she added quickly, blushing, “I have one request.”

Mrs. Cohen tilted her head. “Yes?”

“I want to appoint a Vice President… and an assistant.”

Everyone leaned in.

“My vice president is Tzippora Shaina Goldberg,” she said proudly, “and her assistant — the Vice-Vice President — is Leah.”

Tzippy’s jaw dropped. “You made that up!”

“I absolutely did,” Rina laughed. “But if anyone deserves a title, it’s you two.”

Leah nodded seriously. “Vice-Vice President of Girl Power. I accept.”

The three of them high-fived at the back of the classroom.

This was going to be an experience they never had, before.

Tzippy wasn’t jealous. Not exactly.

It was more like… forgotten.

Ever since Rina became class rep, she’d taken on every responsibility herself. Organizing the class bulletin board, talking to Mrs. Cohen about fundraiser ideas, even handling the new seating chart without asking for help.

Which was fine.

Because Rina was good at it.

But still — wasn’t she the vice president?

“Did you see the new poster Rina made?” Leah asked, walking beside Tzippy on their way home.

Tzippy nodded. “Yeah. It’s really good.”

“She even asked Frieda to help with the border decorations,” Leah said with a little smile. “Nice, right?”

“Super nice,” Tzippy said flatly, tugging her scarf tighter.

Leah tilted her head. “Are you okay?”

Tzippy shrugged. “Just tired.”

But that wasn’t it. Not really.

At first, it was small things.

Rina started planning the bulletin board without asking Tzippy for ideas. She picked Leah to organize the fundraiser poster — without telling her. Then she handled the seating chart all on her own and forgot to include the “Vice President” line Tzippy had joked about adding.

By Tuesday afternoon, Tzippy was tired. Not from work — but from feeling invisible.

“She doesn’t need me,” she told Leah as they sat under the oak tree at recess.

Leah looked at her quietly, brushing crumbs off her skirt. “Are you sure? Or is she just trying to prove she can handle everything?”

Tzippy didn’t answer. Because she wasn’t sure. But it felt like Rina had stopped seeing her.

Tzippy stood in her room, crumpling a piece of paper in her hand. It was a draft of a note — something like:

She hadn’t written those exact words. But they were close.

She folded it neatly and placed it into the side pocket of her knapsack. Just in case.

Tzippy spotted Rina by the water fountain. Her heart pounded. This is it, she thought. I’m going to tell her. She marched over, note in her hand.

But before she could say anything, Rina turned around — her face pale and serious.

“Tzippy, I’ve been looking for you,” Rina blurted out, tugging on her sleeve. “I really, really need your help.”

Tzippy blinked, startled. “With… what?”

“It’s Dina,” Rina said. “She told Frieda she’s not coming tomorrow. She feels totally left out. I didn’t add her to the new class group chat. I didn’t even notice.”

Tzippy froze.

Rina’s hands trembled a little. “I’ve been so busy trying to do everything — trying to prove I can be a good class rep — that I forgot the most basic thing. To include people.”

There was a long pause.

“I messed up,” Rina whispered. “I don’t know how to fix it. But I remembered what you told me when I was the one being left out. And I thought maybe… you’d know what to do.”

Tzippy stared at her for a long moment.

And then, wordlessly, she reached into her pocket — and tore the note in half.

She dropped it into the trash bin beside them.

“I’m still in,” she said quietly. “Vice president. Partner. Friend.”

Rina let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Thank you.”

Recess was almost over when Tzippy found Dina sitting on the edge of the soccer field, her back to the fence and her eyes trained on her notebook — though her pencil hadn’t moved in minutes.

Tzippy took a deep breath and walked over.

“Hey,” she said gently.

Dina glanced up, clearly surprised. “Oh. Hi.”

“Mind if I sit?”

A small shrug. “It’s a free school.”

Tzippy sat.

The silence between them settled like a heavy blanket — not awkward, but definitely not easy.

“I heard you’re not coming tomorrow,” Tzippy said after a moment, watching Dina’s fingers trace little spirals in the corner of her page.

“Why does it matter?” Dina muttered. “No one notices when I’m here anyway.”

Tzippy paused. “That’s not true. I think Rina noticed. She just… didn’t notice fast enough.”

Dina scoffed. “Yeah, right. Now that she’s class rep she cares all of a sudden?”

Tzippy nodded slowly. “Yeah. Actually, she does. And she feels awful. She asked me what to do.”

That made Dina pause. “She asked you?”

“She did.”

Dina looked down again. “I don’t need her pity. Or yours.”

“This isn’t pity,” Tzippy said quietly. “It’s just... a friend who messed up trying to fix it.”

Dina was quiet for a long time. Her eyes looked glassy, but she blinked quickly.

“I didn’t even want to be in the group chat,” she finally whispered. “I just wanted to be invited.”

Tzippy nodded. “Yeah. That makes sense.”

The bell rang in the distance, sharp and final.

As they stood up, Tzippy turned to her.

“She wants to talk to you. But only if you want to talk.”

Dina nodded, slowly. “Maybe. Just… not in front of everyone.”

“No pressure,” Tzippy said with a small smile. “Whenever you’re ready.”

And as they walked back toward class — not quite side by side, but close enough — Tzippy felt something settle.

She didn’t need glitter or titles to be a leader.

Just kindness.

The library after school was almost empty.

A few girls flipped pages at the far table. The big clock ticked softly. And the late afternoon sun cast long golden stripes across the floor.

Rina sat at the back table, pretending to read.

Her eyes scanned the same line in her notebook three times.

She wasn’t sure if Dina would come.

Maybe Tzippy had been wrong.

Maybe she didn’t deserve a second chance.

Then she heard the softest footsteps.

Dina appeared in the aisle between the bookshelves, her backpack slung on one shoulder, her mouth set in that same tight line Rina remembered from when they used to sit near each other in fourth grade.

“Hi,” Dina said.

Rina sat up. “Hi.”

Dina didn’t sit yet.

“I’m not here for a dramatic apology,” she said. “And I’m not here to cry.”

Rina swallowed. “Okay.”

“I just want to hear what you have to say.”

Rina folded her hands. She looked Dina in the eye.

“I messed up,” she said simply. “I didn’t mean to. But I did. I left you out. I didn’t check if everyone felt included. I didn’t notice.”

Dina didn’t respond.

“I don’t want to be the kind of leader who only notices the loud voices,” Rina continued. “And I don’t want to be the kind of person who forgets the quiet ones.”

There was a long silence.

Then Dina slowly sat down.

“Thanks for saying it,” she said softly. “No one ever says it like that.”

Rina blinked. “Like what?”

“Like… they mean it.”

The clock ticked.

Somewhere down the aisle, someone giggled over a book.

Rina smiled just a little. “You were one of the first girls who smiled at me when I came to this school. I didn’t forget that.”

Dina shrugged, but her face softened. “Yeah, well. You weren’t very smiley back then.”

They both laughed.

And it wasn’t loud. Or perfect.

But it was real.

It was one of those soft evenings — the kind where the sky turned lavender, the air smelled like grass, and everything felt just a little slower.

Tzippy sat on the porch steps, her knees hugged to her chest and a cup of tea balanced beside her.

Ezra flopped down next to her with a dramatic sigh.

“You’re sighing like you just climbed the mountain,” she said without looking at him.

“I had to write three full paragraphs about the Nevi’im,” Ezra groaned. “And my pencil broke twice. I’ve never suffered more.”

Tzippy smirked. “Tragic.”

He leaned back on his elbows. “So. Any drama from your school today?”

Tzippy raised an eyebrow. “Surprisingly… no.”

Ezra blinked. “No? So no secret letters? No crying behind the swings? No accidentally overhearing Frieda insult someone’s socks?”

Tzippy laughed. “Nope. Just… good things, actually. Rina and Dina talked.”

Ezra sat up straighter. “Wait, what? They talked?”

Tzippy nodded. “At the library. It wasn’t perfect. But it was real. Honest. Quiet.”

Ezra tilted his head. “That’s your favorite kind, huh?”

She shrugged. “It’s the kind that matters.”

He was quiet for a second. Then he nudged her with his elbow. “You know, I’m proud of you.”

She blinked. “What? Why?”

Ezra grinned. “Because you could’ve dropped the whole vice president thing. You almost did. But instead, you stuck it out — and now you're like, the secret glue holding that whole class together.”

Tzippy stared ahead, her cheeks going a little pink. “I’m not the glue.”

Ezra leaned back again, folding his arms behind his head. “You are. The kind of glue that’s quiet and doesn’t smell weird.”

She laughed.

They sat like that for a while, letting the sky turn darker, letting the day settle behind them.

“Hey Tzippy?” Ezra asked suddenly.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think I’ll ever be the glue for anything?”

She looked over at him — her wild, idea-filled twin who made everything bigger and brighter, even when it was a little too much.

“You’re not glue,” she said gently.

Ezra frowned. “Gee, thanks.”

“You’re more like…” she paused, thinking, “…a spark.”

He raised an eyebrow. “A spark?”

“You start things. Light things up. Make people pay attention.”

Ezra blinked. “Huh. That’s… actually pretty cool.”

Tzippy smiled. “It is.”

And for once, Ezra didn’t say anything back.

He just smiled too.

“Tzippy! Leah!” Ezra said running towards both of the girls while they were taking a peaceful walk until Ezra came.

“What?” Tzippy turned around sharply when she heard her brother’s voice.

“I just saw something horrifying!” Ezra said when he catched up to them.

“Oh really, huh?” Leah folded her arms. She was not ready for another crazy adventure. “Did you just see a bear swallowing up an old man on that mountain?”.

“Chas V’shalom! No, I was walking with Yehuda when we saw ambulances right in front of Rosenbaum's house!” Ezra said.

“Wh-what? Isn’t that-” Tzippy got caught off.

Tzippy and Leah froze.

“Rina’s house?” Leah whispered again, her voice barely audible.

Ezra nodded, breathless. “I’m serious. Yehuda and I were walking past when the ambulance pulled up. And then I saw Mushka — Rina’s little sister — run outside crying.”

Tzippy’s heart dropped.

“She’s only six,” she murmured. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Ezra said. “But she kept screaming something about Ima—like, begging someone not to take her away. I couldn’t hear everything.”

“We have to go,” Tzippy said, already turning.

“Wait, what do you mean go?” Leah asked, jogging after her. “We can’t just show up—”

“We don’t have to show up at their door,” Tzippy said firmly. “But we can walk past. Be there. Maybe Mushka needs someone.”

Leah hesitated—then nodded. “Okay. Let’s go.”

The walk felt longer than usual, even though their feet moved fast.

When they reached the corner near the Rosenbaums' house, they saw the flashing lights — two ambulances, one already starting to pull away. A paramedic was talking to a man Tzippy recognized as Rina’s father. He looked pale, like he hadn’t slept in days.

And near the steps, sitting on the curb, was Mushka. Her hair was coming loose from her ponytail, and she was clutching a stuffed bunny to her chest.

She was crying softly.

Tzippy didn’t even hesitate.

She walked over gently, crouched down.

“Mushka?” she said quietly.

The little girl looked up, blinking fast. Her face was blotchy and red. “Tzippy?” she whispered, like she wasn’t sure it was real.

Tzippy gave her a small smile. “Hey. We’re here.”

Mushka wiped her face with her sleeve. “They took Ima to the hospital. She fainted.”

Leah’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh no…”

“She… she was crying and not feeling well, and then she just—she just fell,” Mushka hiccupped. “And Rina started screaming, and then Tatty called someone and I—I don’t know!”

Ezra stood back quietly, his usual grin nowhere to be found.

Tzippy sat beside Mushka on the curb. “It’s okay to be scared,” she said softly. “You did the right thing by staying with your family.”

“Will Ima be okay?” Mushka asked, eyes huge.

Tzippy didn’t know. But she held Mushka’s hand gently.

“She’s getting help now,” Leah said. “And Hashem is watching over her.”

Mushka sniffled, leaning her head on Tzippy’s shoulder.

And just then, Rina came out of the house.

Her eyes were red. Her ponytail was undone. Her uniform wrinkled. But when she saw Mushka — and Tzippy beside her — her whole body exhaled.

She walked over and knelt down beside them.

“Mushka, I’m here,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around her sister.

Tzippy looked up at her, and for the first time, Rina didn’t look like the girl who held herself together all the time.

She looked like a sister.

Like someone who needed a friend, too.

“I’m so glad you came,” Rina whispered to Tzippy, voice shaking.

Leah and Tzippy nodded. “Always.”

It was Thursday morning, and the classroom buzzed with the usual before-davening hum.

Girls gathered in clumps by the cubbies, comparing snacks, trading stories, and whispering about Shabbos plans. But the chatter shifted — fast — when the door opened and in walked Rina, Nina, and Mushka.

Mushka held Rina’s hand tightly. Her eyes were still puffy from crying, her pink lunch bag dragging on the floor behind her.

Nina, quieter than usual, looked like she hadn’t slept much.

And Rina — her hair freshly brushed and clipped back, her chin high, her expression unreadable — walked straight to her desk, guiding her sisters like it was any other day.

Except it wasn’t.

Tzippy saw it right away from her seat near the window. She glanced at Leah, who had just walked in with her.

Leah whispered, “Why are they here today? After last night…”

Tzippy didn’t answer. She was already standing.

Freida leaned across the aisle toward Dina. “Do you think something happened again?” she whispered, eyes locked on the Rosenbaum sisters.

“I heard their mom fainted last night,” whispered someone else. “Ambulance and everything.”

“Why would they come to school the next day?” Freida said, a little louder.

That’s when Tzippy turned around.

“She came,” Tzippy said clearly, “because she knew her sisters needed normal. And because she’s strong.”

The whispers faded.

Tzippy walked over to Rina’s desk without hesitation.

“Hi,” she said gently. “How is everything?! We are here to help if you need us!”

Leah stood too, already making plans to help.

Rina looked up, her mouth twitching into the smallest smile. “Thank you.”

And for the rest of the morning, no one said a word about ambulances or hospitals.

Because when it mattered, the class finally understood:

The sky was pale blue, the sun warm but not too hot — one of those perfect recess days.

Tzippy and Leah sat by the sandbox, watching Mushka scoop sand into a plastic cup with intense concentration. Nina sat close by, braiding dandelions into a tiny crown.

Across the yard, Rina stood with a few girls near the hopscotch chalk, holding a clipboard from Mrs. Cohen’s class job list. She wasn’t bossy — just helping organize who was supposed to return the playground balls.

But not everyone saw it that way.

Behind the trees near the fence, a few girls leaned in close, whispering a little too loudly.

“I don’t know why Rina always has to act like she’s in charge,” Freida muttered. “She’s not a teacher.”

“Seriously. And her little sister? Mushka?” Dina rolled her eyes. “She’s like a kindergartener. She still plays pretend with dolls at recess!”

They snickered, glancing toward the sandbox.

Tzippy heard every word.

Her heart twisted.

She stood up slowly and walked toward the fence.

Leah’s eyes widened. “Uh-oh.”

Tzippy didn’t shout. She didn’t run. But her footsteps were steady — sure. When she got to the group, she didn’t raise her voice.

She just said:
“I think you forgot Mushka is six.”

Freida blinked. “What?”

“She’s six,” Tzippy repeated calmly. “And six-year-olds do play pretend. That’s not babyish. That’s normal. And kind of beautiful.”

Dina crossed her arms. “Okay, but Rina still acts like she’s better than everyone. Always telling people what to do.”

“No,” Tzippy said, her voice a little firmer now. “Rina helps. That’s not the same as bossing. And honestly? It’s harder to help people when they don’t want to give you a chance. But she still does it.”

Freida opened her mouth, but before she could speak—

Rina walked over.

She had clearly heard the tail end of it, but she didn’t look angry.

She just looked... tired.

“I don’t want to be your teacher,” Rina said quietly. “I just want to be part of the class. I used to think being ‘right’ was the only thing that mattered. But now? I’d rather be kind.”

The group fell silent.

Rina glanced at Tzippy, and Tzippy gave her a tiny nod. You handled that.

Leah, who had walked up behind them, put an arm around Mushka, who had been listening nearby with wide eyes.

“You okay, Mushka?” Leah asked softly.

Mushka nodded. “I know I’m not a baby. I just like sand.”

Rina crouched beside her sister and tucked a curl behind her ear. “You’re perfect, Mushka. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Mushka smiled.

And for the rest of recess, the girls didn’t whisper anymore.

The hallway was quiet after school, just a few girls slipping out with backpacks and giggles. But Tzippy and Leah weren’t heading to the exit.

They were walking — a little nervously — toward the front of the building, where Rabbi Rosenbaum stood talking softly on his phone. His tall frame, black hat, and calm eyes looked just like Rina’s in a strange, comforting way.

Tzippy gave Leah a quick glance, then stepped forward.

“Excuse me… Rabbi Rosenbaum?”

He looked up immediately and smiled gently. “Tzippy. Leah. Shalom aleichem.”

“Hi,” Tzippy said, shifting her bag on her shoulder. “Um… we were wondering something.”

Rabbi Rosenbaum lowered his phone. “Go ahead.”

Leah stepped beside Tzippy. “We know Rina’s had a really hard week. And so has your whole family. We just wanted to… maybe come over. To help. Or bring dinner. Or just be there.”

Tzippy added, “Not as a big deal. We wouldn’t stay long. Just to show her that she doesn’t have to carry everything by herself.”

Rabbi Rosenbaum was quiet for a moment. His eyes softened, and he looked a little like he might cry. But he just nodded slowly.

“She doesn’t know you’re coming?” he asked gently.

“No,” they both said at once.

“Good,” he said, smiling. “That’s the kind of surprise Rina needs. Something kind. Something quiet.”

He paused, then added, “We’ll be home around 5. I’ll tell Mushka to set an extra place at the table.”

Tzippy smiled. “We’ll bring soup.”

Leah grinned. “And cookies.”

Tzippy adjusted the stack of storybooks on Mushka’s nightstand while Leah gathered tiny socks from under the bed. Rina was picking up puzzle pieces, dropping them into the bright yellow box one at a time.

It was quiet — the kind of quiet that only happens when you’re not rushing.

“She sleeps here every night?” Leah asked softly, glancing around the cozy room. There were butterflies on the curtains and a big poster of the alef-bet above the dresser. Mushka’s name — cut from sparkly letters — hung on the door.

“Most nights,” Rina said, brushing off the corner of the bedspread. “Sometimes she gets scared and ends up in my room.”

There was a pause, just long enough for Tzippy to glance up from folding a blanket.

“Is it… because of what happened?” she asked gently.

Rina didn’t answer at first. She looked down, smoothing a wrinkle on the pillow, as if deciding whether to tell the truth.

Then she sat down on the edge of the bed.

“She fainted in the kitchen,” Rina said finally. “Mama. Two weeks ago. Nina screamed so loudly the neighbor heard. I wasn’t even home. I was at the grocery store.”

Tzippy came closer. Leah, too. They didn’t speak — they just sat, one on each side, giving her room to keep going.

“She hit her head,” Rina continued. “They said it was a combination of exhaustion, not enough iron, too much stress. It wasn’t just fainting. She was out for a while.”

Leah reached over and quietly took Rina’s hand.

Rina’s voice didn’t waver, but her eyes shimmered. “We didn’t know what to do. Papa was at shul. I got the call while I was still in line with a bag of apples and milk. I dropped everything. Literally. The milk cracked open on the floor.”

She let out a quiet laugh — the kind that covers up pain.

“And when we got to the hospital, she woke up and said, ‘Who made dinner?’” Rina smiled at the memory, even though her eyes were glassy. “She was more worried about us than herself.”

Tzippy nodded, brushing a hair clip into place on the desk. “That sounds like your mom.”

“Since then,” Rina went on, “she’s been resting more. Papa works from home some days. I’ve been... trying to help. Nina gets scared easily now. And Mushka won’t go anywhere without her little stuffed sheep.”

Leah reached into the laundry basket and pulled out the soft white sheep, placing it carefully on the pillow.

“I didn’t know how to tell people at school,” Rina admitted. “I didn’t want to sound like I was begging for attention. I didn’t want anyone to pity me. So I just acted like everything was normal.”

“You don’t have to act with us,” Tzippy said softly.

Rina looked up at her. Really looked.

“I know,” she said. “I didn’t always know that. But now I do.”

And in that little pink room, surrounded by board books, half-folded pajamas, and the smell of something warm from the kitchen — the girls just sat.

Together.

Cleaning turned into talking. Talking turned into healing.

And for the first time in a long time, Rina didn’t feel like she had to carry it all alone.

It was Thursday afternoon, and the kitchen smelled like cinnamon and vanilla — but also a little like tiredness.

The house had been quiet all morning. Mama was upstairs resting, and Nina had taken a long nap after school. Rina stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up, her hands deep in a bowl of sticky dough. She sighed, brushing a wisp of hair from her face with the back of her wrist.

That’s when she heard the sound of tiny feet pattering into the kitchen.

“I want to help,” said a small voice behind her.

Rina turned. There stood Mushka, all six years old, with two big ponytails and a very serious expression.

“Help with what?” Rina asked, even though she already knew.

“With the challah. I’m good at kneading. You said so last time.”

Rina smiled, heart softening. “Okay, come on. But only if you promise not to sneeze in the dough this time.”

Mushka gasped. “That was one time!”

They both laughed, and Rina handed her sister a small ball of dough, guiding her to the floured surface.

“Roll it like this,” Rina said, shaping one of the strands with practiced ease.

Mushka tried to copy, but her’s ended up more like a lumpy carrot.

“Hmm… I think mine needs more flour,” Mushka declared, grabbing a handful from the bowl.

“Mushka, no—!”

Too late.

A cloud of white exploded across the counter, puffing into the air like a magic trick. Mushka squealed. Rina coughed, blinking through the flour storm.

And then — laughter.

The kind that bubbles out before you can stop it.

The kind that shakes the tension loose.

Rina grabbed a bit of dough and plopped it on Mushka’s nose.

“Hey!” Mushka giggled, trying to retaliate. “You’re supposed to be the big sister!”

“I am,” Rina said, smiling. “Which means I get to flick flour at you.”

They kept going, the two of them—kneading, braiding, laughing. When the loaves were finally set on the tray, shiny with egg wash and sprinkled with sesame seeds, the kitchen was a mess.

But it felt warm. Not just from the oven — but from something deeper.

Something healing.

Rina wiped her hands on her apron and looked at Mushka, who had flour in her eyelashes and a grin from ear to ear.

“You’re my best helper,” Rina said, pulling her close.

Mushka leaned into her side. “And you’re my best Rina.”

The timer on the oven beeped.

Rina grabbed two oven mitts and peeked inside. The challahs were golden and perfect, puffed just enough, their scent filling the house with the promise of Shabbos.

“Careful!” Mushka warned, standing on her stool like a supervisor. “Don’t drop the bread!”

“Yes, chef,” Rina said with a grin, pulling out the tray and setting it gently on the stovetop.

They had just started cleaning up when the front door creaked open.

Not a knock. Not a bell.

Just the sound of the door… opening.

Rina paused, confused. Mushka froze, holding a cup half-filled with sugar.

Then they heard voices. One low and warm. One familiar.

Then — the sound of soft footsteps.

“Ima?” Rina whispered before she could stop herself.

And there she was.

Standing in the doorway, wrapped in her soft gray coat, scarf still loosely tied around her neck. Her cheeks were pink from the wind, her eyes shiny with quiet tears. And next to her, holding the door open like a quiet guardian — was Abba.

“I told her she should rest more,” Abba said, his voice gruff with emotion. “But she insisted. She said she needed to see the girls. The kitchen. The challah.”

Mushka dropped the sugar.

“Imaaaa!” she squealed, running to her like it was Yom Tov morning.

Rina just stood there, oven mitts still on her hands, her mouth slightly open. “You’re home,” she finally said, her voice shaky.

Ima stepped forward and pulled her into a hug. “I wanted to come in when it smelled like fresh challah,” she whispered, “and when I could hear your laughter from the driveway.”

Rina buried her face in her mother’s shoulder. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too, my Rina.” Ima kissed the top of her head, and then bent down to hug Mushka, who was now hugging both her legs like a vine.

Abba closed the door behind them, quiet and gentle.

The house didn’t erupt in celebration — it just filled with the kind of silence that comes after a prayer is answered. A warmth settled over the whole room, soft as dough rising under a towel.

Ima was home.

And so was joy.

The Monday morning sun spilled across the playground, casting long shadows over the pavement. It was crisp, the kind of day that smelled like apples and freshly sharpened pencils.

Girls laughed and squealed as they played tag near the hopscotch court. Others clustered in circles, catching up after the weekend.

Tzippy and Leah sat side by side on the bench near the swing set, sipping water from their matching bottles and enjoying the rare moment of calm.

“Did you hear?” one girl whispered nearby. “Rina’s mother came home Friday.”

“No way,” said another. “I thought she was really sick. Like, really sick.”

“She was,” said Freida, stepping into the conversation. Her voice had that thin, biting edge. “But I guess now Rina thinks she’s some kind of queen for surviving a rough two weeks.”

Dina giggled. “Yeah. She acts like she’s the only one with problems. My baby cousin was sick too, but I didn’t make it everyone’s business.”

Leah’s shoulders stiffened. Tzippy sat up straighter.

“She didn’t make it everyone’s business,” Tzippy said, standing. “We were the ones who helped because we cared.”

Leah added, “You talk like it's a competition. Like being strong through something hard is something to mock?”

Freida folded her arms. “It’s not mocking. It’s just weird how everyone’s suddenly treating her like she’s so special.”

That’s when Rina walked by.

She had come outside to find her sister Nina, who had forgotten her lunch, but the words stopped her in her tracks.

Freida raised her eyebrows. “Speak of the queen.”

Rina turned slowly, her face calm — but her eyes clear.

“No,” she said quietly, “I’m not a queen. I’m someone who had a really hard week, and I’m lucky to still have my mother. That doesn’t make me special. That just makes me grateful.”

The girls stared at her. Even Freida went quiet.

Rina went on, her voice steady. “I didn’t ask for attention. And I didn’t ask for your sympathy. But I did hope you’d have some decency.”

A hush fell over the group.

Even Dina looked away, suddenly very interested in the hem of her sleeve.

Tzippy stepped forward, her face proud. “You heard her.”

And for the first time, it wasn’t Tzippy or Leah who had to defend Rina.

It was Rina — defending herself.

Rina turned to leave, her chin lifted just a little higher. Nina had spotted her from across the yard and ran to catch up, slipping her hand into her big sister’s like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Ima packed extra cookies,” Nina said brightly. “We can share lunch!”

Rina smiled. “Perfect.”

As they walked away, Tzippy and Leah exchanged a glance — and the kind of smile that said:

“She's really becoming her own”.

The classroom buzzed with quiet morning energy — chairs scraping, pencils tapping, and sunlight pouring through the windows like golden paint.

Mrs. Cohen stood at the front of the room with a soft smile, holding a stack of lined paper.

“Today,” she said, “I want you to write about something a little different.”

The girls looked up.

“I’d like you to write about a moment that changed you. It doesn’t have to be dramatic. It just has to be real.”

She handed out the papers, one by one.

“It could be something that made you braver. Or softer. Or something that helped you see yourself — or someone else — differently. And it’s okay if you’re still figuring it out.”

Tzippy turned the blank paper over in her hands, then placed it on her desk.

Leah twirled her pencil slowly.

Rina stared down at the lines.

And then… they wrote.

Tzippy’s Paragraph

The moment that changed me was when I saw my brother Ezra, who never takes anything seriously, sit quietly with someone who was scared. He didn’t joke or tease. He just sat. It made me realize that being strong isn’t always about talking. Sometimes it’s about listening. That’s what I want to get better at — being quiet when it counts, and kind even when it’s easier to ignore.

Leah’s Paragraph

One moment that changed me was when I realized that not everyone shows their pain in the same way. I used to think Rina was just cold or bossy. But then I saw what she was carrying. She didn’t need me to like her. She needed me to try. And once I did, everything changed. I learned that sometimes the people who act like they don’t care are the ones who need a friend the most.

Rina’s Paragraph

I used to think I had to be perfect. I thought if I worked hard enough, stayed ahead, and didn’t show weakness, no one could hurt me. But then my mother got sick. And I needed people. I needed help. And it was Tzippy and Leah — the very girls I thought I didn’t need — who showed up. That moment changed everything. It taught me that strength isn’t being above others. It’s letting others in.

Mrs. Cohen walked slowly through the rows of desks as the girls wrote, glancing at their pages.

And for once, there were no whispers.

Just pencils.

Just thoughts.

Just growth.

The bell hadn’t rung yet.

The classroom was filled with the gentle rustle of notebooks, the creak of chairs, and the golden hush of early afternoon light.

Rina sat at her desk, flipping through her binder. A loose sheet fluttered out and landed softly on the floor beside her.

She bent down and picked it up.

It was Tzippy’s writing assignment.

She recognized the neat print. The words:
The moment that changed me was when I saw my brother Ezra, who never takes anything seriously, sit quietly with someone who was scared…

Rina read it once.

Then again.

By the end, her lips were tugging upward — not because the writing was funny, but because it was so… Tzippy. Quiet. Strong. Unexpected.

She smiled.

Across the room, Tzippy looked up from her own paper and locked eyes with Rina.

Rina lifted the paper slightly with a small, knowing grin.

Tzippy’s eyes widened for a second — then she smiled too and mouthed:

“I also read yours.”

Rina blinked.

And then… They both laughed.

Not loud. Not dramatic.

Just the kind of soft laugh that meant:

I see you.

I get it.

We’re okay.

Mrs. Cohen, standing at the front of the room, looked up briefly and smiled to herself.

Some lessons don’t need to be graded.

Some are already passed with flying colors.

The note was tucked into the back of the spice cabinet — yellowed at the corners, dotted with a faint smear of oil and something that might’ve been cinnamon. Rina unfolded it carefully, her eyes scanning the fading handwriting.

“Mama’s Shabbos Potato Kugel”

6 potatoes
2 onions
3 eggs
½ cup oil
Salt
Pepper
Bake at…

And that was where the ink trailed off.

“Nooo,” Rina groaned softly. She turned the paper sideways, then upside down. “Bake at what?!”

She held the recipe up to the light. Maybe the number would magically appear.

It didn’t.

She looked toward the living room, where Ima lay resting with a book on the couch. Rina didn’t want to disturb her — not today, not after everything. She wanted to surprise her. Her first full Shabbos back home. A real home-cooked meal. Just like before.

So she did the only thing that made sense.

She called Tzippy.

Twenty minutes later, Rina, Tzippy, and Leah stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, laughing.

“Well, I bake kugel at 375,” Tzippy said confidently, peeling a potato.

“My Ima bakes hers at 400 but covers it halfway through,” Leah added, grating onions until her eyes watered. “Also, we use paprika.”

“Paprika?” Rina frowned. “I don’t think my mother’s recipe ever had paprika.”

“Paprika makes everything better,” Leah said firmly.

Rina grinned. “Fine. One corner of it can have paprika. Like a test square.”

They worked like a team — swapping tips, sneaking little spoonfuls of batter, and making a huge mess on the counter. At one point, Rina accidentally flung a glob of potato onto Tzippy’s skirt, and Leah declared it a “baking badge of honor.”

By the time the kugel was in the oven, the kitchen smelled heavenly — like memory and hope and melted onions.

They cleaned up quickly, slipping out just before Ima woke from her nap.

That Friday night, the kugel came to the table golden and crispy at the edges.

Rina held her breath as Ima took a bite.

She chewed slowly.

Then smiled. “It’s almost perfect,” she said. “Just needs a little more salt. And maybe… a touch of paprika?”

Rina gasped. “You used paprika?!”

“Just a pinch,” Ima said with a twinkle in her eye. “Your Bubby used to. It’s the secret, actually.”

Rina laughed so hard she nearly dropped her fork. Across the table, Tzippy winked, and Leah gave her a quiet thumbs-up.

And in that moment, with her mother home, her friends close, and kugel on the table — everything felt just right.

The smell of paint and colored pencils filled the room. Brushes clinked softly in jars of water, and soft classical music played from the corner speaker.

It was art day — a favorite for some, a stress for others.

Rina Rosenbaum sat at the end of the table, focused, her brow furrowed as she added golden lines to the edge of her paper. She was painting a scene of Shabbos candles — her mother’s hands, gently lighting them. The light, the softness — it was personal. And Rina rarely showed anything personal.

Next to her sat Freida.

Who did not notice, at first, what Rina was painting.

She was too busy complaining about how her brush kept shedding.

“This paintbrush is falling apart,” she muttered, flicking it against the table. “Ugh.”

Tzippy and Leah were seated a few spots down. Tzippy was doodling vines around her name in the corner of her page, and Leah was painting a blue sky with birds that somehow looked like checkmarks.

Then Freida glanced over.

And froze.

She didn’t say anything right away.

But after a few seconds, she muttered — barely above a whisper — “That’s actually really good…”

The moment the words left her mouth, she stiffened. She looked away fast, as if she hadn’t said anything at all.

But Rina heard her.

She didn’t say anything either.

Just… smiled to herself.

A small smile. The kind you give when something inside you softens and you don’t want anyone to see.

She dipped her brush again. And painted on.

The hallway was quiet. The only sound was the hum of the upstairs fan and the creak of the floorboards as Tzippy tiptoed back from brushing her teeth.

Ezra’s door was half-open. A sliver of warm lamp light spilled out across the hall.

Tzippy peeked in.

He was sitting on the floor, cross-legged in pajamas, building a tiny tower of seforim and comic books for no reason at all.

“Still up?” she asked.

Ezra looked up and grinned. “Can’t sleep. I was thinking about dragons.”

Tzippy raised an eyebrow and leaned against the doorframe. “Real dragons?”

“No,” Ezra said. “Metaphorical ones. Like the kind people have to face.”

Tzippy walked in and sat on the floor next to him. “Like Rina?”

Ezra shrugged. “Maybe. She has her pride-dragon. But I think she’s slowly taming it.”

Tzippy smiled a little. “She’s definitely better.”

There was a pause. Just the quiet hum of late-night peace.

“She’s trying,” Ezra said softly. “Sometimes that’s worth more than being perfect.”

Tzippy nodded, thoughtful. “I heard Freida said something nice about her in art today.”

Ezra blinked. “Wait, what? Freida?”

“Yeah. She told Nina it was a good painting.” She smirked. “And then turned pink like she had a fever.”

Ezra laughed. “Maybe that’s her dragon.”

“Maybe,” Tzippy said. “Or maybe she’s just figuring it out.”

There was a long pause. A quiet sibling paused.

Tzippy picked up one of the comic books from the stack. “You’re not the worst brother.”

Ezra grinned. “You’re not the worst sister.”

“Night, Ezra.”

“Night, Tzippy.”

The hallway light clicked off.

The dragons, for now, were sleeping too.

The desks had been cleared. Bulletin boards were mostly bare, except for a faded “Welcome Back!” sign that had never gotten taken down. Backpacks slumped in corners. It was the last day of school.

Mrs. Cohen stood at the front of the room, holding a small stack of index cards and smiling warmly at the class.

“As we close out the year,” she said, “I thought it would be special to hear from a few of you — your reflections, your hopes for next year, or something meaningful you’ve learned.”

A ripple of nervous energy ran through the room.

“I picked three names,” Mrs. Cohen continued. “You don’t have to say anything, but if you want to… we’d love to hear.”

She looked down at her card. “First up… Tzippora Shaina Goldberg.”

Tzippy froze.

Leah elbowed her gently. “Go on. You’ve got something to say.”

Tzippy stood slowly. Her cheeks were pink, but her voice was steady.

She stepped to the front of the class, took a breath, and looked around.

“I wasn’t expecting to be picked,” she began, eyes flitting to Mrs. Cohen and then down to her hands. “But… I’m kind of glad I was.”

She looked up again.

“This year wasn’t just about school or tests or projects. For me, it was about learning something way bigger. About people.”

She glanced toward Rina — who looked down, just a little — and then toward Leah, who gave her the tiniest smile.

“I’ve learned that people can change. That they can surprise you. That you might think you know exactly who someone is… until they show you who they’re becoming.”

She paused, the room quiet.

“I learned that kindness isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s just… making space. Giving someone another chance, even when it’s hard. And I learned that second chances don’t always come with balloons or music. Sometimes they’re just small moments where you try again. And again. Until it sticks.”

Tzippy glanced around the room one more time — at Rina, at Leah, at even Freida, who blinked fast and looked away.

“So yeah,” she finished. “That’s what I learned. That people can grow. And sometimes, when you let them… you grow too.”

There was a long pause.

Then quiet clapping.

And then the whole room joined in.

Tzippy sat down again, her heart beating a little fast, but her shoulders lighter than they had been all year.

And across the room, Rina met her eyes.

And mouthed, “Thank you.”

“Everyone come, and let’s take a picture together! I brought my camera with me to school today!” Rina called out, her eyes sparkling as she waved the little blue camera above her head.

Girls were crowding the hallway, stuffing notebooks into tote bags, unzipping lockers, chattering about summer plans and sleepaway camp. But at Rina’s voice, heads turned.

“Really? Right now?” Freida asked, raising an eyebrow as she pulled her backpack over one shoulder. Her tone was playful, but with that familiar edge of sarcasm.

Before Rina could answer, someone else did.

“Freida, stop being rude and enjoy being friends with a normal girl!” Leeba, her longtime friend, smirked as she walked past with her lunchbox tucked under her arm.

Freida blinked. “What?” she said, genuinely startled. But then her expression softened—just a little. And without another word, she turned and walked over to where Rina was standing, already surrounded by Tzippy, Leah, and a bunch of other girls from the class.

“Alright,” Rina said, trying to herd everyone into place, “Leeba, scooch over! Miriam, you’re too tall—kneel in front of Tzippy. Yes, perfect!”

Tzippy laughed. “This is total chaos.”

“It’s beautiful chaos,” Leah said, looping her arm around Rina’s shoulder.

Everyone was talking and giggling as Rina set the timer.

“Okay… ready?” she called out, backing into place in the middle of the group. “Everyone say ‘Last day of school’!”

“LAST DAY OF SCHOOL!” they all shouted.

Click.

The camera captured it: a dozen smiles, squished shoulders, summer-sunshine lighting, and a friendship group that looked nothing like it had at the start of the year — and everything like it was meant to.

The school year had ended just a week ago, but for Tzippy, it already felt like a dream.

No more packed lunches. No more bells. No more math quizzes or whispered drama in the hallway.

Just... sunshine, quiet mornings, and summer air.

Tzippy sat on a big picnic blanket in her backyard, lemonade in one hand, her favorite book in the other. The grass was warm, and the breeze carried the scent of her mother’s blueberry muffins cooling by the kitchen window.

Ezra was somewhere on the other side of the yard, building a “fort” out of old boxes. She could hear him muttering about blueprints and dragons.

“Tzippy!” a voice called through the open gate.

Leah was first, balancing a basket of popsicles. Rina was right behind her, holding a notebook and wearing flip-flops. A minute later, Freida and Leeba peeked in too — awkwardly at first, but then with smiles that said they were still figuring it all out.

“You brought the whole summer club,” Tzippy teased, standing to greet them.

“We brought our best selves,” Leah said, flopping onto the blanket.

“Speak for yourself,” Rina joked, kicking off her sandals. “I brought bug spray and three summer goals.”

“Goal number one?” Tzippy asked.

“Don’t get eaten alive by mosquitoes in your backyard.”

They all laughed.

Freida sat down more slowly. She pulled out a little envelope and passed it to Rina. “My mom made us write ‘reflection letters’ about the year. I... wrote one for you too.”

Rina blinked. “Wait. Really?”

Freida shrugged. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

Rina smiled. “Okay. I’ll only cry a tiny bit.”

Leeba rolled her eyes, but she was smiling too.

Tzippy leaned back on her elbows and looked around — at her friends, the warm sun, the quiet joy of not rushing anywhere.

“We should do this every summer,” she said.

“Deal,” Leah said.

“Same spot?” Rina asked.

“Same spot,” Tzippy nodded.

And in that moment

“I can’t believe we’re gonna be in seventh grade,” Leah said dreamily, flopping onto the grass beneath the big oak tree in her backyard. The shade danced across her face as the breeze rustled the leaves above.

“I know, tell me about it,” Rina sighed, settling beside her with a crinkly bag of gummies. She popped one into her mouth and leaned back on her elbows. “We’re basically grandmothers now.”

Tzippy raised an eyebrow as she smoothed her skirt and sat cross-legged beside them. “Well… we will be so old and mature and—”

She was cut off by a sudden burst of giggles.

“Okay, I didn’t really mean it!” Rina said through a laugh.

“Oh yeah?” Leah smirked. “Cause it sounded like you did!”

“Whatever!” Rina said, laughing too hard to argue properly. She tossed a gummy toward Leah, who caught it mid-air like a champion.

They lay in silence for a moment, the kind that only happens when three girls know each other deeply, fully, and kindly. The summer sun warmed the space around them, but the shade kept them cool. It felt like the world had slowed just for them.

“I’m kind of excited,” Tzippy said finally. “To see what seventh grade brings.”

Leah sat up. “I’m excited to not have math first thing in the morning.”

“I’m excited to see what new clubs there’ll be,” Rina added. “Like maybe a newspaper! Or a drama club! Or... I don’t know, something unexpected.”

Tzippy smiled. “We could all join something together.”

Leah reached out and grabbed a handful of gummies. “As long as it’s not mountain climbing, I’m in.”

Rina laughed. “Deal.”

And with that, the three of them laid back in the grass, side by side, watching the branches sway above.

They didn’t know what seventh grade would bring.

But they knew they’d face it together.

Tzippy skipped through the park, letting her red and blonde curls bounce with every step. The sunlight filtered through the trees, painting golden patches along the path. She didn’t even care if anyone was watching — it was too nice a day to walk like a regular person.

In her hand, she clutched a folded-up note — an invitation to the “Back-to-School Picnic” the girls had planned for the end of summer. Just one last hurrah before seventh grade began. The blanket was already spread out under the willow tree, and Leah had promised to bring homemade lemonade.

“Hi Tzippy!!” a familiar voice called out.

She turned — it was Rina, waving from across the grass with a bag of chips under one arm and a stack of notebooks under the other. “I brought some of our old letters. Thought it would be funny to read them.”

Tzippy laughed. “If we’re reading those, I refuse to read the one where I thought I was being ‘super poetic’ but spelled ‘sunlight’ wrong.”

Leah appeared behind Rina, carrying a basket of grapes and some of her mother’s famous cinnamon cookies. “Too late. That’s exactly the one I brought.”

The girls burst into laughter as they flopped down on the picnic blanket together.

Summer was winding down, the air had a hint of change — but the friendships? Still strong, still sweet, and just getting started.

Tzippy stood in front of her mirror, adjusting the pin on her headband for the fifth time.

“I still look like a third grader pretending to be a seventh grader,” she muttered.

Ezra poked his head into her room. “You look fine. Want me to walk with you?”

Tzippy smiled. “I’ll meet you at the corner like always.”

Outside, the air felt just a little crisper than usual — the kind of air that only comes on the first day of school.

Moms were taking photos on front steps. Backpacks looked suspiciously too clean. And everywhere, girls were walking a little taller, even if they were nervous inside.

At the corner, Leah was already waiting.

“Do I look older?” she asked, smoothing her skirt.

Tzippy grinned. “You look like a very mature seventh grader.”

“Oh good,” Leah laughed, then added in a whisper, “Rina’s coming too.”

Rina appeared a moment later, her long braid tucked neatly over her shoulder. She looked calm — but there was a nervous twist in her smile.

“Okay,” she said, adjusting her bag strap. “Ready?”

The three girls walked in step toward the school. Everything looked the same — the red brick walls, the green front doors — and yet somehow, it felt different.

New grade. New notebooks. New chances.

As they walked up the steps, someone from behind called out, “Hey! Tzippy, Leah, Rina! Wait for us!”

It was Freida and Leeba.

Leeba waved. Freida looked… not mean. Not snide. Just a little unsure.

“We saved you seats,” she added, a little awkwardly.

The girls exchanged a glance.

This year, Tzippy thought, was already different.

And she was kind of excited to see where it would go.

The first day of seventh grade was buzzing. Desks shuffled, notebooks flipped open, and Mrs. Feldman — their new teacher — stood at the front of the classroom with a kind smile and a neat bun tucked under her tichel.

“Before we begin,” she said, “I want you all to give a warm welcome to a new student joining our class this year. Yehudis Lurie, can you stand up for a moment?”

A girl with soft brown curls and sparkly glasses stood from the second row and gave a shy wave. Her smile was quiet, but warm. There was something graceful about her — like she belonged already.

“Hi Yehudis!” the class chorused, half in sync.

Tzippy clapped along and gave a small smile. She knew what it was like to be new, to feel out of place. She wanted to make Yehudis feel welcome.

At recess, Leah and Rina were already by Yehudis’s side.

“Where did you move from?” Leah asked.

“Baltimore,” Yehudis replied. “But we came in the middle of the summer, so I was hoping I’d get to meet everyone today.”

“Oh! You have to join our group!” Rina beamed. “We sit under the oak tree. We even do Shabbos lunches sometimes.”

Tzippy walked over, sandwich in hand, but the circle was tight — tighter than she expected.

“Hey guys,” she said, trying to sound cheerful.

“Oh, hey Tzippy!” Rina said. “Yehudis was just telling us how her family keeps bees in their backyard!”

“That’s... cool,” Tzippy said, even though she hated bees. She sat down on the edge of the group, but no one really noticed.

The whole lunch break, Yehudis talked and laughed — and Tzippy listened. She liked Yehudis. Really. She was sweet and kind. But by the end of the day, something stung more than a bee ever could:

No one had really talked to her.

When school let out, Tzippy walked home a little slower than usual. Ezra spotted her at the corner and jogged up.

“You okay?” he asked, chewing gum like he always did after school.

Tzippy shrugged. “Yeah.”

Ezra paused. “You sure?”

She sighed. “I’m happy for Leah and Rina. I am. It’s just… I feel like they forgot I exist.”

Ezra didn’t say anything right away. He just walked next to her, quiet and steady.

“I’m sure they didn’t mean it,” he said finally.

“I know,” Tzippy whispered.

But it didn’t make her feel any less alone.

Tzippy waited at the corner. One minute. Two. Three.

Maybe Leah was just late.

Maybe Rina forgot something.

Maybe they’d come any second now.

But by the fifth minute, when no familiar voices echoed down the block, Tzippy tightened the straps of her backpack and began walking. Alone.

Her curls bounced with every step, but there was no Ezra today either — he had gone early for a science club meeting. The morning felt still, and for the first time, the walk to school didn’t feel like a warm-up to a great day. It felt like she was a step behind before the day had even started.

When she turned the corner by the park, she saw them.

Leah, Rina, and Yehudis — walking side by side, laughing about something. Rina was swinging her lunch bag, Yehudis had her braid tied with a purple ribbon, and Leah had a bottle of grape juice tucked under her arm.

Tzippy stopped for a second.

They hadn’t told her.

No one said, “We’re walking together tomorrow.”

No one said anything.

And that hurt more than she expected.

She looked away quickly and kept walking so they wouldn’t see the sting in her eyes.

When she reached the school doors, she pasted on a smile like tape — not strong enough to hold her heart together, but just enough to get through the morning.

“Hey, Tzippy!” Yehudis called as they reached the lockers.

“Hi,” she replied, keeping her voice light.

“Sorry, we kind of just bumped into each other,” Leah added quickly, catching the look on Tzippy’s face. “We should’ve called you. I meant to—”

But Rina was already dragging Yehudis over to ask her something about art class, and Leah’s words floated away.

Tzippy stood at her locker and nodded, even though her throat felt tight.

I guess they just forgot.

Tzippy sat alone on the bench at recess, the bag of pretzels on her lap forgotten.

Across the yard, Leah was showing Yehudis how to braid a friendship bracelet. Rina sat cross-legged beside them, laughing at something Yehudis said. It looked… fun. Natural. Easy.

But Tzippy wasn't in it. She wasn't anywhere near it.

She had tried. For days now, she'd tried.

Smiled when Yehudis joined their group.

Laughed even when she felt a little left behind.

Waited by the corner every morning even when no one showed up.

But no one had texted her last night. No one had saved her a seat this morning. And no one seemed to notice that she wasn’t sitting with them now.

Her fingers twisted the corner of the pretzel bag.

I think… they don’t want me anymore.

The thought floated into her mind as quiet as a breeze, but it slammed into her chest like thunder.

They’re not saying it out loud, she realized, but they don’t need to.

She had been left behind — just more politely than usual.

Not with a fight. Not with drama. Just… without an invitation.

She blinked quickly, looking away before any tears could rise.

And the worst part?

She couldn’t even be mad.

Because Yehudis was nice.

Because Leah still smiled at her.

Because Rina hadn’t said anything mean.

But none of that stopped the ache from growing deeper.

They moved on, she thought. And I didn’t.

The next morning, Tzippy didn’t go to the corner.

She told herself it wasn’t a big deal.

She’d just walk a different way. Take the long route. Maybe stop by the bakery and buy a chocolate rugelach before school.

But really, it was a test.

Would they notice?

As she passed by the park, she imagined the scene at the corner — the three of them standing there, chatting, not even realizing she was missing.

Or maybe they’d see she wasn’t there… and shrug.

At school, Tzippy walked in quietly, slipping past the front doors just before the bell rang.

She went straight to her desk, took out her folder, and didn’t look up.

A minute later, she heard their voices.

“Where’s Tzippy?” That was Leah.

“I don’t know… she wasn’t at the corner,” Rina said. “Did she say anything to you?”

“No.” A pause. “She didn’t answer my call last night either…”

“I hope she’s not mad,” Yehudis added softly.

Tzippy’s heart flickered.

They noticed.

But she didn’t move.

She didn’t smile.

She just stared at her math sheet and pretended not to hear — because even though they noticed she was gone… no one had noticed she was hurting.

Not yet.

Recess came, and the playground bloomed with noise — jump ropes snapping the ground, laughter bubbling from the swings, sneakers skidding across the blacktop.

But Tzippy didn’t go near any of it.

She sat at the far end of the yard, behind the big oak tree where no one really went unless they wanted to be alone. She pulled out her book, but the words didn’t land. Her eyes flicked across the page, but her heart wasn’t in it.

She just needed space.

To think.

To breathe.

To figure out whether she was being silly… or if something really had changed forever.

Behind her, she could hear the girls laughing again — Leah, Yehudis, someone else — probably talking about the bracelets they’d been working on or the cookies they’d baked last night together.

Tzippy didn’t even know they’d had a sleepover.

She looked down quickly. Her fingers curled around the edge of her page like she could hold herself together if she just held something tightly enough.

Across the yard, Rina stood at the edge of the group.

She was laughing — sort of. But her eyes kept drifting away, over the shoulder of the girl speaking to her, toward the big oak tree.

She saw her.

She saw Tzippy.

And for a long moment, she didn’t say anything. Didn’t wave. Didn’t come over.

She just watched her friend sitting alone… and wondered why she hadn’t noticed sooner.

“Hey, Tzippy, wait up!”

Tzippy turned around to find Rina running toward her with her books clutched tightly to her chest. Her cheeks were flushed, her ponytail bouncing with every step.

When she finally caught up, Tzippy didn’t say anything. She just stood still, her lips pressed together, her eyes cold and guarded.

“I… I noticed you’ve been left out lately,” Rina said, panting slightly. “I mean, Yehudis, Leah — the way it’s all been going — it’s like you’ve been alone and I just... I didn’t mean for it to be like that.”

Tzippy blinked slowly.

Then narrowed her eyes.

“Now you notice?” she said, her voice sharp and quiet like a storm held in a teacup. “Now?”

Rina looked stunned. “I—”

“No,” Tzippy cut her off, her voice trembling. “You didn’t notice when I stood alone in the hallway. Or when you planned things without me. Or when I waited at the corner three mornings in a row.”

Rina looked down. “I didn’t mean to—”

“But you did!” Tzippy’s voice cracked. “You meant to be with them. You meant to laugh and forget to look back. You just didn’t think it would matter.”

Rina opened her mouth, but the words didn’t come fast enough.

And by the time she found them, Tzippy was already running.

She turned and dashed down the sidewalk, curls flying behind her like a flame caught in wind, tears hot in her eyes, blurring the path home.

And Rina?

She just stood there.

Books still clutched to her chest.

And not a single word left to say.

“Hi Rina, how are you?” Yehudis and Leah asked in near unison as the trio met at their new usual corner — the one Tzippy no longer came to.

“I’m good!” Rina replied, her voice cheerful and her smile bright, like sunshine breaking through clouds. “Ready for Chumash? I didn’t finish my notes, but I think I’ll survive.”

Leah laughed. Yehudis nodded, adjusting her backpack.

But for a second — just one second — Leah looked at Rina a little longer.

Because the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

And even though she was laughing, there was something far away in her face. Like her mind wasn’t fully in that corner. Like maybe… part of it was still with Tzippy, running down the block the day before.

Rina chatted all the way to school.

She didn’t mention Tzippy.

Didn’t mention the way her chest still ached from what had been said.

Didn’t mention how, when she woke up this morning, she almost messaged her, but couldn’t find the words.

It was easier — safer — to pretend.

So she laughed. And walked. And smiled.

But as they turned onto the school path, Rina caught sight of the old corner — the one they used to stand at — and her heart sank just a little.

Because pretending was easy.

But forgetting? That wasn’t.

“So what do you think of Yehudis so far?” Leah asked, twirling her pencil between her fingers.

Rina glanced up from her notes, eyebrows raised. “What do you mean?”

Leah shrugged, reaching for a cookie. “I don’t know… Do you like her? I just feel like she’s been so great. She brought everyone together, don’t you think?”

Rina froze.

“Like… the whole class is finally friends,” Leah added, smiling.

Rina’s pencil hovered above the page.

Her smile faded.

She looked up slowly, her voice low and tight.
“Not everyone.”

Leah blinked. “What?”

“You said everyone, like the class is just one happy group now,” Rina said. “But you’re forgetting one person.”

Leah opened her mouth to speak, but Rina was already closing her notebook and standing up.

“I guess Tzippy doesn’t count anymore,” Rina added, her voice sharp with something Leah hadn’t heard from her in a while. “It’s easy to forget people when you’ve already moved on.”

Leah stood up too. “Rina, wait—”

But Rina was already at the door, her bag over her shoulder, her heart pounding.

“Thanks for the cookies,” she said quickly, not turning around.
And with that, she stepped out of Leah’s house and into the quiet street.

Rina ran out of Feldman's house and went to go find her lost close friend. She felt upset and guilty for letting her friendship with her best friend slip away, for someone else.

Yehudis was amazing, the first time Rina saw her. Yehudis’s jewelry stood out from everyone else's plain earrings.

She looked mature and refined with a little bit of arrogance that was familiar to Rina. Her head held high like she was the most important person in the world.

But she wasn’t cold like Rina was before. She was friendly and caring. That’s how she got all the attention, that’s how Rina forgot her most caring friend, Tzippy.

Rina didn’t even realize she was crying until the wind hit her cheeks and made them sting.

She ran past the row of houses on Maple Avenue, past the school with its locked gates, past the bus stop where she used to wait with Tzippy every single morning — the place where they used to talk about everything and nothing.

She had traded all of that.

For what?

Shiny earrings. Compliments. Being liked.

She turned onto Goldberg Street.

Please be home, she whispered silently. Please open the door. Please still care.

She climbed the steps two at a time and knocked.

And knocked again.

Rina stood at the Goldberg front door, clutching the strap of her bag so tightly her knuckles were white.

Mrs. Goldberg opened it, her warm smile fading into surprise.

“Oh… Rina. Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hi. Is… is Tzippy home?”

Mrs. Goldberg shook her head gently. “No, honey. I thought she was with one of her friends. She said she needed some fresh air.”

That didn’t sound like Tzippy.

At least not the Tzippy Rina used to know.

Rina’s breath caught in her throat. “I… I think I know where she is.”

Mrs. Goldberg nodded slowly. “Alright. Let me know if she’s okay?”

Rina was already halfway down the steps.

She didn’t run this time.

She walked fast, heart pounding, past the bakery, past the school, past the block where Leah lived — and straight to the little neighborhood park with the green swings and the chipped red bench.

And there she was.

Tzippy.

Sitting on the very swing she always chose — the one that squeaked just slightly when she moved. Her curls framed her face, and her head was bent over something in her lap. A notebook.

Rina hesitated.

Then, quietly, she stepped closer. Her voice came out soft. “I hoped you’d be here.”

Tzippy didn’t look up. “Of course I’m here. This is where people go when they’re invisible, right?”

Rina winced. “Tzippy… you’re not invisible.”

“You didn’t even see me,” she said. Her voice didn’t shake, but her hands did. “Not for days. Not when I waited at the corner. Not at lunch. Not during group work. I was there… but you chose her.”

Rina stepped forward, placing her bag gently on the ground. “I didn’t choose her instead. I just— I got caught up. She was new. She was loud. Everyone loved her. I didn’t know how to balance it all.”

“I was the one who stood by you when no one else did,” Tzippy whispered.

“I know,” Rina said quickly. “I know. And I messed up. I just came to say… I’m sorry. And if you can’t forgive me yet, that’s okay. But I couldn’t let the silence keep going.”

Finally, Tzippy looked up. Her eyes were red, but her expression had softened — just a little.

She reached into her lap and folded the notebook closed.

“You remembered I come here when I’m upset,” she said.

“Of course I remembered,” Rina replied. “It’s the kind of thing you don’t forget when someone actually matters.”

For a while, neither of them said anything.

Then Tzippy scooted slightly on the swing, just enough to make space.

“You can sit,” she said.

Rina sat.

It wasn’t fixed. But it wasn’t broken anymore either.

The sun had dipped just a little lower, casting a soft golden glow over the park. The swings squeaked gently as the girls rocked back and forth — not too high, just enough to move the air.

Neither said much at first.

But sometimes silence was what made things feel real again.

After a while, Tzippy slid her feet to the ground and let the swing slow to a stop. “We should probably head back before my mother starts to think I joined a circus.”

Rina chuckled. “She told me to let her know if you were okay. I think she’s just worried about you.”

Tzippy stood up and brushed the crumbs of the bench off her skirt. “Yeah. She’s like that.”

They started walking, side by side, the gravel crunching beneath their shoes.

Halfway down the block, Rina cleared her throat. “Hey… do you think we could try again?”

Tzippy looked over at her.

“I don’t mean like everything going back to the way it was,” Rina added quickly. “I mean… just starting from here. Not forgetting what happened, but trying to be better from now on. For real.”

Tzippy didn’t answer right away. She kicked a little pebble off the sidewalk and watched it bounce.

Then she nodded once. “I think we could. But it has to be for real.”

“It is,” Rina said, her voice soft but sure. “I missed you more than I thought I would.”

Tzippy smiled — not wide, but real. “You’re lucky I’m not the type to hold a grudge.”

“I really am,” Rina said with a tiny laugh. “You’re like… a hidden treasure or something. And I forgot how rare that is.”

“You just got distracted by the glitter,” Tzippy replied, shrugging. “But glitter fades. Real friendship doesn’t.”

And just like that, they kept walking — not fast, not slow, but together.

Step by step.

“Hey, where’s Rina? Isn’t she supposed to meet us by the corner every morning?” Yehudis asked, she was upset.

“Um…I don’t know…maybe she is sick?” suggested Leah. Yehudis shrugged.

“Whatever! Well, she’s out of the picture now!” Yehudis laughed, flipping her braid over her shoulder with that cold smile that suddenly didn’t seem so charming anymore.

Leah stopped walking.

Her heart did a little jolt.

Out of the picture?

Just like that?

Rina had missed one morning — and this was how Yehudis talked about her?

“Don’t you think that’s a little harsh?” Leah asked, her voice tight.

Yehudis shrugged. “She ditched us. We waited. We move on. That’s how it works.”

Leah blinked. Something clicked. Like a puzzle piece finally snapping into place.

This wasn’t about Rina.

This was about everyone Yehudis had ever “moved on” from — the girls she’d pulled close and dropped when they didn’t keep up, or when they didn’t agree with her. This was about how she acted when she wasn’t the center of attention.

And Leah realized, with a sinking feeling, that she had been swept up in it.

That she’d let it happen.

That maybe… Tzippy had been right all along.

“I need to go,” Leah said suddenly, stepping away.

Yehudis blinked. “Go where?”

Leah didn’t answer. She just turned around and started walking. Fast. Back toward the path she always used to take — the one that led to the real corner. The one that still felt like hers.

Leah turned the corner at a quick pace, her heart beating just a little faster — not from the walk, but from everything she wanted to say but didn’t know how.

And then she stopped in her tracks.

Up ahead, walking slowly side by side, were Rina and Tzippy.

Tzippy’s curls bounced as she laughed at something Rina said. Rina had her arms crossed, but her posture looked relaxed — lighter than usual.

Leah stood still for a second, watching.

They hadn’t seen her yet.

She took a breath and called out, “Hey!”

Both girls turned.

There was a pause.

Rina blinked, then offered a small smile.

Tzippy looked uncertain.

Leah jogged the rest of the way toward them. “I—” she started, but the words tangled for a second. She looked at both of them. “I was wrong.”

Tzippy raised an eyebrow. “About what?”

“About… everything,” Leah said quietly. “I got swept up in Yehudis’s energy. I thought I was being friendly and easygoing, but really I was just going along with whatever she wanted. And I didn’t see what was happening to us.”

Rina looked at Tzippy, then back at Leah. “What changed?”

Leah gave a little smile, almost embarrassed. “She said you were ‘out of the picture.’ Just like that. Because you weren’t there this morning. And I realized… that’s not how real friendship works.”

Tzippy looked at her for a long moment. Then finally — finally — she smiled. “It’s about time.”

Leah laughed softly. “I know. I'm sorry. For both of you.”

“We're still mad at you,” Tzippy teased, nudging her shoulder. “But not that mad.”

Rina grinned. “Welcome back.”

The three of them stood there a moment longer — on the same corner they'd always met at — like the pause before a new chapter begins.

And then they walked to school. Together again.

When the trio got to school that morning they saw that Yehudis was extremely angry at Lea for ditching her.

“So, you want them not me, huh?” Yehudis crossed her arms as Tzippy, Rina, and Leah walked into the room.

“I-I…” Leah couldn’t say anything. “You told me that Rina was out of the picture now since she didn't come to ‘our’ corner this morning! That’s when I realized I was helping you all along!”.

“What do you mean?” Yehudis asked, girls from their class came closer to hear.

“It’s not how friendship works, Yehudis! You don’t just ditch a friend just because she didn't do what you asked her to do!” Leah put her bag down near her desk and locked eyes contact with Yehudis’s.

Yehudis’s face turned red. “Oh, so now I’m the bad guy?”

“No one said that,” Rina spoke up, stepping forward. “But you said I was out of the picture. Like I didn’t matter. And it wasn’t the first time you acted like that.”

Tzippy nodded quietly. “It’s not about one person being bad. It’s about patterns. About how you made people feel.”

A few of the other girls in the room — girls who had also felt the sting of being dropped or replaced — were nodding now too.

Yehudis’s arms dropped to her sides. Her voice came out quieter this time. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

Leah softened a little. “We’re not trying to start a fight, Yehudis. We’re just… not playing that game anymore. If you want to be a real friend, it’s never too late. But it has to be real.”

Yehudis looked around the room. She wasn’t used to being the one outside the circle.

“I need to think,” she muttered, picking up her bag and walking toward the door.

No one followed her.

Tzippy looked at Rina, then at Leah. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“Do you think she’ll come around?” Rina asked quietly.

Leah shrugged. “I don’t know. But at least we stood up for something.”

“And for each other,” Tzippy added, her voice steady.

They sat down together as class began — a little older, a little wiser — and a whole lot closer.

“You know…You did a good job!” Tzippy patted Leah on the shoulders.

“What do you mean?” Leah asked, smiling at Tzippy.

“You stuck up for yourself, that’s what!” Rina smiled at Leah. Leah smiled shyly.

“Whatever!”.

“And you stuck up for me, too!” Tzippy pointed out. “Hmm?” Leah asked, biting into a cookie.

“How?”.

“I was the one left out of the enchanted circle, when Yehudis came. I didn’t have the key to friendship with her. I knew something was going wrong but I couldn’t put my finger on it. But when you told her how everyone felt you stuck up for me! I felt so alone when everyone paid attention to one thing! I wasn’t a part of the enchanted circle!” Tzippy said, hugging her knees.

Leah’s face softened. She looked at Tzippy, then glanced down at the half-eaten cookie in her hand.

“I didn’t realize it was that bad,” she said quietly. “I just thought... maybe you were tired or needed space. I didn’t know you felt so left out.”

Tzippy shrugged, but her eyes were wet. “I didn’t want to say anything. I thought maybe I was overreacting. But then when Rina noticed, and you finally said something—I realized I wasn’t imagining it.”

“I’m really sorry,” Leah said, reaching out to squeeze Tzippy’s hand. “I should’ve seen it sooner.”

Rina nodded. “Same here. But we see it now. And no enchanted circles allowed anymore — unless all three of us are in it.”

Tzippy let out a small laugh. “Deal.”

Leah grinned. “Besides, I’d rather have a circle of real friends than a perfect one.”

Rina leaned back on her elbows. “Perfect’s overrated.”

They all laughed then — the kind of laugh that bubbles up from feeling safe, known, and loved.

And as the sun filtered through the leaves above them, Tzippy felt something settle in her heart.

Maybe friendship wasn’t about being in the center of everything.

Maybe it was about being surrounded — by the right people.

Tzippy had just finished stuffing her books into her backpack when she noticed Devora lingering by the doorway. Most of the girls had already rushed outside, laughing, calling goodbyes, ready to start the walk home.

Devora stood there, shifting from foot to foot, like she wanted to say something but didn’t quite know how.

Tzippy slung her bag over her shoulder and turned to go — but then Devora blurted, “Wait… Tzippy?”

Tzippy paused. “Yeah?”

“Can I… walk home with you?” Devora’s voice was quiet. Unsure. Nothing like her usual confident tone.

Tzippy blinked. “Uh… okay,” she said slowly. “Sure.”

They walked side by side in silence for a little while. The air was crisp. Birds were chirping somewhere overhead. The sound of their footsteps echoed between the houses.

Tzippy didn’t say anything. She didn’t know what to say.

“I owe you an apology,” Devora said suddenly, her voice breaking the stillness. “For a lot of things, actually.”

Tzippy glanced at her, surprised.

“I saw the way you looked,” Devora continued. “When Leah and I kept walking without you. When we laughed about that thing at recess and didn’t include you. And… and when I said Rina was ‘out of the picture’ that day. That was mean. It really was.”

Tzippy’s heart was pounding, but she stayed quiet, letting Devora talk.

“I guess I was jealous,” Devora admitted, eyes fixed on the sidewalk. “You had all these close friendships already. You three were like… a triangle. Like no one could break into that. And I didn’t want to be left out. So instead… I made someone else feel left out.”

There was a long pause.

“I didn’t think it’d hurt so much,” Devora said, her voice smaller now. “But when Leah stopped walking with me, and you and Rina were back together, I realized I’d messed everything up.”

They reached the corner — the old one. The one where Tzippy and Leah and Rina used to meet every morning. Devora slowed to a stop.

“I don’t expect everything to go back to how it was,” she said. “I just wanted you to know I see it now. And I’m sorry.”

Tzippy looked at her. Really looked at her. And for the first time in a while, Devora didn’t seem like the girl who wanted to take over everything. She just seemed like… a girl who made a mistake.

“Thanks for saying that,” Tzippy said softly. “It doesn’t fix everything… but it means a lot.”

Devora smiled, and it wasn’t her usual confident smile. It was a little nervous. A little real.

“Maybe we could walk home again sometime?” she asked.

Tzippy gave a small nod. “Maybe we could.”

And the two girls stood there for a moment longer — not best friends, not enemies, just… somewhere in between. A little closer than before.

The next morning, Tzippy arrived at the old meeting corner a little early. The sun was peeking out from behind the rooftops, the street still quiet except for a dog barking somewhere far away.

She stood there, humming softly to herself, the strap of her bag digging into her shoulder.

A few minutes later, Leah came jogging up, her ponytail swinging. “Good morning!”

“Morning,” Tzippy replied with a smile.

Behind her, Rina appeared too — a little out of breath but smiling. “Sorry! My little sister dropped her shoe into the sink this morning. Don’t ask.”

Tzippy laughed, and for a second, everything felt just like before.

But then Leah narrowed her eyes. “So… I saw you walking home with Devora yesterday.”

Rina raised an eyebrow, curious.

Tzippy nodded slowly. “Yeah… she asked if she could walk with me. We talked.”

Leah tilted her head. “Really? What did she want?”

Tzippy hesitated, then said, “She apologized.”

Rina blinked. “She did?”

“She said she was jealous,” Tzippy added softly. “Of me. Of us. Of the friendships we already had. And I guess… she didn’t know how to deal with it.”

Leah folded her arms. “Well, I guess it’s good she admitted it. I didn’t think she would.”

Rina looked down the sidewalk for a moment. “Do you… believe her?”

Tzippy looked at both of them and said honestly, “I do. She seemed different yesterday. Not perfect, but… sincere.”

Leah sighed. “Well, if you believe her, I guess I will too.”

Rina gave a small smile. “Maybe we should let her sit with us again. Not forever. Just… give her a chance to figure things out.”

Tzippy nodded. “I’d like that.”

Just then, the three girls heard footsteps behind them. They turned — and there was Devora, walking slowly with her head down, like she wasn’t sure if she was even allowed to come close.

Tzippy smiled. “Hey, Yehudis.”

Yehudis looked up, surprised. “Hi…”

Leah scooted over a little on the sidewalk. “Come on. We’re walking.”

Rina didn’t say anything — but she gave a tiny nod and began walking ahead.

And just like that, the four girls began the walk to school together — quietly, slowly, maybe even awkwardly.

But not alone.

After dinner, Tzippy and Dassy flopped onto the soft pink carpet in their shared bedroom. It was their favorite spot — where stories were whispered, secrets were kept, and giggles lived between plush pillows and stuffed animals.

Dassy lay on her back, kicking her feet in the air. “You looked happy today,” she said, playing with the hem of her skirt.

Tzippy shrugged, her red-blonde curls fanned across the rug like a sunburst. “It was a good day. But also weird.”

Dassy rolled onto her stomach, chin in her hands. “Weird how?”

Tzippy pulled a nearby stuffed sheep into her arms. “Yehudis. She apologized.”

Dassy gasped. “No way. The Yehudis?”

Tzippy nodded. “The same one who took over everything and didn’t even see me anymore.”

Dassy scooted closer. “What did she say?”

“That she was jealous,” Tzippy whispered. “That she felt like she couldn’t fit in, so she acted like the only way to be important was to push others out.”

Dassy was quiet for a long second. “That’s kind of sad.”

“It is,” Tzippy said. “But also brave. I think it’s hard to say sorry. Even harder to admit you were wrong.”

“I’m glad she did, though,” Dassy whispered, twirling one of her curls around her finger. “You were really sad for a while.”

“I know,” Tzippy said, her voice soft. “But I learned something, too.”

“What?”

Tzippy turned her head, her eyes kind. “Even when people forget you, you’re still worth remembering.”

Dassy smiled wide. “I’d never forget you.”

Tzippy leaned over and kissed her sister on the head. “And I’ll never forget you either.”

The two girls lay side by side, their pink carpet beneath them and the warm glow of their night light casting shadows on the wall.

Sometimes, the best place in the world was right at home, with the person who knew your heart without needing you to explain a thing.

Yehudis sat cross-legged on her fluffy white rug, her bedroom neat and symmetrical — not a single poster out of place. Her walls were painted soft lilac, and lights twinkled faintly around her mirror. A half-open notebook sat in front of her, her pen resting against the paper, untouched.

Down the hallway, she could hear her little brother banging blocks together, and her mother talking on the phone in the kitchen. But inside her room, everything was quiet — too quiet.

She tapped her pen. Then tapped it again. Then finally scribbled something across the page:

She stared at the words, then ripped the page out quickly and crumpled it.

Just then, her door opened a crack. “Yehudis? Want to help me with supper?” her mother called sweetly.

“Coming!” Yehudis called back.

She shoved the crumpled paper into her drawer and stood up, brushing invisible lint off her skirt. She paused at the mirror, smoothing her dark braid behind her shoulder.

Downstairs, she tied on an apron and took her place beside her mother at the kitchen counter. They worked in silence for a few minutes, until her mother finally asked, “How’s school going?”

Yehudis hesitated. “Fine.”

Her mother looked at her carefully. “That’s not a real answer.”

Yehudis let out a tiny breath. “It’s just… I thought being liked meant being in charge. But now I don’t know anymore.”

Her mother didn’t say anything at first — just handed her the mixing spoon. Then finally, “Maybe being liked comes from being kind.”

Yehudis didn’t respond, but her grip on the spoon tightened just slightly.

The house was quiet now. Her little brother was asleep, the dishwasher hummed faintly downstairs, and the only light in Yehudis’ room came from her fairy lights and the tiny lamp by her bed.

She sat curled on her desk chair, her knees hugged close to her chest, staring at the same notebook she'd left earlier.

The page she had ripped out was gone — tossed in the trash. But the words hadn’t left her.

She chewed the end of her pen, thinking back to that moment in school, when Leah had spoken up. When Tzippy stood to the side and looked… small.

And then Rina — who she always thought was too proud — had left the table.

She hadn’t said anything.

Why didn’t I say anything?

Her thoughts spiraled quietly, tugging at her like a too-tight braid.

She flopped backward onto her bed and stared at the ceiling.

"I miss being new," she whispered to the dark.

Because when she was new, no one expected her to lead. No one expected her to be perfect. They were just kind. And she didn’t know how to go back to that without it looking like weakness.

She turned over, pulled her blanket up to her chin, and closed her eyes. Just before she drifted off, one last thought floated up:

Tzippy walked to school with Rina and Leah, the breeze light and cool, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass. They didn’t say much, but it was the kind of silence that felt comfortable — not like yesterday, when everything felt tangled.

When they got to school, the day went on like any other. Until lunchtime.

The girls sat together at their usual spot — Rina, Leah, Tzippy, a few others. Yehudis had her tray of lunch and sat a little farther down the table. Not alone, but quieter than usual.

She picked at her food and then said suddenly — not looking at anyone in particular —
“Friendship is like an enchanted circle.”

Tzippy looked up from her sandwich. “What do you mean?”

Yehudis shrugged, still not meeting their eyes. “Like… it looks pretty and sparkly from the outside. And everyone wants to be in it. But sometimes people forget that they’re not the only ones who feel left out.”

Leah blinked. “Are you saying you felt left out?”

Yehudis shook her head. “No. I think I made someone else feel that way. And I didn’t notice. I was too busy being in the circle.”

There was a quiet pause.

Rina gently placed her fork down. “It happens. The hard part is realizing it.”

Tzippy looked at Yehudis. Her first instinct was to pull away — to say, “Too late.”
But instead, she said: “Sometimes the circle has to break a little so people can step in.”

Yehudis smiled softly, finally meeting her eyes. “Then maybe we can draw a new one. One that doesn’t sparkle as much… but it makes more room.”

And somehow, just like that, the lunch table didn’t feel so divided anymore.

Tzippy sat on the windowsill in her room, the sky outside painted with stars. Her journal rested in her lap, but the pen dangled loosely from her fingers. She didn’t feel like writing.

Ezra knocked once on her door and peeked in. “Hey. Can I come in?”

Tzippy shrugged. “Sure.”

He stepped in and sat cross-legged on the carpet. “You looked all serious at dinner.”

Tzippy smiled just a little. “It’s nothing. Just… thinking.”

Ezra leaned his head back dramatically. “That’s what you always say before saying something not-nothing.”

Tzippy rolled her eyes but laughed. “Fine. It’s just... Yehudis said something today at lunch. Something kind of… deep.”

Ezra sat up straighter, intrigued. “Ooooh. Go on.”

“She said friendship is like an enchanted circle. Like it sparkles and looks magical from the outside. But if you're not careful, you can shut people out without even noticing.”

Ezra blinked. “Whoa.”

Tzippy looked at him. “You don’t think it’s silly?”

Ezra shook his head. “No way. That’s actually really smart. Like… yeah! It’s like when you're building a clubhouse and only invite certain people in — you think you're just making it cool, but really, you’re making someone else feel like they’re outside the whole time.”

Tzippy tilted her head. “That’s… exactly it.”

Ezra nodded slowly. “I guess enchanted circles are only really enchanted if everyone gets to stand inside it. Otherwise it’s just a fancy fence.”

Tzippy smiled, this time for real. “Wow. Ezra… that was actually wise.”

Ezra grinned. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

They both laughed.

And somewhere, in the soft glow of the stars and the quiet hum of the house, Tzippy realized — that idea wasn’t just Yehudis’s, or hers, or even Ezra’s. It belonged to all of them now.

The circle was growing — and maybe that was the real magic all along.

The afternoon sun dipped lower, casting long golden shadows across the quiet neighborhood street. A light breeze rustled the trees as Tzippy, Rina, Leah, Yehudis — and Ezra — strolled down the road, just out for some fresh air and a little break from homework.

Ezra was walking ahead a little, bouncing a pinecone in his hand like a ball, his energy sparking off the pavement. “Okay,” he said suddenly, spinning around to face the girls. “I have a theory.”

Rina rolled her eyes with a grin. “Oh no. Ezra’s ‘theories’ always lead to something.”

“Hey, it’s a good one this time!” he protested. “You know that forest behind the school? The one with the old fence and the weird trail?”

Tzippy’s eyes narrowed. “You mean the one we’re not technically supposed to go into?”

Ezra grinned mischievously. “That’s the one.”

Leah leaned in. “What about it?”

Ezra’s voice dropped, as if sharing a secret. “I’ve been thinking. What if there’s something cool in there? Like a hidden clearing… or an old bench… or even an abandoned garden. What if it’s like our own secret enchanted forest?”

Yehudis’s eyes widened. “Seriously? You want us to go in there? It’s all brambly and buggy and probably filled with weird birds that attack you for crumbs.”

Ezra grinned. “Exactly. It’s an adventure.”

Tzippy tilted her head. “Wait… an enchanted forest, huh?”

Rina nudged her. “Sounds like your enchanted circle just got bigger.”

Tzippy laughed. “You know what? I’m in.”

“Me too,” said Leah.

Rina gave a mock sigh. “Ugh, fine. But if a squirrel jumps on me, I’m blaming Ezra.”

Everyone turned to Yehudis.

She crossed her arms, looking at the shadowy trees ahead. “You’re all insane,” she muttered.

But a tiny smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“I guess I’m in too,” she added. “But if there’s mud, someone’s carrying me back.”

Ezra pumped his fist. “YES! This is gonna be epic.”

And just like that, the five of them turned off the sidewalk and followed Ezra toward the rusty old gate.

What they’d find in the forest? No one knew.

But somehow, it already felt like something magical had begun.

The ticking of the clock in the classroom seemed louder than usual. Each second dragged like a year.

Tzippy rested her chin on her palm, her eyes fixed on the window. The trees in the distance swayed gently — just beyond the schoolyard, just beyond the fence… just beyond the rules.

Just a few more hours…

Leah was pretending to write notes, but her pencil had barely moved from the same spot on the page. She kept glancing at Tzippy, trying to hide her smile. A forest. After school. This wasn’t just a walk. This was going to be everything.

Rina wasn’t doing much better. Every time she thought about Ezra's dramatic, over-the-top "enchanted forest" speech from yesterday, she had to stifle a giggle. Mrs. Greenbaum didn’t find it funny.

“Rina. If you’re going to giggle, please step into the hallway until you’re finished,” Mrs. Greenbaum said for the second time.

“Sorry,” Rina mumbled, eyes twinkling.

And then there was Yehudis. Neat notebook. Perfect handwriting. Focused face. Star student.
Except if you looked closely, her eyes were glassy — not in a bored way, but in a somewhere-else kind of way.

In her head, she was already inside the forest. Dodging vines. Swatting mosquitoes. Regretting everything. But also… just a little bit thrilled.

Meanwhile, in the boys' building, Ezra was fidgeting in his seat, bouncing his knee so fast that Yehuda Rosen leaned over and whispered, “Bro, are you okay?”

Ezra grinned. “I’m great. I’m going on a top-secret mission after school.”

Yehuda blinked. “Uh… cool?”

Ezra nodded solemnly. “It’s a forest thing. Classified.”

His rebbe’s voice pulled him back to earth. “Ezra? Could you explain the next line of the pasuk?”

Ezra stood up. “Um, yes! Yes, definitely!”
He had no idea which line they were on.

As the final bell rang, five hearts beat a little faster — in different classrooms, at different corners of the school.

And just like that, they knew:

It was time.

The enchanted forest was waiting.

Tzippy, Leah, Rina, Yehudis, and Ezra stood at the edge of the trees.

The forest loomed tall and quiet, sunlight flickering through the dense canopy like scattered secrets. The dirt path that stretched before them looked like it hadn’t been walked in years — maybe longer.

They were silent for a second, each one taking in the weight of the moment.

Ezra was the first to break the silence. “Okay. Rule number one: no turning back unless someone sees a wild animal.”

“Define wild animal,” Rina muttered.

“If it has teeth and can run faster than us,” Ezra replied.

“Lovely,” said Yehudis, gripping the straps of her backpack like it would protect her.

“Guys… this is kind of crazy,” Leah whispered.

Tzippy stepped forward. Her curls bounced as she turned to face them. “I think we already crossed the line from crazy to committed.”

Ezra smirked. “That’s my sister.”

They walked slowly at first, the soft crunch of leaves underfoot the only sound. The air smelled like pine and moss and something old. Magical. Like stories waiting to be told.

“Hey,” Rina said suddenly, pointing at a tree stump. “Doesn’t that look like a chair?”

Ezra grinned. “Maybe it is a chair. Maybe the forest has its own royal council.”

“Oh no,” Tzippy laughed. “Please don’t let him start another enchanted kingdom idea.”

They walked deeper.

The sunlight thinned. The trees whispered secrets to each other.

“Okay,” Ezra said, holding back a branch for the others to duck under. “We’ll stick to the path, stay together, and don’t touch anything that looks poisonous.”

“Ezra,” Tzippy muttered, “none of us are planning on picking mushrooms.”

Leah laughed softly. “Except maybe you, Rina. I can see you with a field guide.”

“I came for the air,” Rina replied, brushing a leaf from her skirt. “Not for the fungi.”

Yehudis stayed quiet, taking in everything around her. The way the sun filtered through the leaves. The sound of birds. The crisp smell of bark and pine.

“It’s... peaceful,” she said softly, almost surprised.

“Right?” Ezra nodded. “That’s why I wanted us to come. It’s like the world slows down here.”

They kept walking, stepping over roots and dodging low branches. Rina stopped to take some pictures on her camera to remember this adventure with her friends.

After a while, the group reached a small clearing with a flat rock in the center.

“This is perfect,” Tzippy said, dropping her bag onto the rock. “Let’s sit for a bit.”

Everyone settled down, sipping water and catching their breath.

“I still can’t believe we’re doing this,” Leah said. “I mean... walking into the woods? Like, for fun?”

“Baruch Hashem,” Tzippy smiled. “Sometimes it's good to do something different. Even a little daring.”

Ezra tossed a twig into the bushes. “It’s not always about the adventure. It’s about who you take with you.”

Yehudis looked up. “That sounds... deep.”

Rina nodded. “It is.”

They sat there for a long moment. No talking. Just together. No drama. No noise. Just five kids who had been through a lot this year — and who, somehow, had ended up walking the same path.

“I can’t believe we just walked into the woods!” Yehudis sighed as they stepped foot out of the forest.

“I know, right!” Rina smiled while sipping water from her water bottle.

“Guys…want to come to my house for a bit?” asked Tzippy as she pulled a twig out of her hair.

“Yeah sure!” Leah said.

“Same!” Ezra added. “And maybe Ima made cookies today?” he grinned hopefully.

The girls rolled their eyes but laughed.

As they walked down the sidewalk together, sneakers crunching over leftover leaves, the mood was light — like the weight of the week had lifted just a bit.

“I still think that enchanted circle thing you said the other day,” Rina said, glancing at Yehudis, “was kind of true.”

“What?” Yehudis looked up.

“You know... that friendship feels like an enchanted circle,” Rina said with a half-smile. “Like once you're in, you're in. But people forget you have to let others in too.”

Tzippy slowed down, her eyes soft. “Well... we let each other in. That counts for something.”

They reached the Goldbergs’ front steps, and Tzippy pulled open the door.

“Ima?” she called.

Mrs. Goldberg poked her head around the kitchen door. “Oh, there you are, sweethearts! I just pulled the cookies out of the oven.”

Ezra fist-pumped. “Told you!”

The five of them burst into the kitchen, laughter filling the house like the smell of chocolate chips and vanilla.

Yehudis stood at the edge of the room for a second, just watching.

The sound. The light. The warmth.

And then she stepped fully into the enchanted circle.

Later that evening, after everyone had gone home and the sun had dipped below the horizon, Tzippy padded into the kitchen. The warm glow of the overhead light lit up the familiar space, and the comforting smell of baked cookies still lingered in the air.

Mrs. Goldberg was standing at the sink, rinsing a few dishes, humming a soft tune.

“Ima?” Tzippy said quietly.

Her mother turned, drying her hands on a towel. “Yes, Tzippy’le? What is it, sweetheart?”

Tzippy leaned against the counter, her curls a little messy from the forest and her cheeks still flushed. “Do you think... people can really change?”

Mrs. Goldberg paused, looking into her daughter’s eyes. “I do. But it’s not always easy. Why do you ask?”

Tzippy bit her lip. “It’s just... I keep thinking about Rina. And Yehudis. And how things used to be hard with both of them, and now… it’s like I can actually trust them. But sometimes I still feel like it could all go away.”

Mrs. Goldberg smiled gently and reached out to tuck a curl behind Tzippy’s ear. “That’s the scary part about friendship — letting people close. But the best part too. And sometimes, Tzippy’le, Hashem brings people together at just the right time.”

Tzippy looked down. “I was really mad at Rina for a while. And Yehudis too. But now I’m glad I didn’t give up.”

“I’m proud of you,” her mother said, pulling her in for a hug. “You’ve always had a big heart. Just don’t forget — even people who seem strong need someone to believe in them.”

Tzippy closed her eyes and held the hug a little longer.

“Ima?”

“Yes?”

“Can I have another cookie?”

Mrs. Goldberg laughed. “You, Ezra, and your cookies. Go ahead, but brush your teeth after.”

Tzippy grinned, grabbed one from the tin, and skipped off toward the stairs — heart full, soul warm.

“Okay,” Tzippy announced, hands on her hips as she looked around the living room, “blankets? Check. Popcorn? Check. Pillows in a circle? Double check. Now we just need…” she paused dramatically.

“The girls!” Ezra said, suddenly popping his head in from the hallway, a grin on his face.

“Ezra!” Tzippy groaned. “What are you doing here? This is supposed to be a girls sleepover!”

Ezra shrugged, clearly unbothered. “I live here. And Ima said I could stay in the basement and not bother you. I just wanted popcorn first.”

“You’re already bothering us,” Tzippy muttered, handing him a small bowl to get rid of him faster.

As he disappeared downstairs, the doorbell rang, and in spilled Leah, Rina, and Yehudis, each with their overnight bags and pajamas peeking out of their sleeves.

“Let the sleepover begin!” Leah cheered, throwing her arms up as she plopped onto the nearest pillow.

“I brought nail polish!” Rina announced proudly.

“And I brought way too many snacks,” Yehudis added, holding up a crinkling bag of sour candies.

The girls quickly settled into their circle, painting nails, braiding hair, and giggling over old memories. Everything was perfect…

…until there was a mysterious knock on the wall behind them.

All four girls froze.

“Um... was that the wind?” Yehudis asked, looking nervously toward the kitchen.

“It came from the basement,” Tzippy said slowly, narrowing her eyes.

Suddenly a voice called from the stairs, “I told you the basement has secret passages!”

“EZRA!” the girls shouted.

He peeked out with a sheepish smile. “What? I wasn’t spying. I was just… participating... spiritually.”

Tzippy rolled her eyes and tossed him a pillow. “Fine. You can stay for ten minutes. But if you try to put on your detective hat again, I’m telling Ima.”

Ezra grinned. “Deal.”

So there they were — four girls in a cozy circle, and one curly-haired brother leaning awkwardly on a beanbag, munching popcorn and occasionally chiming in with his “expert” opinions on nail polish colors.

It wasn’t exactly the all-girls sleepover Tzippy had imagined… but somehow, it felt just right.

The lights were low, only the glow of the hallway night light spilling softly into the living room. The popcorn bowl was half-empty, the nail polish bottles were rolling under pillows, and the girls were huddled close in a circle of blankets.

“I think it’s time,” Ezra said, popping his head out from behind the couch.

“For what?” Leah asked, suspicious.

Ezra grinned mischievously. “A scary story.”

“Oh no,” Tzippy groaned. “Ezra, not that one again.”

Rina leaned forward, eyes wide. “Wait, what one?”

“You haven’t heard the story of… The Forgotten Forest Girl?” Ezra said in a deep, dramatic voice.

The girls gasped — whether out of fear or laughter, no one could tell.

Ezra sat cross-legged in the middle of their circle like a campfire storyteller. “They say… years ago… just past the edge of the forest where we were earlier today…”

“Ezra…” Tzippy warned.

“…there was a girl who got separated from her classmates on a school hike,” he continued. “She was never found.”

“Stopppp,” Yehudis whispered, grabbing a pillow.

“But sometimes,” Ezra went on, eyes flickering from girl to girl, “if you go walking there late enough, you can hear a voice. A small, whispery one saying…”

He paused.

“What?” Leah asked, whispering now too.

Ezra leaned in, his voice low and creaky.
“Did you see my lunchbox? I lost it in 1998…”

The room exploded with laughter and groans.

“EZRA!” Rina threw a blanket at him.

“You scared me for nothing?” Yehudis shrieked, laughing.

“Okay, okay,” Ezra said, ducking. “I admit it. I don’t have any real scary stories… just dumb ones.”

Tzippy wiped a tear from laughing. “No, that was perfect.”

Leah grinned. “You’re ridiculous.”

Ezra stood up proudly. “Thank you. Now I’ll return to my creepy cave downstairs.”

And as he tiptoed out of the room — pretending to cackle like an old forest ghost — the girls all burst out laughing again.

The sleepover continued late into the night, filled with whispers, giggles, and the occasional side-glance toward the dark hallway… just in case the Forgotten Forest Girl really was looking for her lunchbox.

The room had finally quieted down again after Ezra’s dramatic exit. Tzippy and Rina were curled under a shared blanket, Leah was sipping water, and Yehudis sat with her knees tucked to her chest.

“I didn’t know you were so scared, Yehudis,” Rina teased gently.

Yehudis gave a small smile. “I’m not scared. I was just pretending.”

“Oh really?” Tzippy raised an eyebrow. “So you wouldn’t get scared… if you told a story?”

Yehudis shrugged. “Not really. I know a creepy one. But it’s not silly like Ezra’s.”

Everyone sat up straighter.

“Wait. What do you mean creepy?” Leah asked, her voice suddenly a whisper.

Yehudis’s eyes glinted in the dim light. “Have you ever heard of the knocking girl?”

“Nope,” Tzippy said cautiously.

Yehudis’s voice got quiet, slow, and just a little shaky — like she was trying not to scare them too much… but still meant to.

“They say there was a girl who lived at the edge of a forest — not like ours, deeper, darker. Her parents always told her, Don’t open the door after dark. Even if someone knocks.”

Leah shifted in her sleeping bag.

“But one night, the girl heard a knock. And then a voice: ‘It’s me, come play!’ It was her best friend’s voice. So she opened the door.”

Yehudis leaned forward.

“But no one was there.”

The room got quiet.

“Then the next night, another knock. ‘It’s me, come play.’ This time, she didn’t open it. But the voice kept coming. Every night. Closer to the door. Louder.”

Yehudis paused. “Until one night, the girl locked all the doors and windows. She even hid under the bed.”

Everyone held their breath.

“But the knocking… came from under the bed.”

Leah let out a soft gasp. Rina grabbed a pillow. Tzippy stared at Yehudis, wide-eyed.

“What happened?!” Tzippy whispered.

Yehudis leaned back slowly, smirking just a little. “No one knows. They say the bed was empty the next morning. Except for a note that just said: ‘Thanks for playing.’”

Silence.

Then—

“Nope! Nope nope nope!” Leah said, covering her ears.

“That was amazing!” Rina laughed nervously. “How do you know that one?!”

“My older brother told it to me when I was eight,” Yehudis said proudly. “I didn’t sleep for three nights.”

“Well,” Tzippy said, laughing nervously as she looked around the dark room, “I guess we’re not sleeping either!”

The room burst into laughter again — with just enough tension to keep them all glancing at the bed… and under it.

Sunday morning arrived with soft sunbeams streaming through the Goldberg kitchen windows. A tray of fresh pastries sat on the table, next to a fruit bowl and a large pitcher of lemonade. Tzippy was buzzing with excitement — today wasn’t just a lazy Sunday. Today was Ezra’s siyum.

He had finished an entire masechta of Mishnah with his chavrusa, and their family was making a small celebration.

“Ezra! Are you ready?” Tzippy called down the hallway.

Ezra appeared in the doorway, dressed in his nice white shirt and dark pants, holding his siddur. “Almost. You think they’ll all come?”

“They better,” Tzippy smiled.

And they did.

First Leah, with a box of mini cupcakes and a huge grin. Then Rina and Yehudis together, holding a handmade sign that said: “Mazel Tov, Ezra!” in colorful letters.

As they gathered in the living room, Mrs. Goldberg passed around plates. The siyum was short and sweet — Ezra said his final words from the Mishnah, then recited the Hadran with a mix of pride and nerves.

After he finished, everyone clapped.

“You really did it,” Tzippy said. “You said you would — and you did.”

Ezra looked a little embarrassed. “It’s not a mountain adventure, but…”

“It is,” Leah said. “It’s just a holier one.”

They all laughed softly.

A quiet settled over the group as they sat on the carpet, finishing their lemonade. Yehudis was the first to speak again.

“Do you remember when you said that thing about the enchanted circle?” she asked Ezra, looking up from her seat.

Ezra smiled. “Yeah. That friendships aren’t just random. They’re made by choosing each other again and again. That makes the circle.”

Rina nodded slowly. “I used to think I wasn’t part of it… but I think maybe I am now.”

“You always were,” Tzippy said gently. “Sometimes we just have to find our way in.”

Leah leaned her head against Tzippy’s shoulder. “And sometimes we forget how lucky we are to be in it.”

Ezra stretched his arms over his head. “Okay, so what now?”

Tzippy looked around at her friends — all different, all surprising, all somehow exactly who she needed.

“Now,” she said with a smile, “we keep the circle going.”

And as the laughter picked up again, as someone suggested another adventure and someone else reminded them that school was starting again soon, the circle — real and invisible — held strong.

Together.
Always.
Enchanted.

✨🌸🌿The End🌿🌸✨