“I brought you a stale cinnamon roll and a Coke,” Megan said. “It’s regular. I figured you could use extra sugar with your caffeine.”
Megan had shown up a while ago—I wasn’t sure how long. Or even what time it was. She’d taken one look at me and prescribed immediate sugar. “Here,” she said, handing me the goodies. I took the bottle of Coke and shook my head at the bag. I couldn’t eat.
She sat down next to me.
I held the Coke to my forehead for a second, rolling the cold plastic on my skin. “You were gone awhile,” I said. “Any news?”
“I’m supposed to tell you Zeydeh is finally back from x-ray. He’s got a broken humerus—the upper bone in his arm—but it’s a clean break and the doctor thinks it’ll heal like new.”
I stood. “I’ll go up.”
“Hang on,” she said, grabbing my arm. “He’s getting a cast put on. Your mom says wait a little while and then you can see him.”
I sat back down.
“Maybe you should fix yourself up before you see Zeydeh. You look like two faucets broke and soaked your face.”
“Thanks.” I took a drink. The bubbles fizzed down my throat and felt good in my empty stomach.
“Your brother said Devon showed up a while ago.”
I nodded. “Guess who drove him here? Dear old Granny.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “We had a real nice heart-to-heart.”
“Is she up in a room with a dented gluteus maximus?”
“I should have kicked her butt,” I muttered. I took another swallow of Coke. “I told her I’m Jewish.”
Megan sighed. She leaned close and bumped my shoulder. “You know, I’ve been thinking. Benedict’s is completely lame. I’m going to Canyon View with you.”
“She says the scholarship is still mine.”
“What?” Megan jumped to her feet. “No way!” She startled two birds I hadn’t known were in a tree.
“Not so fast. There’s more.”
Megan dropped back down. “Why is there always more?”
“She said she’s not a racist. Basically, because she’s right about Jews.”
“Okay,” she said, jumping up again. “I’m going to kick her butt.”
I pulled her back down. “I know. It’s sick. But then …” I sighed. “It was weird, Meg. She told me how she was in love with a Jewish guy in college, only his parents didn’t approve of her. They made him break it off because she wasn’t Jewish.”
“Serious?”
I nodded. “I almost felt sorry for her.”
“And Devon never told you about that?”
“I don’t think he knows. I got the feeling she doesn’t talk about it much.”
“But she told you?”
“Maybe so I’d understand.”
“What?” Megan asked.
“I don’t know. That she has a good reason.”
“To hate you?” Megan’s eyebrows lifted so high, they cleared the top of her glasses. “Maybe she has reason to hate that guy’s parents. I mean, that was like reverse anti-Semitism or something.”
“I know.”
“But still,” she said. “It’s like me hating all fruits just because strawberries give me hives.”
I frowned. “Huh?”
Megan waved her hand in the air. “Don’t think about it too long. I’m terrible with analogies. The point is, it’s stupid to hate millions of people because of one bad apple.”
“Is this another fruit analogy?”
She laughed. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah. I do.” And I felt a lot better. Maybe what happened to Mrs. Yeats had been crappy, but it wasn’t a reason to hate a whole religion.
Or to try and make me hate it, too.
I gave Megan a look. “That wasn’t all she said.”
She groaned. “I’m afraid to ask.”
“She said she can tell that I don’t like Jews either. That it’s obvious I chose not to be one of the chosen people.”
“Huh?”
“I filled out the application saying I’m Christian and she says that’s a sign.” I reached to my throat where Bubbe’s necklace should have been hanging. “She doesn’t know about my Jewish star, but she’d say that’s a sign, too.” I fought the sudden pressure behind my eyes. “But it’s not, is it?”
“Of course it’s not,” Megan agreed.
I couldn’t stop my mind from going back to this afternoon—to Zeydeh in the Benedict’s lobby. How embarrassed I’d been. How I’d tried to hurry him out. And then the fight. Pictures of it flashed in my mind like an evil PowerPoint. I wasn’t trying to be someone else. I just wanted to get into Benedict’s. Doris Yeats was wrong. Completely wrong.
“I say stuff all the time I don’t actually believe.”
Megan nodded. “Everyone does.”
“Remember Regionals last year when I argued for school uniforms?”
“You were awesome.”
“But that didn’t mean I wanted to wear one.”
“Who would?” Megan asked. “Anything that has to fit five hundred different people cannot be attractive. It was just a position.”
“That’s what I was doing at camp. My goal was the scholarship. I looked at all sides, found an angle, and went for it.”
“Exactly.”
The traitorous slide show in my head replayed the beginning of camp. “Maybe I did do some bad stuff,” I admitted. Hiding the necklace. Accepting Devon’s lame explanation. Praying with everyone like I was one of them. Swaying and humming to the Lord’s Prayer. Going to church. Lying about Zeydeh’s name.
“You did what anyone else would have done. Look at me.” Megan held up her arms. “Is this the real me?”
She gave me a little smile and I noticed the red lips outlined in black. Preeba lips. She wore the net stockings and a leopard-print shirt with fake fur, and she had a sparkling red tattoo of a broken heart on her neck. Angry Goth with a touch of playful. I sat up straight, suddenly remembering. “I can’t believe I forgot to ask. How did it go tonight?”
She shrugged, but I could see her cheeks pinken. “Our scene took first place.”
“Serious?” I reached over and hugged her, smelling the fresh lemon that Megan had slid over her wrists as part of her Preeba persona. She felt so solid under the polyester and fake fur. “Oh, Megan, that’s awesome! I knew you would.”
“Anna’s scene took second, but she was incredible.”
I pulled back. “Second? I wish I’d been there to see you guys. Your mom and dad must have been thrilled.”
She nodded. “My mom gave me a standing O. I think she likes me better as Preeba.”
“You’ve got to cut her some slack.”
She adjusted the strip of fur around her neck. “Why should I? It’s the truth. If she could reinvent me, she would.”
“She loves you.”
“Not the real me.”
“Maybe if you gave her a chance.”
“She had a chance,” Megan shot back, her eyes like lasers behind her glasses. “She wanted to dress me up like Barbie and take me to cotillion events. Those things are not me.”
“And Preeba is?”
She rolled her eyes.
And suddenly it hit me what she was saying. I was trying to be someone else so I could fit in, while Megan was trying to be someone else so she didn’t fit in. How screwed up was that?
Megan squeezed my arm. “The important thing right now is you. What are you going to do?”
“Mrs. Yeats said all I have to do is show up and give my oratory, and the scholarship is mine. As if I’d still want it.”
As if I’d still want Benedict’s. And the speech team.
And Devon.
My tear ducts filled. Again. My head throbbed. I felt sick, like I’d eaten something bad. Only it wasn’t food—it was me that was bad. A part of me.
Because I did want those things.
Still.
My heart sank under the weight of guilt. I couldn’t go back to camp. I couldn’t give my oratory. I couldn’t take the scholarship.
I couldn’t let Mrs. Yeats be right about me.