Seth dragged himself home. He hated every rock, every stone, every tree he saw. He hated them all, and he didn’t know why.

Prove it, David and Joshua had said —more or less. Prove you don’t like your sister more than you like us. Prove you’re a guy like one of us.

What did he need to prove? Did he like his sister more than his friends? No! I have much more fun with my friends than with Talitha! She’s boring. She likes stupid things. She’s a girl. She’ll never know Torah.

Seth picked up a rock, threw it at a tree, and missed. Well, she may know Torah, but she shouldn’t. Girls were only supposed to know enough Torah to help them behave and teach their children well. Maybe there was no law that said that, but . . .

He kicked a rock. It bounced down the path. I wish Talitha could get in trouble for knowing too much. That would be nice.

But he knew it wouldn’t happen. He kicked the rock again. Instead of flying out in front of him, it stuck itself deeper into the dirt. Just like me. Stuck. How am I going to prove to my friends how important they are to me?

They had given him one week to come up with something —and do it.

Seth shuffled into the courtyard of his family’s home. His mother, slender and brown-haired, sat cross-legged on a mat, pouring grain into the center of two round, flat stones. She grabbed hold of a stick that was stuck in a hole in the top stone and began turning the mill.

The shade of an old olive tree draped a cool blanket over her. Even so, sweat stood out on her upper lip and forehead. She wore her simple work dress. The only time she wore her purple tunic with an embroidered sash was on the Sabbath, when they went to synagogue. Seth thought she looked pretty when she wore her purple tunic and wished she could wear it every day.

Without even a greeting, Seth blurted, “Talitha’s already talked to you, hasn’t she? What did she say this time?”

He hoped Talitha hadn’t told his mother about the bird. His sister was always telling their mother stories about him and his friends. I wish she’d tell the good things too. Like when we helped the old, crippled woman when she fell. Or when we gathered the quail that escaped from Sarai’s basket. No, Talitha only told the bad stories, the stupid things.

“What she said isn’t important,” his mother said, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her eyes.

“It is to me,” Seth insisted. “She’s always lying about me.”

“Is everything she’s ever told me about you a lie?” she asked.

Seth stared at the ground. “No.”

“Then she doesn’t always lie, does she?” His mother’s voice was soft. She hardly ever raised her voice to anyone for any reason. It was just one of the things he liked about his mother. She might not be the loudest in the village, but she was the best.

“No,” he said, his voice soft, matching hers. “Talitha doesn’t always lie.”

His mother nodded. She added more grain and turned the flat stone wheels that crushed the grain between them.

Seth watched, remembering his sister’s taunts, her refusal to leave him and his friends alone, and his anger flashed. “I hate her,” he announced.

“Seth,” his mother said, looking up briefly. “You don’t hate her.”

He remembered that David and Joshua didn’t want to be his friends anymore. “I do hate her.”

“What does she do that’s bad enough to hate?” she asked.

“She spies on us and then makes fun of us later.” Seth plopped down in front of her. He dug his toes into the soft dirt.

“If you don’t talk about foolish things, she will have nothing to tease you about,” his mother said.

“She finds a way to tease us about Torah,” Seth said.

His mother’s worn, sun-darkened hands continued to turn the stones. Flour began to spill out from between them. She looked at the powder as she spoke. “I’ve talked to her about that. She won’t do it again.”

“But, Mother! What about her coming and trying to do things only boys should do?”

A wistful smile crossed her face. It was the same one that appeared whenever she was about to tell him something from her own childhood. This time, though, she didn’t tell a story. She stopped her grinding and looked at him, still smiling. “If you let her join you, she might become bored and leave.”

“No, she wouldn’t.” Seth didn’t like the churning in his stomach. He didn’t like the bad taste in his mouth. He didn’t like his sister.

“She’s your only sister.”

“A good thing,” Seth mumbled.

“What was that, Seth? I didn’t hear you.”

“Nothing, Mother.”

“Where is your gratitude to God that you have a sister?” She poured more grain into the stones.

“Does God want us to be grateful for things that are bad?”

His mother stopped her grinding and looked into his eyes. “You know the answer to that, Seth.”

Seth sighed. I know the answer, all right. I hate the answer as much as I hate Talitha. He wanted to spit in the dirt but couldn’t. He knew he was supposed to be grateful for all God gave. Grateful to the God who gave good things. And the God who allowed bad things. They were to always be grateful.

But Seth couldn’t stop there. “Should we be grateful even for sisters who make us lose our friends?”

The grinding stopped. Seth’s mother looked at him with such love, he had to look away. “It would hurt to lose friends, but it would hurt worse to lose a sister,” she said.

Seth stared at the ground. He thought about that, but it didn’t seem right. It would hurt more to lose his friends; he knew it.

His mother cupped her hand underneath his chin and raised his face toward hers. “If your friends would ask you to choose between them and your sister, they aren’t good friends at all. And if you would lose them simply because your sister can be a pest sometimes, they can’t be very good friends.”

She let go of his chin and went back to her work. “Here, gather the flour, and I’ll make your favorite bread.”

Seth’s eyebrows rose. She called Talitha a pest? He took a clay bowl and began to scoop up the flour from the tray around the millstones.

“Your sister won’t always be in this house,” said his mother. “She’ll be betrothed soon, and then she’ll be married. You’ll miss her when she’s gone.”

Seth couldn’t imagine that. She couldn’t leave soon enough. And miss her? He planned to throw a party when she left! But he said nothing.

He watched the expression on his mother’s face change as she continued grinding. There was a frown and then a slight smile. She didn’t look up as she spoke. “If you don’t like how things are going with your sister, you can change them.”

“How?” Seth stopped scooping flour. “I’ve tried to change her. I’ve asked her to stop. I’ve asked her to go away. Nothing works.”

“I didn’t say to change her. I said you need to change something in the way you get along.”

Seth sat down and hugged his knees. “What am I supposed to do?”

His mother looked at him carefully and then back at her work. “What have you wanted to do?”

Seth didn’t hesitate. “I’d like to make a wall in our room so I don’t have to see her.”

His mother’s knuckles turned white as she grasped the wood handle and turned it. “Do you think this is the way to change things?”

Yes! he wanted to shout. Then I can pretend she doesn’t exist! Seth swallowed the words, knowing his mother wouldn’t like that answer. “I think it might help,” he said quietly.

His mother stopped grinding. She didn’t look at Seth but at the stones. Her small smile spread across her face. “Yes. You may make a wall in your room so you don’t have to see her.”

Seth stared at her. He hadn’t expected his mother to agree. He’d thought for months about building a wall, but he never thought he’d get to do it. He smiled to himself. His dream was about to come true!

Best of all, it’ll prove to my friends that they’re important, and Talitha isn’t!

“Tomorrow,” his mother said, smiling as if she had some kind of secret. “You may start building tomorrow, after your studies.”