Gramps excuses himself and Molly turns her attention back to me, tucking a flyaway curl behind her ear. “It’s so cool you’re here. I mean, I assumed you were Jewish because your grandpa is, like, in the brotherhood. But also, you can’t assume anything, right?”
I nod. “Right.”
“You should definitely join USY. I’m on the executive board of the local chapter. We’re doing a beach cleanup in two weeks with a few other Jewish communities across the state—you should totally come!”
Ollie and I look at each other. What’s USY? Other Jewish communities? We’ve never had a Jewish community.
It’s always just been another thing that has sort of isolated me. In Charlotte, I was the only Jewish kid in my entire class. The only one whose mom and dad forced us to skip school on the high holidays. But here, school is closed for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. I didn’t even know some schools did that, that some areas are overwhelmingly Jewish and actually care about their Jewish population.
“Maybe,” I say, ripping my challah into smaller pieces.
“Awesome,” Molly says, like maybe means yes. “I’m trying to get my sister Sarah to come home for it. She’s a sophomore at Boston University. It’s right before the high holidays, so I figured she’d be coming home anyways. But she doesn’t want to celebrate them this year. It’s honestly bizarre.”
Molly takes a sip of grape juice.
“You have an older sister?” I ask.
Molly swallows. “Two. But Rebecca is doing her PhD at Oxford, so, like, that’s obviously not happening. It’ll be the first high holidays without my sisters.”
“It’s our first away from our parents,” I say. “If that makes you feel better.”
Molly smiles at me and tips her cup so it clinks mine. “Solidarity.”
I smile back. I like Molly. It’s easy being around someone who does all the talking.
“Hey.” Nash is suddenly standing above us with a plate of cupcakes. My cupcakes. “I come with cupcakes. Which is pretty nice of me, considering I was totally abandoned.”
The calm I felt moments ago, clinking cups with Molly? It’s gone.
Molly rolls her eyes at the word abandoned and pats the empty seat next to her for Nash to sit.
Is it time to leave yet?
“We were just talking about USY,” Molly says. “Isn’t it so cool that Halle and Ollie are practicing too?”
Ollie shrugs. “Oh. We’re not. Practicing, I mean.”
“You’re here,” Molly says, confused.
“For the first time,” I clarify.
“Sorry.” Molly places her empty cup on the table. “I guess I did assume, after all.”
“We’ve moved a lot,” Ollie says. “Our parents raised us with, like, the culture. But there wasn’t really time to do the synagogue part.”
I kick Ollie’s foot under the table because what if the phrase moved a lot triggers a light bulb in Nash’s brain and everything is ruined.
He just flashes me a what the hell? look.
“Did you like it?” Molly asks, not noticing our exchange.
“Yeah,” I say. “I really did.”
“It’s boring,” Ollie confesses.
“It gets better once you learn the prayers,” Nash says. “I get it, though. My mom raised us—me—very Jewish. But when I’m with my Korean relatives, I’m so lost.”
“But will I learn the prayers?” Ollie says. “I didn’t even know how to hold the book—the siddur—before tonight.”
Nash nods. “You will. Give it a few Fridays.”
“Also! Still going to plug USY. There are a lot of Reform and secular Jewish kids involved,” Molly says. “I can text you more info.”
She recites her number to me and I plug the digits into my phone. She doesn’t pull hers out, so I’m guessing Molly keeps Shabbat—which means no phones after sundown on the Sabbath. Nash pulls out his phone and … does not ask for my number. Thank God. I mean, Nash and Kels only communicate via DMs and G-Chat. So Nash could have my cell number, theoretically. If I wanted him to. Which I don’t.
Once I’ve saved the number, Molly excuses herself for the bathroom. Ollie gets up to grab more challah, ignoring the look I’m shooting him to keep him in his seat.
It’s just Nash and me. Pretty much a nightmare scenario.
“Molly’s the community outreach chair. She can be kind of intense about it, but it’s okay to say no to the USY stuff. I do it all the time.”
“She thinks I know what USY is,” I say. “I have no clue.”
Nash raises his eyebrows. “United Synagogue Youth. It’s just a youth group for Jewish teens, basically—”
“Yeah, I got that part, obviously. I just didn’t know what the acronym stood for.”
Nash blinks, clearly taken aback by my abruptness. Ugh. Nash is talking to me, unprompted, when I’ve very actively been not talking to him all week. I don’t want to encourage it—but I don’t have to be full-on rude either. Not here. Not on Shabbat. It’s the first time we’ve talked, just the two of us, since the first day of school.
“Thanks,” I say.
I can reset Operation Avoidance on Monday.
“You could’ve just asked Molly,” he says.
“And cut her off in the middle of her spiel? It seemed easier to nod,” I say.
Nash laughs. “Mood.”
I laugh too, and for the smallest moment, it feels like we’re behind our screens. Nash says mood all the time. But we’re not behind screens—we’re here. Together. IRL. And Nash just laughed at something I, Halle, said.
I thought I liked making him lol. But this? His laugh is so much more than lol. The way his eyes crinkle in the corners and he covers his mouth with his hand if he’s laughing too hard. His one dimple.
This is a million times better. And that’s definitely going to be a problem.
Nash peels off the liner of his double dark chocolate cupcake—my cupcake—and I wait for his reaction, my stomach in knots. I don’t know if I want him to like it or not. It feels like a neon sign over my head. Ollie returns to the table just in time to witness the bizarre reality that is Nash eating one my cupcakes.
“Oh my God, this is so good,” he says, his mouth still full of cupcake.
I exhale because I am not a hack—my cupcakes are good. Online, no one gets to taste them.
Molly returns to the table with a red velvet of her own. “Are we talking about the cupcakes? We totally are, right? My God, who made these?”
Ollie is always the first to brag, so I nudge his toe gently before he can, reminding him of our secret—my secret. Instead of the confession, we both shrug and affirm the amazingness.
The four of us talk and laugh and drink an entire bottle of grape juice. Temple Beth Shalom is a happy place and I feel okay, safe, which is weird because I’m only Halle tonight, a complete stranger to Nash. Okay, maybe a familiar acquaintance at this point.
At the end of the night, Molly offers another hug, but this one comes with an invitation.
“You should come bowling with us tomorrow!” Molly says.
If I say statements as questions, Molly does the opposite. She makes statements out of things that should be questions.