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Throughout high school, I distracted myself so much that sometimes I could move through an entire school day without him crossing my mind. Then I’d go to work at the library and maybe he’d float to the surface if something reminded me of him, but for the most part, he stayed buried.
At home, he was impossible to forget. We were never big on family photos, but he was in the hutch he built for the TV, the plaster covered over where he punched a hole through the wall when I was nine. I saw that every morning, every evening.
But at school, I didn’t have to think about any of it. School was mine.
Or at least, it used to be.
Just as I’m flipping to the right page for the evening service, grateful the book contains the English transliterations, I spot a familiar face, a girl with a blond ponytail unwinding her scarf and taking a seat in the back row.
Zoe. Adhira’s roommate, the girl from the party who asked Skyler if I was single.
I glance away quickly, hoping she hasn’t seen me.
The service begins. “Lecha Dodi” has always been my favorite and has a different melody than the one I’m used to, but it’s easy to pick up. By the end, I decide I might prefer this new tune. That’s the thing about Hebrew prayers. There are so many versions, and yet they all mean the same thing. Sometimes I’ll even find myself humming one, unable to figure out what the tune is… and then I’ll realize it’s “Hashkiveinu” or “Ahavat Olam.”
It hits me that I don’t know which version of these prayers Rowan grew up with, and I’m suddenly desperate to ask her the next time I see her.
After the service, I follow the parade of college students to the free food, a room with a half dozen round tables, a covered loaf of challah in the middle of each of them. A small buffet with a dairy meal tonight.
I take a seat at one of the tables, saying “Shabbat shalom” to the couple who have already claimed some chairs.
Zoe approaches a moment later with an awkward wave. “Hey,” she says. “I thought that was you. Neil, right?”
I nod.
“Zoe,” she says, as though my silence is because I don’t remember her name. “Cool if I sit here?”
“Sure—of course.”
The rabbi leads us in the kiddush, and then invites anyone for whom it’s part of their practice to wash their hands at the stations set up around the room. After the hamotzi, the challah is passed around, everyone tearing off a chunk.
When Zoe hands me the loaf, she must be able to sense my unease when I struggle to make eye contact. “Oh. About that party,” she says with a grimace. “I’m guessing Skyler told you what I asked Adhira. I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable. Honestly, I just meet a lot of fuckboys, and you seemed… sweet.”
“Would Skyler fall into that category?”
“Skyler is his own category.”
“And that’s the way he’d want it.”
The rest of our table heads for the buffet, but I get the feeling Zoe has more to say.
“The stories I’ve heard from Adhira…” She trails off, toying with a piece of challah. “I swear, I don’t want to make anything weird between you and your girlfriend. When I first saw you here, I got really nervous. I didn’t want you to think I was stalking you or anything.”
“I swear I didn’t think that.”
Her expression turns serious. “I was cheated on last year, and it was really shitty. I would never, ever want anyone to think I was flirting with their boyfriend, or anything like that.”
There’s an immediate sense of relief—not that she was cheated on, of course, but that this can simply become a friendship.
Because I’m starting to think I could use a couple more friends out here.
“I’m sorry that happened to you,” I say.
When she attempts to shrug it off, I can tell she’s still bothered by it. “Yeah. Thanks. I guess he was under the assumption that what happens on study abroad stays at study abroad.” A forceful bite of challah. “But nope, if you’re monogamous, turns out cheating’s still cheating whether it happens here or in Prague.” She gestures to the buffet, where there’s no longer a line. “Shall we?”
We get up, fill our plates, make some small talk. When we return to the table, I realize I’ve taken more food than anyone else. A meal I don’t have to pay for—I am probably about to become extremely devout.
Because Zoe’s already been vulnerable, I can’t help sharing too. “I wouldn’t mind having a Jewish friend to go to things like this with,” I say. “I haven’t met anyone else here yet.”
