Twenty minutes had probably passed since I
sat down with a heaping portion of today’s hot lunch, mac n’cheese, which was
now, actually, cold lunch. To my right sat Chani Jacoby, and to my left sat
Rikki Berns, and across the lunchroom sat Shira Lesman. Words were flying
around the large room, inflections of high-pitched voices, stern commands from
lunch lady Mrs. Cohn, laughs, gasps, and chewing sounds. But despite all that,
I could not hear a thing.
My brain was moving
so fast I could barely keep up. Thoughts, worries, confusion, sadness – when,
suddenly, a tap on my shoulder pulled me out of the trance. It was Shayna
Spero, as usual, asking if I wanted to chill with her outside until lunch was
over, but I wanted anything but. Quickly shrugging her off, I made my way to
the microwave in the back of the lunchroom to warm up my plate.
Fingers pulsing: on,
60 seconds, start.
As the plate circled
round and round, I thought of the irony: I, too, seemed to be going round and
round in circles by the time the food beeped, thinking of what had transpired
in the last eight weeks The plastic plate had melted and the cheese turned into
a flat hard yellow blob at the bottom of the noodles. Great, so much for the
quick convenience of a microwave. I should have just eaten it cold.
Eight weeks ago,
my dream came true. This was more like a secret dream that no one could have
ever known, because on the outside I was a pretty popular kid. If you’d ask
anyone in the 10th grade how they’d rate Sara Shapiro on the
popularity chart, I’d probably rate in the middle. Lots of girls wanted to be
my friend, but, inside, all I had my sights on was being part of the “in”
crowd. Then, as luck would have it, it happened.
In my school, Bais
Yaakov of Cleveland, an end-of-the-year convention is hosted with other Bais
Yaakov schools in the Midwest. Two girls are chosen from every high school
class to go on a trip to the hosting school’s city, for a three-day weekend to
remember. The lucky girls were chosen by raffle, so that everyone had the same
chance of winning. When my name was chosen, I was over the moon, but when
Shira’s name was chosen I almost choked on my razzles. I was going to
convention with Shira Lesman, the most popular girl in my grade.
It all happened so
quickly, and started with the meeting in Mrs. Tresman’s office. Shira and I sat
together as Mrs. T spoke about the importance of making a kiddush Hashem on the bus and representing our school properly. She
discussed the guidelines and expectations as well as dress code. Together we
walked out of the meeting smiling and giggling away. We exchanged numbers, and
so our friendship began.
As soon as I
settled in at home with a plate of cookies and milk, my family’s kosher phone
(which I share with my older siblings) beeped with a text: “Hey, Sara!!!!!
Wanna go shopping tonite? I kno we have that Navi test but com’on, we gotta
shop for new lululemon stuff for convention! TTYSk!”
My heart lept. I
never had a texting friend before.
“Hey Shira!” (Do I put an exclamation mark, or does that
make me sound needy? I opted to put five, so it sounded more casual.)
“Hey Shira!!!!!
I’d love to but I’m already studying for the final. Maybe tomorrow?” Smiling
and distracted, I waited for a response.
“Awwwwwwwwwww Kkk,
so I’ll see you tom but you might find a suprise in your locker :) :) IYKYK”
was Shira’s response.
I had to ask my
brother what those last five letters meant because I never text. He told me it
means, “If you know, you know.” What did that even mean, a surprise in my
locker? The next day I certainly found out. Making sure to run straight to my
locker rather than the classroom first, I opened it with vigor and that’s when
I saw it – the most beautifully wrapped gold box with huge pink bow and a heart-shaped
note attached: “To my new BFF and convention buddy: A new lululemon sweatshirt!
I got the same one so we can match, how cute?! Cul8r! (see you later ) xoxo,
Shira.”
Ha. I could get used to this, I
thought. And get used to it, I did. Weeks went by of constant texting,
shopping, and really long-winded abbreviations. It’s not like I meant to snub
my other friends, but they all completely fell by the wayside.
Even more
interestingly, it seemed like Shira knew everything about everyone. “You know,”
Shira said one day after school while we were planning how many bags of pickle
chips to bring on the bus, “I know you’re friends with Batsheva, but there is
really more than meets the eye with her. I can’t talk about it, like, lashon hara and all, but trust me, it’s
better to keep a safe distance….”
Wow, I thought. Shira is sooo deep and intuitive; she
really gets people ran through my head. The next day as I walked past
Batsheva in the hall I responded to her gracious good morning with a bit of a
smirk, if anything at all.
Slowly, I started
acting in ways I had never acted before, like making snide remarks about
Chani’s hair to make Shira laugh or confiding in Shira about Tova’s secret
family issues. There was no mistaking it; we had fast-tracked into becoming
best friends. Of course, Shira still had her “cool” group. Ironically, I was
never invited to hang out with all of them. If we hung out together, it was
always when her group wasn’t around. That didn’t bother me so much though,
because the most important things were what she said to me directly. Like how
she never goes out of her way to make new friends, but this convention thing
was basically the BTE (Best Thing Ever) “cuz we’re basically sisters by now.” (Her
words, not mine.)
The weekend of
convention came in the blink of an eye, and Shira and I were there with our
matching lululemon sweatshirts. We even got our names printed on the sleeves
for “extra swag” as Shira liked to call it. The weekend flew by in a blur of
singing, eating, laughing, and representing our school. It would have been the
best weekend ever if I hadn’t opened my big mouth and ruined everything. It was
the last night at convention when I suddenly felt safe being vulnerable and
opening up to Shira. Telling her about my OTD sister and our family issues felt
like the most freeing experience since I had never opened up to anyone about
this before. But her response shocked me,
“Oh, well, your
parents obviously don’t know how to handle teens, I guess. Figures. Your
parents aren’t exactly the most warm people.”
Wait, what just happened? I
thought. Shocked that a friend would say something like this, my brain suddenly
went to my parents. Ima and Abba – were
they the cause of my sister’s issues? Were they really not warm people? They
are always warm and nice to us. Does she know something about them that I don’t
know? I mean, I know my parents and they’re super warm. Why would Shira say
that?
Too scared to
confront her, I just laughed and moved on, but things weren’t the same after
that. She’d end conversations abruptly and give sudden jabs to my ego
throughout the day. “What is that shirt? LOL your sister probably picked it
out.” she texted on the last day of our trip.
I took my phone
and threw it on the floor, much, much harder than intended. The screen cracked,
and I felt a bit better, giving a physical image to the inner pain I felt. I
felt as if a bandaid had been ripped off the most painful wound, and Shira
poured salt water right into it. Trying to keep things light, as a last ditch
effort to see if we were okay, I texted asking if I could save her a seat on
the bus back to Cleveland and she responded,
“Sry, already planned a seat buddy. Cya.”
And now, here I
was in the lunchroom, the day after the trip, watching Shira and her friends
laughing at their table, as if the past eight weeks had never existed. They
were probably talking about me, my sister, and my “not warm” parents. I took a
second look at my nuked plate of hardened mac n’cheese and realized something.
Microwaves. They
are the quintessential example of convenience. Something is not warm enough?
Throw it in the microwave. Nuke it for a few seconds, but not too long because
then it gets inedible, hard, and melts the plate. I was a convenient friend for
her for those eight weeks. She created a camaraderie with the “other girl”
going, that is, me, so she wouldn’t go to a convention all alone. As soon as it
was over, however, so was our friendship. I had made the mistake of being
vulnerable and showing I was actually letting her into my life, which
immediately made her recoil. Shira’s true colors finally showed, and they were
not bright. It would take a while to get over this, especially seeing Shira
every day and the weirdness of such a close friendship that ends without
warning. But I guess that’s what we learn from the microwave – sometimes what
seems like a quick fix can actually spoil the whole thing.
Yeah, I missed the
laughing, the texting, the banter, the feeling like someone really wanted me as
their BFF, but I felt relieved, too. I no longer had to pretend, or worry that
I was trying too hard. And on that note, as if she had read my mind, Shayna
Spero tapped me on the shoulder, “You sure you don’t wanna chill outside for a
bit?” she said.
“Actually, yeah,
I’d love to,” I replied and off we went, throwing out my microwaved plate on
the way out.
