OyMG (13 page)

CHAPTER 24

Mom slammed the car door shut and shot me an angry look. “Never felt closer to Jesus?” she repeated. “What was that about?”

I strapped on my seat belt, breathing in the pine freshener. “I did feel close to Jesus,” I said defensively. “As a fellow Jew.” I kicked my shoes off and rolled my toes into the gray square of carpet at my feet.

“You completely misled that woman and you know it.”

“Can we just go home?”

She started the car and slowly inched around the drive. I could still feel the heat of her stare. “What is going on here, Ellie? I thought you were going to tell her at the interview. She seemed completely unaware of your Jewish background.”

I laid my head back along the vinyl. The air conditioning was blasting and I could feel the strip of cool air where it hit my neck. “Can we please be quiet? My stomach doesn't feel good.”

Mom shot me another look as she merged onto the freeway. “It's probably your conscience.”

“Or the three pastries I ate.”
Or the bacon. God, are you mad about the bacon?

I heard her breath hiss out. “What happened to coming clean?”

“I decided not to.”

“So now you're lying to everyone?”

Sudden anger flashed through me. I sat up, tugging at the seat belt strap across my chest. “Why is it me that's wrong? Why am I the one who's supposed to have a conscience? What about Doris Yeats? She's the one who's discriminating against Jews, and no one seems to think that's wrong.”

“Of course we do!”

My eyes filled with angry tears. “Then be on my side for a change!”

Mom's hands squeezed the steering wheel. “I am on your side. But two wrongs don't make a right.”

“You don't understand.”

“Of course I do,” she snapped. “More than you know.” She shoved a piece of hair behind her ear, and didn't seem to notice when it popped right out again. “You aren't the only one who's struggled with religion. When I was just a few years younger than you, I pretended my name was Le-Vine so I could be Christian like everyone else.”

I tilted my head, watching her hands clench and unclench on the wheel.

She sighed. “We'd just moved to Arizona. I didn't want to be different. I already felt so lonely and awkward. I wasn't like you, Ellie. I wasn't confident and outgoing. So I lied. I pretended to have Christmas and Easter like all my friends.”

“So what happened?” I asked.

She slowed down for our exit. “There was one other Jewish kid in my school. She ratted me out—said Le-Vine was really Levine and she'd seen me at temple.” She shook her head. “That was Margot Wasserman and we're still friends after all these years.”

“So it worked out okay?”

“It'll work out for you, too.” She gave me a quick smile as she shifted lanes. “I hoped in this day and age, it would never come up. I think a part of me liked that when I married your dad, I knew you would be Jewish, but also have a foot in the Christian world.” She reached across with a hand and ran her fingers along my cheek. “It's terrible to think that someone might hate your child just because of the religion you gave them.”

Tears filled my eyes again. “I just want the scholarship, Mom. I want to go to Benedict's and be on the speech team, and I want Devon to be my boyfriend, and I want to be a part of all that. Why can't I be a part of all that?”

“Oh, honey,” she said, her voice an ache. She pulled onto our street, then into the driveway. She ran a hand through my hair, sweeping the bangs from my face. Her own eyes were full of tears, too.

“I just want to be a kid at camp like all the other kids,” I said. “I want to get up there and do my oratory and be judged like everyone else. And I want Mrs. Yeats to keep looking at me the way she does, like I'm a prize she's going to win for Benedict's.”

“You are a prize,” she whispered.

“I'll tell her after I win the scholarship. I promise. By then, maybe it won't matter when she finds out I'm Jewish.”

“Ellie, you can't continue to mislead her.” Her eyes were wet and shiny, but her lips were set in a thin line. “I'm sorry, but this has gone far enough. As your parent, I have to speak up.”

“What?” I swiped a hand across my cheek. “What do you mean?”

“I'm calling Mrs. Yeats. She needs to know the truth.”

“You can't!” I cried. “She'll give the scholarship to someone else.”

“Not if she's the kind of woman you say she is.”

“But she'll know I've been lying. She'll hate me.”

I wasn't sure why, but that thought made me cry even harder.

CHAPTER 25

Was the phone ringing right now?

Was Mrs. Yeats picking it up?
My ears strained to hear what I could only imagine. My mother was calling this morning. While I sat in the plush auditorium with the voice of Mrs. Clancy droning on like elevator music, my mother was getting ready to destroy my life.

Was the phone ringing right now?

“You okay?” Devon whispered. He sat on my right, and next to him was Peter and then Nancy and the whole Benedict's group. Would they be sitting with me tomorrow?

From the stage, Mrs. Clancy paused. “And now for our morning prayer. In Jesus's name we pray.”

I bowed my head and folded my hands together. I wasn't wearing Bubbe's necklace anymore, so I knew I blended in. I didn't even have to pretend to look like I was praying. I was. I figured if everyone else was praying to Jesus, then maybe God had more time for me.

I squeezed my eyes shut.
Can't you stop her, God? I know she's my mother, and it's in the Ten Commandments that I'm supposed to obey. But you're her Father in heaven, so that means she's supposed to obey
you
, right? So can't you tell her to stay out of it? Visit her in a dream and tell her we've talked and you've got it covered. I am going to tell Mrs. Yeats, God. You know I am—as soon as I win.

Was the phone ringing right now?

Benedict's was a world I'd always dreamed of—dignified, privileged, special. I'd only ever had a window into this world. But now, a door had opened and I could see my way in. And waiting on the other side was everything I wanted.

Including Devon.

How could I stand to go back?

How could my mom do this to me?

Was the phone ringing right now?

The final oratory tourney was next Thursday, only ten measly days away. I would've been so good, nothing else would have mattered. Mom just didn't understand. I mean, every kid kept some things secret. Megan had gone to a counselor for two years—she didn't exactly announce that to the world. A guy at my school had a brother in prison—you could bet he wasn't putting that on any applications. We all kept things hidden. It wasn't a bad thing. It was survival. But thanks to my mom, Mrs. Yeats would think I'd been lying, and someone else would get my future.

“Amen,” Mrs. Clancy said.

“Amen,” I murmured along with everyone else. I lifted my head, as kids stretched and grabbed their packs. Devon reached over for my hand. From a row up, I saw Sarah catch the movement. Her eyes widened …
wow.

Yeah … wow. I gave her a weak smile. As if I needed another reminder of all I had to lose.

“You stressing?” Devon asked.

“I'm too stressed to be stressing. I'm numb,” I said. I stood and followed everyone down the aisle. “I'm dead. Or I might as well be.”

Devon pulled me along, leading me toward our class. “Maybe your mom will give you a break.”

“She said I've had enough breaks.” She'd refused to budge; her only concession was that Zeydeh didn't need to know. Let him think I'd been the one to tell Mrs. Yeats, as I should have.

“Maybe Grandmother won't be here today. The computers are on order. It's not like there's anything for her to do until they're delivered.”

I looked up, suddenly hopeful. “You think?” But a second later, a flash of silver hair caught my eye from the far end of the hall. I squeezed Devon's fingers. “It's your grandmother.”

Mrs. Yeats made her way toward us, coming closer and closer even though I dragged my feet slower and slower.

Had my mother called yet?

“Hey, Grandmother,” Devon said.

“Acknowledging me in the halls?” She gave him an amused smile. “Such an honor.” Then she looked at me. “Ellie, I believe I have something for you.” She thumbed through the stack of folders in her arm, and pulled one free.

I nodded, swallowing hard. Probably my application, with a big, fat, red “DENIED” stamped across it.

“It's a schedule of fall classes,” she said. “I thought you might want to take a look.”

My eyes widened so much they hurt. I flipped open the folder. “Benedict's Course Selections.” I flipped it shut. It was too awful … holding in my hands what I couldn't have. Because as soon as my mom called—

“By the way,” Mrs. Yeats added, “your mother called this morning.”

I stopped breathing. “She did?”

“The call was forwarded to my cell phone. I'm afraid the voice mail was garbled. For some reason, we're in a bit of a dead spot for cell phones, and I don't always get clear messages. Did she want a call back?”

“No!” I blurted. I hugged the folder to my chest. “I mean, no need to call her back. She, uh, just wanted to thank you again for yesterday.”

“My pleasure,” she said. Then she nodded and walked on.

I grabbed Devon's arm, mostly so I didn't collapse. “Did you hear that?”

He nodded, but instead of the grin I expected, he was frowning.

“What?” I asked.

“That was weird.” He stared at the retreating back of his grandmother.

“What was weird?”

“She doesn't have phone problems.”

“Then why would she say she did?”

“I don't know.” He shifted his backpack. “That's what's weird.”

I rolled my eyes. “So what?” I kissed the folder, too happy to care if I looked insane. “She gave me a class schedule, Devon. That means I'm still in the running.”

He nodded, but the frown didn't ease up. I pretended not to notice. As Zeydeh would say, “Don't spit in the face of good luck.” All I could say was, “Hallelujah.”

I must have said it a million times during the day.

I said it to Megan when I told her we might be carpooling next year.

And to Mom, after I told her Mrs. Yeats had given me a schedule of classes.

And to Dad, when he said Mrs. Yeats must not be weird about Jews, after all.

I even said it to Zeydeh.

Lucky for me, “hallelujah” is completely nondenominational.

The rest of the week flew by—every day better than the one before.

We started research, and I created fifteen bibliography cards when Mrs. Lee only required ten. Devon took the computer next to mine each afternoon. I couldn't stop myself from blushing, and I had to pretend it was from the heat of the computer screen. Just having him next to me was distracting enough, but then he would whisper little fast-food tidbits that made me laugh.

“Did you know cow's milk is mostly pus?” he asked. “Did you know sweetbreads are the thymus gland of young animals? Did you know young animals have thymus glands?”

We spent the whole day together and then half the night on the phone. Megan complained she had to book an appointment to talk to me. But she was busy, too. The final speech tournament was next week, but the performing arts group was presenting their scenes this Friday night. She'd morphed into Preeba with a vengeance and started wearing miniskirts and fishnets to camp. (The romance with Jared from the water fountain had fizzled out. Turned out Jared had used Handi Wipes at the water fountain to help with chronic canker sores. Not even Megan thought canker sores were sexy.) Anna had started blurting random lines from
Our Town
in the middle of a conversation. She got to do her scene perched on a ladder and couldn't wait.

Me, either. I wasn't going to miss Friday's performance for anything. Mom and Dad were coming, too. Zeydeh hated to miss it, but he wanted to go to synagogue. Maybe he'd find the soup answers he was seeking in the weekly Sabbath prayers.

Zeydeh was still in a funk. I hung out with him every morning before camp, and I had to force him to drink his juice. He'd started looking pale and tired and … old. He'd spread out every cookbook he owned, printed recipes off the Internet, and gone to the library to research the history of matzo balls. I felt bad for him, I really did, but after twenty minutes discussing the anatomy of a taste bud, I was thrilled to skip out of there and go to camp.

I'd stopped looking for signs from God—at least the bad kind. There'd been no lightning bolts, no locusts, no frogs, no nasty plagues. I figured I was home free.

Until Friday afternoon, when disaster struck.

In person.

“Dogs eat their own vomit as part of a healthy diet,” Devon said.

I glanced up at him from where I crouched on the carpet. “Please tell me you're not putting that in your oratory.”

Just as we were packing up for the day, I'd dropped my whole stack of index cards. They'd sprayed out on the carpet, a few sailing under the desks. I gathered up two more.

He pointed behind me. “You missed one over there.”

“Thanks,” I muttered.

The rest of the class had left a few minutes ago, but Devon had stayed to help. Not that he'd been any help. I reached for the last card, then stood.

“It's a nice tie-in to nature,” he said.

“It's disgusting!” I shoved the cards in my folder, and then into my pack.

He laughed again. “I'm still going to compare the fat content of a cow's brain to a burrito.”

“That's it for me and burritos.”

He swung his backpack to his other shoulder and followed me out to the hall. It was amazing how fast the school emptied, especially on a Friday afternoon. Only one person stood in the lobby. It wasn't Megan. She must already be out in the truck waiting for me.

“You're not going to be mad, are you?” Devon asked.

I shot him a confused look. “Mad?”

“When I beat you?”

I punched his shoulder and he laughed. “No thymus gland is going to beat a teenatrician.”

“Ellie!” A voice boomed down the corridor.

I tripped over my own feet, grabbing Devon for balance.
No, it can't be!

But it was. The white shirt and dark pants, the wispy gray hair, the grizzled cheeks, and a grin that meant trouble.

“Your grandpa?” Devon whispered.

My heart thudded. “Is your grandmother here?”

“I think so,” he whispered. “But it's okay. She's in Admin.”

“I've got to get him out of here. Before he ruins everything.” I hurried to the lobby. He stood waiting, every crooked tooth showing in a grin. “Zeydeh, what are you doing here?”

“I came with your father. I had wonderful news that couldn't wait, Ellie. A matzo ball breakthrough.” He looked at Devon. “Who is this?”

“This is Devon Yeats. Devon, this is my grandpa.” I reached for Zeydeh's arm, ready to lead him toward the door. But he shook me off and held out a hand to Devon.

“Devon, a pleasure to meet you.”

They shook hands, until Zeydeh's thick brows dipped into a frown. “I look old and decrepit? I look like I'll break?”

Devon flashed me a questioning look, and then turned back to Zeydeh. “Uh, no?”

“Then why such a limp handshake? I won't crumble.”

They shook hands again and then Zeydeh laughed and slapped Devon on the shoulder. Zeydeh winked at me.

I was going to kill him when we got home. “Where's Megan?”

“She's in the truck with your father. He's got marigolds and didn't want to leave them in the heat with the air conditioning turned off. I was sent to find you.”

Volunteered, more like it.
“Well, we'd better go then, Zeydeh. You can tell me your good news in the car.”

“Your father can wait a minute while Devon and I have a chat.”

“A chat?” My voice rose with the panic I was trying to keep in. “No. No chatting, Zeydeh.”

He waved me off and grinned. “So you're ready for the tournament?” he asked Devon.

Devon nodded. “Getting there.”

“I saw your eulogy, you know. It was good. Not as good as Ellie's, but good.”

“Zeydeh!”

“What?” he said innocently. “I can't say you were better? I'm not saying he was
farkakte
.”