How to Ruin Series Part 37

"Come in, Amy," Jessica's mom says when she opens the door to their six-flat.

"Jessica is in her room."

I climb the familiar whitewashed staircase and catch Jessica sitting at her desk, punching the keyboard of her computer. "You're not checking Mitch's e- mail again, are you?"

Without looking at me she responds, "You bet I am. He has no clue. I check them all and mark them as 'unread' e- mail."

"Jess, break up with him if you don't trust him."

Jess swivels her chair around to face me. "He told me he loved me on New Year's Eve, Amy. I haven't had a guy tell me he loved me since That Guy."

That Guy is Michael Greenberg, who Jessica lost her virginity to last year. He blew her off right after their big night together and she's been insecure about guys ever since. She won't even give me, her bestest friend in the entire world, details about what happened with Michael.

I can't even say his name without her walking out of the room.

"Did he tell you he loved you in the heat of pa.s.sion?"

"His hands were under my shirt."

Okay, so I'm not going to state the obvious. He gave her the ol' "I love you, let's get it on" c.r.a.p. I look back at her and know she doesn't want to talk about it anymore.

I look inside Jessica's closet to see what new clothes she's gotten that I can borrow. I pick out a vintage gray shirt with pink writing. "Where did you get this?"

"I have no clue. My mom got it for me."

"It's cool." As always, I make myself at home. Best friends share clothes, secrets, and beauty tips. I guess we also share guys because I dated Mitch for about a millisecond before he started dating Jessica. Taking my own shirt off, I try on her gray one. It fits, except when I look in her long mirror on the back of her door my nipples stick out because the fabric of the shirt is too thin.

Depressed, I pull the shirt off and study my bra-covered b.o.o.bs in the mirror.

"What are you doing?" Jess asks.

I hold my arms at my sides and look down at my pink lacy bra. "Do my b.o.o.bs sag in this bra?" Testing what it would look like if they were perkier, I cup the bottom of my b.o.o.bs and lift them up.

"Now they're too close to your chin."

Jess lets out a frustrated sigh. "I wish I had your b.o.o.bs. Guys love your b.o.o.bs."

"They droop," I say, my hands letting go of them.

"How can they not, they weigh what ...

five pounds each?"

I'll have you know I've never weighed my b.o.o.bs. And I'm sure they don't weigh more than two pounds each. I turn to my best friend. "Jess, you have perfect, perky b.o.o.bs."

"Otherwise known as virtually non- existent," Jess says. "They only look perfect because I bought this Fantasy Bra last week." She pulls up her shirt to show me a padded pushup bra that's more padded than my mom's down winter coat.

"I need this in order to look like I have something."

The door to Jessica's room flies open.

It's her twelve-year-old annoying and testosterone-charged brother Ben. His eyes go wide at the sight of us in our bras. I screech and hold my hands out to cover my chest.

"Get out, you little creep!" Jess yells, pulling her shirt back down.

"Are you guys comparing b.o.o.bies?"

Ben says while laughing. "Amy, are those real?"

Jessica and I both grab pillows off her bed and fling them at the door while Ben slams it shut. "By the way, dinner's ready," he says, still laughing.

When we enter the dining room a few minutes later, Jess flicks her brother hard on the back of the head before sitting down.

"Ow!"

"If you don't knock next time, I'm going to take a picture of you while you're in the shower and e-mail it to your entire school."

"That's enough," Mr. Katz says, putting on his kippah and motioning for Ben to put his on, too.

In the kitchen, Jess and I help place soup bowls filled with matzoh ball soup on the table.

Mrs. Katz sets up two Shabbat candlesticks with candles in them and takes matches out of a decanter on the credenza. "Amy, would you like to do the honors?"

Me? I usually watch while Jessica or her mom lights the candles and does the Hebrew prayer. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

The entire room is silent as I clear my throat. Striking the match, I light both candles. When they're lit, I cover my eyes with my palms and say, "Baruch ata Adonai Eloheinu, melech ha'olam, asher kid'shanu b'mitzvotav v'tzivanu l'hadlik ner shel Shabbat. Blessed are You, Lord our G.o.d, King of the universe, who has made us holy through His commandments and commanded us to kindle the Sabbath light."

I take my seat at the table, abandoning the candles in the corner, when Mrs. Katz says, "Amy, did you make a wish?"

"A wish?"

"Yes, over the candles. It's our custom to do the prayer, then make a silent wish to G.o.d. Or a thank-you to G.o.d ... whatever your heart feels like saying."

Standing up and walking back to the bright yellow burning candles, I cover my eyes again and think about what I want to say.

"Ask G.o.d for Ben to accidentally have his orthodontist wire his mouth shut," Jess says.

"Ask for Jess to grow b.o.o.bs," Ben's voice chimes in.

Ignoring both of them, I say to G.o.d, Please take care of my Safta in Israel.

She has cancer and needs your help. And also, thanks for giving me this family to have dinner with tonight so I'm not alone.

I look up, expecting everyone to be staring at me and to ask me what I wished for. But they're not; they respect my private Shabbat wish and thanks to G.o.d. I love Jessica and her family. Even Ben.

"I saw Amy's b.o.o.bies upstairs," Ben says, then wags his eyebrows up and down at me.

Okay, maybe not Ben.

Mrs. Katz slams her hand on the table.

"Can I please have a respectful Shabbat?"

"Listen to your mother," Mr. Katz says.

He stands while picking up the silver Shabbat wine cup and pours the red wine until it's almost overflowing. "Baruch ata Adonai Eloheinu, melech ha'olam, boray pri ha-gafen. Amen."

After he takes a sip from the cup, he pa.s.ses it around for everyone else to take a sip. Ben puts on a big show of gulping down the wine, but then he coughs so it splatters across the white tablecloth.

Jess rolls her eyes, takes a sip, and pa.s.ses the cup to me. I'm not a wine drinker, but this wine is so sweet it's like drinking sugary children's cough syrup.

Ben lifts the embroidered cloth cover off of the challah, the Shabbat bread which is expertly braided at the kosher bakery down the street. "Baruch ata Adonai Eloheinu, melech ha'olam, ha-motze lechem min ha'aretz," he says, then makes a big show of singing, "Aaa, aaah, maaaaaaiiiiinnn."

Jess and I mumble, "Amen."

Ben tears a chunk of the challah off and tosses everyone a small piece from the chunk. I think he tried tossing it into my cleavage, but I'm not sure. And when it comes to tossing a piece to Jess, he whips it at her. I think the kid needs to go to therapy, or at least be locked up until he turns eighteen.

"How is the conversion cla.s.s going, Amy?" Mr. Katz asks me as he takes a spoonful of matzoh ball soup.

"Good. Rabbi Gla.s.sman is really nice."

Mrs. Katz puts her hand over her husband's. "He married us, you know.

Twenty-two years ago."

I wonder if Rabbi Gla.s.sman will officiate my wedding one day. Even though he's not Orthodox, he won't officiate a marriage between a Jewish person and a non-Jew. He's kind of strict about that, even refused to marry his own sister because she married a Christian guy. I want to marry someone Jewish because I think it will head off lots of arguments. It's important that my kids are Jewish; it's important that my family doesn't eat pork or sh.e.l.lfish ... or mix meat and milk products.

"Are you going to the youth group meeting tomorrow?" Mrs. Katz asks.

Jessica nods her head and says, "Are you coming, Amy?"

"I wasn't planning on it."

"You should go. It's fun."

After dinner, Jess and I convince her parents to let us go back to my place to crash. We spend the rest of the evening Ben-less, talking about boys and bras and books until we're tired. Then we take out ice cream from the freezer and watch movies on TV until I convince Jessica to call Mitch.

He isn't answering his cell, so she tries his house. Unfortunately, she gets reamed out by Mitch's dad for calling past eleven o'clock. He doesn't even tell her if Mitch is home or not.

What do two parentless teenagers do at eleven at night? I have a brilliant idea.

"Let's call my cousin in Israel. It's eight hours ahead there."

Before Jess can tell me it's a horrible idea, I start dialing the gazillion digits to get access to the Israeli phone system.

"Allo?" my Doda Yucky answers.

"Doda Yucky, it's Amy," I yell into the receiver.

"Ah, Amy'leh. Mah nishmah?" The woman thinks I'm fluent in Hebrew, but really my dad told me mah nishmah means "how is everything?" It's a staple phrase for Israelis.

"Great. Is Osnat there?"

"She's right here. Give your aba my love, tov?"

"Tov."

"Amy?" Osnat asks.

"Yeah, it's your American cousin.

Remember me?"

"How could I forget. Our sheep still has a Mohawk from when you shaved it."

Ha, ha. Very funny. Okay, so my sheep- shearing skills are definitely lacking, but I did make a valiant effort. "Mah nishmah?"

I ask her.

"Ah, evreet shelach mitzuyan."

"Okay, cut the Hebrew. You know I have no clue what you're saying. How's Avi?"

"Looking hot."

"You've seen him?"

"Yeah. Why, hasn't he called you since his basic training was over?"

No. "I'm sure he was busy." He wrote that he'd be in basic training for another week. I wonder what he's doing back home. Even more, I wonder why he hasn't called. You know what they say: if they're not into you, they don't call. If they're into you, they'll find the time.

My stomach muscles clench up, but I continue talking to Osnat and then talk to Safta, my grandmother, who tells me the doctors think her tumor shrunk since her last set of chemo treatments. She insists she's doing fine, but her voice is weaker than I remember. I promise to call next week and she promises she'll stay healthy and strong until I come to Israel for summer break.

Jess is thumbing through my CD collection, looking more depressed than I am. I come up with an idea. "Try texting Mitch."

"I tried before. He ignored it."

I grab her phone and start texting.

Jess sits on the bed next to me. "What are you doing?"

"Getting your boyfriend's attention," I tell her. Mitch is obsessed with his cell phone. He'll for sure have it with him. If he's ignoring Jess on purpose, I'll kill him.

Me: Mitch, it's Amy. Jess is XOXOing another dude Mitch: What?

Me: Just kidding. Where R U?