Playing With Matches (2 page)

Mrs. Levine shot me another one of her trademark x-ray gazes. I tightened my unbuttoned blazer around me, like I could gaze-proof myself.

“This is a critical opportunity that you have now,” she said. She pinched her lips together, rose from her seat, rounded the table, and then settled on the edge of the desk. Her blouse was rammed inside a skirt with an elastic waistband that was exactly eye level. I would never want to alarm Mrs. Levine, but with all that polyester she was a walking fire hazard.

“Our program is
really
geared for the student who is
responsible
and
conscientious
,” she said. “We have very strict rules here and since you signed a form saying that you’ve read and agreed to the student handbook, I’m not anticipating any problems. Attendance, punctuality, and especially cell phones. We do
not
tolerate cell phones at the school.”

I craned my neck, mesmerized by the tiny bits of mist spraying down from her mouth. “But we do all want to maximize your opportunity for growth.”

Like I was a financial portfolio. I stared longingly at the door to her office. Maybe Hong Kong wouldn’t be so bad after all. As Mrs. Levine leaned forward I shrank back in my seat.

“I’m sure you’re aware that I have concerns about the appropriateness of your placement here,” she said, in case I’d missed it the first fifty times. “So to that end, you’ll meet with me on a weekly basis, to check in on your progress. And we’d like to offer you the opportunity to meet with the school social worker, Mrs. Marmor, who is more than happy to help you in any way possible.”

The “we” who were making this “offer” was a painfully vast network of adults who had conspired to arrange every aspect of my life since I was tossed out of Maimonides last June. We’re talking principals, vice principals, parents, social workers, and psychologists. It was a dream team of teenage failure management.

“That’s so sweet, Mrs. Levine, but I really don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Thursdays at lunch,” she said, without moving a muscle on her face. “Agreed?”

You could have choked from all the hostility in that office. I answered with a tiny nod.

When she finally released me, I stepped out the door of her office, just as Dahlia Engel dropped off a form in the reception area. She shot a glance at the office entrance and our eyes met for a moment. She quickly averted her gaze, like she’d been caught gawking at the bleeder next to the ambulance. I grimaced and shrunk back toward the office.

Pity. And from a geek like Dahlia Engel, no less. Does it get worse than that?

That night, after a nasty dinner of tuna patties and canned corn, I shuffled over to the dairy sink in the large kitchen island.

“Mira,
such
a delicious dinner,” Bubby Bayla said, as she choked down a bite of her tuna patty. Aunt Mira’s mother-in-law was a thick woman in her eighties with wispy silver curls, sensible frames, and a doughy face.

The heat wave was stifling so I splashed some cold water on my cheeks. Aunt Mira, wearing a silk blouse with a tied bow, plucked a tea towel from a cherry cabinet and handed it to me. I grabbed it and wiped my sweaty face.

Big mistake.

I was sure I heard a snort from Bubby Bayla. Mira pursed her lips and said in a Very. Controlled. Tone, “Raina.”

Okay,
now
what did I do?

“That’s for drying dishes,” Aunt Mira said. “For
you
to dry dishes with.”

“Don’t they dry if you just leave them out?”

Bubby chuckled. Mira placed her fists on her hips and glared. I got it now. The plan was for me to become Mira’s beast of burden.

Jeremy regarded me from over his cantaloupe with a bemused smile.

How do I begin to explain Jeremy?

Actually, maybe somebody could explain to me why an able-bodied thirty-year-old lawyer was practically squatting at Mira’s house? I know that his dad was best friends with Uncle Eli back in law school, but really, didn’t he have some bachelor pad that he could, you know,
live in
?

“What do you think of Sabathia’s performance?” Uncle Eli said, turning to Jeremy. Did he have to bring up a Yankee so soon after dinner? It made me want to bring up mine.

“He just has an incredible arm,” Jeremy said, knuckling the table for emphasis.

Bubby shook her head and muttered something inaudible before pulling herself up to her feet and shuffling out of the kitchen. Uncle Eli and Jeremy watched her hobble to the family room where she settled herself on the couch with a moan.

Jeremy turned back to Uncle Eli. “He’s one of the most dependable pitchers in the league,” he said, winking at me.

I spun away from him and attacked the ceramic dish. Jeremy, like Uncle Eli, was a shameless Yankees fan. Which probably would explain why he was having such a hard time finding a wife.

The ringing of my phone rescued me from the coven of heretics.

“Hi sweetie, are you okay?” It was my father calling from Hong Kong. “Mom’s wondering how school is going.”

Translation:
Has there been any trouble yet?

I inched away from the kitchen into the family room where Bubby was now dozing on the leather couch. Something about his voice made me start to lose it.

“You’re driving down to the bus station in a few hours to get Leah?” he said.

I’m counting the seconds.
“Uncle Eli’s taking me,” I said as I balanced on the arm of the couch.

“I think there’s something she’s going to want to discuss with you,” he said in a quiet voice.

Jeremy slapped on a Yankees cap and waved at me before sauntering out of the kitchen.

I croaked into the phone. “What do I do about Uncle Eli?”

“Oh Rainy, I’m sorry,” he said. “Just agree to disagree.”

I lowered my voice to a whisper. “Dad, it’s one thing to have a conversation, but to
share a house
with a Yankees fan?”

chapter 3

If You Have an Older Sister

Uncle Eli pulled his black Volvo onto Edward Street. “Why don’t I wait in the car and you can go into the terminal and find her,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll want to spend a few minutes alone together.”

“Sure,” I said as I sprang out of the passenger seat into the muggy September night. There was lightness in my gait — Leah was back! When I was younger we moved between so many cities, but the one constant was Leah. How many older sisters would let you tag along with their friends and cling to them in public? Or take you to museums, and share their secrets? If you have an older sister, you really do want one like Leah.

I kind of lost Leah after she met Ben last October, but everything changed over the summer. And after bonding again, we would have two glorious months to prepare for the wedding together.

I scooted between two parked Greyhound buses and sprinted into a hangar with buses lined up in a row, each one belching competing levels of exhaust. Scanning for the arrivals, I caught sight of a familiar head of crimped curls.

“Hey, Shira!” I called.

She swerved around and stared blankly.

“Hi. I’m Rain Resnick?” I said with my finger on my chest. “I’m at Moriah this year. We’re in a bunch of classes together?”

“Right,” she said with a slight nod. “Hi.”

“I’m waiting for my sister to come in from New York,” I said. “You?”

“My cousin’s coming in from New York too,” she said as she watched a bus glide into the bay. The front door burst open, and an elderly Asian man hobbled down the stairs, followed by a string of haggard passengers.

Leah finally descended the steps of the bus, the twelve-hour journey written on her face. Strands of hair from a makeshift ponytail straggled past mascara-smeared eyes. I flew at her and wrapped her in a hug.

“We’re blocking people,” she said in a quiet voice.

“Let me take your bag,” I said as I grabbed her suitcase. “I’m so excited you’re here! Where’s the gown?”

“I don’t have it,” she said. She craned her neck in search of the exit.

I stopped. “What?” That was the whole purpose of the trip.

“Where’s Uncle Eli?”

I pointed to the waiting car. “Is everything okay?”

Leah charged out of the station without saying a word. Shira’s arms were crossed as she watched us. My cheeks tingled as I scrambled after Leah.

Out on the street Uncle Eli waved at us.

“Hi, Uncle Eli, thanks so much for getting me,” Leah said as she slid into the passenger seat. Eli popped the trunk open and dropped in her bag.

“Did she tell you?” he murmured to me.

An angry wind whooshed past us, slamming his door closed. “What’s going on?” I said, as I gathered my hair.

He clapped the trunk shut and sighed.

“Uncle Eli, please,” I said.

He turned to me, his face marked by uncle-type pain. “Rain, there’s something you need to know.”

I braced myself.

“Leah’s engagement is off. Leah and Ben aren’t getting married.”

chapter 4

Queen of the Nobodies

Leah’s heartbreak coated the Bernstein household in a thick layer of sadness. In good times her joy could radiate across a room and fill every nook and crevice with sunlight. But now she was a tiny flame that had been doused with a thousand buckets of pain. And I couldn’t get any answers.

Rain, she doesn’t want to talk about it.

Rain, just let her be. She’s hurting.

She hadn’t said a word to me since her return from New York. When we passed each other in the house, I may as well have been a ghost. She spent more time chatting with Bubby Bayla than me, her best friend. (Sorry,
former
best friend.) And considering that Leah’s conversation with Bubby averaged less than twenty seconds, you can get an idea of where I stood with her.

On Sunday, I stepped into the kitchen on a mandarin orange mission and found Leah seated at the computer desk. She looked up briefly. Her side-swept bangs and straight hair contoured pale skin with ocean blue eyes that darkened when they saw me.

“Hey,” I said as I opened the fridge.

She continued typing. I turned around and glanced at the computer screen.

Leah was on her all-time favourite site, MazelTovNation. She clicked on New York and scrolled through the listing of couples engaged in the last week. When she’d exhausted the New York announcements, she tapped on the Canada icon and began searching though the local engagement notices.

MazelTovNation was Leah’s crack cocaine.

“Leah?” I ached to grab her and wrap her in a hug. I needed to cry with her and Leah needed to cry with me. “Can I do anything for you?”

Her hands froze on top of the keyboard.

“Please, Leah. Can we talk?”

She released a bitter laugh, exited the website, and rose from the chair. “It’s too late, Rain. You got what you wanted anyway.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Forget it.” She strode past me, leaving a cold blast in her wake. I crumpled into a kitchen chair. Was Leah blaming
me
for the breakup? I’ll admit I never totally trusted Ben. But maybe to me no one was good enough for Leah.