The blue-eyed girl laughed. The shorter girl slapped Amir in playful protest.
“Ladies, this is Ari Eden. Ari, this is Lily,” he said, gesturing to the shorter one, “and Nicole,” gesturing to the other, whose smile conveyed palpable disinterest.
Lily tossed the empty cup aside and grabbed Amir’s hand. “Let’s get refills?”
Amir gave me a final nod and allowed himself to be led away. This left me with Nicole. I stared, bit my lip nervously. A few moments ticked by. I tried a feeble smile. “Nice to meet you,” I said, finally, wincing at how high-pitched my voice sounded.
“Yes,” she said, her voice—low, sweet—trailing into silence, as if to dissuade me. She stood on her toes until she spotted a friend. “Excuse me a moment—”
Red-cheeked, hair on end, I watched her leave, praying no one had seen. Sure enough, I felt a clap on my back. My ears filled with familiar laughter. “Lord, that was excruciating.”
Rebecca, standing with Noah, grabbed my hand affectionately. “Leave him be,” she soothed, scolding Noah. “And don’t mind Nicole, Ari. She’s always been a bit standoffish.”
A charged hush descended over the room. At the kitchen doorway stood a bearded, middle-aged man, stout and sloppily dressed, arms folded across his chest.
“Shit,” Rebecca said. “Isn’t that Niman’s uncle?”
The room froze, eyeing him cautiously. Niman, dumbfounded, let out a pained squeal, but her uncle only went on staring. The rest of us stood in perfect stillness, camouflaging from a predator. Then, on cue, in stumbled Oliver from the bathroom, drunk, squinting, breaking the silence with an enormous belch. “What happened to the music?”
“Oliver!” Rebecca hissed. “Come. Here.”
Oliver laughed, walking up to Niman’s uncle. “Who the fuck is this guy?”
“Leave.” The uncle shook with rage. “I advise you to—”
A moment of horror as we watched Oliver slowly raise his cup and, before Niman’s uncle could finish speaking, dump its contents over the uncle’s head. Reflexively, the uncle swiped Oliver with the back of his hand, sending Oliver stumbling. “Out!” he yelled, surging to life, tequila dripping from his raggedy beard. “Out or I call the cops!”
An avalanche of cups, a great exodus toward the door. Noah grabbed Oliver, who cursed drunkenly and staggered about, a bright-red handprint tattooed across his right cheek, and steered him away. Outside, we raced to the cars. Rebecca seized the keys from Noah, whom she deemed too drunk to drive, and we piled into the Audi.
“Wait,” Noah said as Rebecca started the engine. “Where’s Amir?”
Screaming from the front of the house, Niman’s uncle had Lily and Amir by the collars and was attempting to throw them off the property.
“Get off me,” Amir yelled, struggling to loosen the uncle’s grip. Lily, hair tussled, went bright with embarrassment.
“In my brother’s house!” Niman’s uncle shouted. “In my own brother’s house!”
Suddenly, Niman, a blur of flaming hair, launched her diminutive frame onto her uncle’s back, allowing Amir and Lily to break for the car. Amir slid over my legs toward Oliver while Lily squeezed onto my lap, slammed the door and yelled for Rebecca to drive, all without giving me so much as a backward glance. Invisibility suited me.
I rode in silence, inhaling the rich leather of the Audi’s interior, astonished at what I’d witnessed: smoking, drinking, an adult striking a teenager. It was past one when I walked through my front door. I removed my shoes outside, tiptoed to my room. In bed, I considered the long way from Brooklyn, imagined Shimon’s reaction to finding Lily on his lap. As I drifted into sleep, I thought of Socrates reminding Simmias that a simple way leads to Hades.
* * *
I WOKE EARLY TO ACCOMPANY my father to shachris. I was sleepy-eyed in the car and said little, grateful for my father’s silence. We sat in the back of the sanctuary, a change for us, considering my father insisted on claiming the first row in our Brooklyn shul, and wrapped the straps of our tefillin around our biceps and foreheads. My father, talis over his head, asked whether any of the boys with whom I was out the previous night were present. I shook my head. During Shemoneh Esrei, while my father swayed and I studied the glass-stained mosaics lining the sanctuary—a celestial ladder, a divided sea, a variegated coat—I noticed Amir shuffle quietly through the side door. He had his arm underneath the elbow of a beefy, elderly Israeli who maneuvered with a cane. I was floored: Amir, a few hours after being caught with Lily, now doubled as a ghost from my old life.
Amir was still bent in prayer when minyan ended, so I couldn’t catch his eye. I pointed him out to my father as we left. He smiled to himself and seemed, in some small way, more content for the rest of the day.
* * *
I SPENT THE MORNING EDITING Noah’s paper. It was, at best, mediocre. I fixed grammatical errors, struck a particularly far-fetched suggestion about Shade’s sexual proclivities and then deposited the paper in his mailbox. Later, as I sat by my pool, revisiting my own work—I realized, with alarm, that the start of school was marching closer, only days away now—my cellphone rang.
“Hello?”
“It’s your favorite neighbor.”
“Hey, Noah.”
“The edits were fantastic. Really a game changer. I have to thank you again.”
“My pleasure.”
“I can totally pay, by the way.”
“Pay?”
“Yeah, a lot of people don’t do this for free.”
“No, no, that’s okay.”
“You sure? You know, you could really charge for this. People would pay good money if you started ghostwriting essays. You’ve got skills.”
“I think I’m good, thanks.”
“All right, well, if you change your mind let me know. I could spread the word.”
“Right,” I said uncomfortably. A mosquito landed on my arm and attempted to steal my blood. I crushed it against my skin. “Thanks.”
“So,” he said, “how’d you sleep after the big night?”
“Fine,” I said, opting not to mention my nightmare of a cartoon version of Uncle Norman chasing me with an ax.
“Glad to hear. We’re hitting the beach now. Be outside in ten.”
* * *
HE ARRIVED WITH THE ENTOURAGE: Rebecca in front, her hair braided, one of Noah’s oversized muscle shirts over her bathing suit; Oliver, donning chrome-red sunglasses, and Amir, shirtless, in back.
“Know something,” Amir told me as I climbed in and took my place in the middle, “you’re the only other kid from school I’ve ever seen attend minyan.”
“I didn’t think you saw me.”
“He’s intense when he prays, isn’t he?” Oliver said.
“Sorry if my praying upsets you, Oliver.”
“Don’t be,” Oliver said. “I just think you’re a fascinating dude.”
“How’s that?” Amir asked.
“Boys,” Rebecca said, “let’s not.” Noah switched lanes, cutting off the car behind us, which honked madly. Oliver and Amir, in unison from opposite ends of the back row, stuck middle fingers out the windows.