“Hi, Milla! Hi, Honey!” Sophie Teischman and Tali Mandelcorn skip over and we group hug. In school, me, Sophie, Tali, and Natalie are kind of a loose foursome, although Sophie and Tali are best friends, and Natalie and I have a trickier relationship. Basically, sometimes she’s great, and sometimes she really gets on my nerves.

“Hey, give us a turn!” Sophie says, nudging Natalie, who’s posing for selfies with Honey.

I finally got my first phone just before I went to camp, but it’s in my bag, switched off, per my mother’s strict instructions. The rule for middle schoolers is that you can bring a phone to school, but it has to be off on school property. Honey extracts herself from Natalie’s duck poses, again missing my conspiratorial eye roll, and takes turns hugging Sophie and Tali, who go to the same sleepaway camp as us. Natalie hovers over them. I told my mother everyone would love Honey!

Noam Cantor catches my eye from where he’s standing with a group of boys and shouts, “Hi, Milla!”

“Hi!” I shout back with a wave. I am debating going over to him when he grabs Eitan Moses, who has grown the length of a ruler over the summer, and heads toward me.

“How was your summer?” I say.

“Great. Is that your friend Honey Wine?” Noam says, continuing past me to where Honey’s excitedly chatting with Natalie, Sophie, and Tali.

Honey hears her name and glances up. “Who wants to know?” she challenges, winking at me. I adjust my knapsack on my shoulder and look at Noam.

“You’re Ezra Wine’s sister, right?” he says to Honey. He shakes his head in admiration. “Your brother is a sick athlete.”

“Yeah, sick,” Eitan chimes in.

“He was our counselor this summer,” Noam continues. “I’m Noam, by the way …”

“Hey,” Honey says nonchalantly.

Just then the bell rings, and we all gather at the entrance to squeeze our way in. The crowd surges forward, and suddenly I find myself at the back, seventh graders jostling me from every side. I can see Honey at the front, her arm linked with Natalie’s.

Honey turns around to see where I am. “Milla?” she calls.

“Don’t worry, I’m right behind you!” I holler over people’s heads.

“I’m not worried,” she calls back as she sails through the door.

Of course she isn’t.

Our first class is Chumash, studying the Torah and its commentaries, and we have Mrs. Griswald, or rather Giveret Griswald. She is Israeli and speaks to us in Hebrew, regardless of whether or not we understand what she’s saying.

She takes attendance, and when she gets to the last name on the list, she pauses and frowns. “What is ‘Honey’?” she says in Hebrew.

“I’m Honey,” says Honey in English, raising her hand.

“Ivrit b’vakashah,” says Giveret Griswald, insisting on Hebrew.

“Ani Honey,” says Honey.

“No, no, no,” says Giveret Griswald in Hebrew. “Honey is not a name. And for certain it is not a name in Hebrew. What is your Hebrew name?”