I had told my parents I wouldn’t dance with boys, by which I meant that I would see when I got here. But it turns out Noam is sick and hasn’t come. Anyway, the girls stand in one huddle and the boys in another and all we do is jump up and down. Tammy has a hopeful smile on her face, like at any minute someone might ask her to dance, but everyone stays in their huddles.

After a while, I go and stand by the drinks table with Tali and Sophie, who also aren’t supposed to be dancing. I take the opportunity to drink a lot of soda, which my mother doesn’t let me have. Then Tammy’s dad, who is the DJ fiddling with his phone and a small speaker, puts on “Hava Nagila.” The girls grab Tammy to do a hora with her, forming a circle and doing the grapevine step. At least we know how to do that one. The boys form a ring around us, pushing and pulling each other and being silly, whirling faster and faster until someone accidentally lets go and Ethan S. goes flying into a stack of folding chairs. Mrs. Birnbaum gives him ice and calls his mother.

Mr. Birnbaum puts on a song no one recognizes. I go back to the drinks table with Sophie and Tali, and Natalie joins us too.

“Can I be honest?” Natalie says. “Honey’s not missing anything. This party’s a little lame.” I kind of agree with Natalie’s assessment, but I also feel indignant at her nerve. Natalie’s bat mitzvah is in March, and she’s already been regaling us with the details. Her dress, the chairs, the tablecloths: Everything will be matching black and gold. She is even in negotiation with her parents to change into a gold leotard and perform a routine with the dancers they’ve hired. I wish Honey was here to tell her off right now, and before I can stop myself, I just say what I imagine Honey would say.

“Not everyone can afford a fancy party,” I tell Natalie pointedly.

Tali and Sophie exchange looks. Natalie just rolls her eyes.

“Chill out, Milla,” she says. “I just meant it’s not that fun. My mom says it’s all about atmosphere—that that’s the magic ingredient to any party and that no money can buy it. You either have it or you don’t. You know what I mean?”

Natalie’s mom is not someone I would ordinarily think of as wise, but she has a point here, not that I want to admit that right now. “How do you get it if you can’t buy it?” I ask.

Natalie looks less certain suddenly. “She says it usually has to do with how much your friends like you.” She shrugs.

“Not to speak loshon harah,” Sophie says, which is always her and Tali’s cue for when they are, in fact, about to say something negative about someone. “But I don’t really understand this bat mitzvah party. There’s nothing specifically Jewish here. Did she even do a mitzvah project?”