“Yeah,” says Tali. “We’ve already started our tzedakah projects weeks ago.” She gestures to Sophie and herself.

“Me too,” Natalie says. “I’m raising money to buy pajamas for kids at a homeless shelter.”

I look at all three of them in surprise. I haven’t even thought of what I might do as a charity project, or started learning Megillat Rut with Aunty Steph. But Tali’s and Sophie’s bat mitzvahs are both in February, and Natalie’s in March, so I guess that’s only a few months away and they need to get ready. I still have plenty of time. I feel something bothering me on my back and reach behind to pull at my dress. I realize I’ve finished my third cup of Coke.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” I say, breaking away.

When I get to the little door by the laundry room, it turns out Eitan Moses and Ethan W. have stuffed a roll of toilet paper into the toilet and flooded the bathroom. I give a wide berth as Mr. Birnbaum wades in with a plunger, but suddenly a slow song comes on and he changes his mind, discarding the plunger by the door and taking Mrs. Birnbaum by the hand. I shift from foot to foot, waiting for him to come back, but he and Mrs. Birnbaum sway like they are in their own world, their hips smushed together while the boys keep trying to “accidentally” push each other into them. Tammy stands off to the side by herself, her smile looking stuck to her face. Finally, after the third slow song, the lights go on, Mr. Birnbaum puts his phone back in his pocket, and the party’s over. Everybody blinks at each other.

My dad texts me that he’s waiting outside, and I say goodbye to Tammy, who is now sitting by herself on a folding chair, her skirt poofed up around her.

“Mazal Tov,” I say again. “Thank you for the party.”

“Bye, Milla. Thanks for coming. By the way, one of your safety pins is open. You can see your tights. But I really like your dress, it’s so cool. Where did you say you got it again?”

“It’s vintage,” I mumble, my face flaring as I hurriedly put my coat on.

The next day, I make Honey laugh when I tell her about the party and the Birnbaums and the toilet and about how I drank all that Coke and had to jiggle my leg in the car the whole way home.

“Anyway, don’t worry, you didn’t miss anything,” I tell her.

“I wasn’t worried,” Honey says. She’s wearing her new plaid shirt and jean skirt, the What Goes Around bag on the floor and the tags cut off and strewn about the carpet. “Everyone liked my outfit last night, by the way.”

“Why don’t we look in your closet and see what else looks good with your new shirt and skirt—I bet we can make lots of outfits,” I say.