“Trust me, Milla,” my mom says as we step into the muggy parking lot and wait for my dad to pick us up. It has stopped raining, but the air feels heavy and pregnant, like any minute the skies will open to a downpour. “That dress is the one. Just say thank you.”

“Thank you,” I say, keeping my gaze on a puddle, the plastic shopping bag handles slippery in my fingers.

The first day back at school, I feel blah—gray skies, mottled slush frozen over the street curbs, and the zipper of my ski jacket gets caught on my uniform sweater. When I tug it loose, my sweater tears. Then there’s a substitute for English. She writes Ms. Silver on the whiteboard.

“Right, okay, guys, so what are the themes in Cashews?” she says, jumping right in. I know the answer, but I’m not raising my hand until I see how things go.

“Anyone?”

No answer.

“Did anyone read this book?” Ms. Silver says.

I’m pretty certain that we have all read it. Mr. Sandler asked us to.

“Well, okay, we’ll just start from scratch,” Ms. Silver says. She sits on the desk, crosses one leg over the other, and opens a well-worn copy of the book.

Who is this person? She isn’t acting like she’s a substitute. She’s acting like she thinks she’s our teacher. Where is Mr. Sandler?

Later that night, I overhear my parents talking in the kitchen.

“It became a standoff,” my mother says. “Raphael Sandler said he’d had it and told Rabbi Adler he quit. Luckily Sue Eisen’s sister-in-law was in-between things and agreed to fill in at the last minute.”

“A standoff about what?” my father says.

“Apparently they’ve been butting heads since Rabbi Adler came. But the final straw was that Mrs. Benzaquen is retiring at the end of this year and Rabbi Adler wants to start a formal search for the new head of English—and have Raphi interview for the position like anyone else, rather than just promoting him.”

“I thought everyone loves him. Milla certainly thinks he’s a great teacher.”

“They do, but we brought Adler in to be an administrator and he feels likes this is the way to do things properly, even if they’ll ultimately give the job to Raphi. But Raphi said forget it and that he doesn’t need this job.”

“What does that mean?” my dad says. “I thought he has little kids to support.”

“I don’t know,” my mom says. “I mean, he would get hired in a second by any of the other schools. I’ve heard Kedem School is frothing for him. But honestly, I never understood why he went into teaching. He had such a promising career. He was totally on the partner track at Lowell Minkoff.”

I hug my knees in my fuzzy pajama pants as I sit at the top of the stairs. I didn’t know Mr. Sandler used to be a lawyer. Or that he has little kids. Or that his name is Raphael. Raphi. And aren’t adults always telling us to get along, to find a way to work things out?