Before I can say that they were both fun despite being so similar, Honey snaps, “They’re best friends, Milla, not sisters.”

“No, I know—I was just—joking,” I say, stung, and then annoyed because she still hasn’t told me what’s making her so crabby lately.

“A bat mitzvah is such a special milestone for a girl’s whole family,” Mrs. Wine says. “Even if it’s something small, it’s a wonderful way to celebrate their daughter as an individual, and to welcome her entry to being a bas Torah and accepting the laws of Judaism for herself.”

“Ima, can you start the car already? It’s freezing!”

I raise my eyebrows in surprise at Honey’s tone. Mrs. Wine is not an eyebrow raiser, but I think I see them creep up as she turns her head and gives Honey a look. Then she gives her boot a final tug, swings her legs back to the pedals, and starts the minivan. I rest my head against the cold window, suddenly bone-tired and looking forward to putting on my pajamas.

A few weeks later, an expected glittering black-and-gold invitation shaped like a mask arrives in the mail. Gold sparkled curlicued letters spell out superstar and hot stuff and, of course, NATALIE. We are supposed to come wearing our fanciest outfits.

“Ask your parents again,” I tell Honey. We are sitting with our legs dangling from the counter in the Wine girls’ bathroom.

“They’re just going to say no,” Honey says, beating her heels in a rhythm against the cabinet under the sink. “Abba and Ima say it’s going to be ‘inappropriate’ and they don’t feel it ‘aligns with our family’s religious observance and values’—or something like that.”

I look at Honey sympathetically. I don’t exactly know what the Wines mean by “inappropriate,” but I think it has to do with the fact that when Micah went to Natalie’s older brother Effie’s bar mitzvah last year, he came home telling stories about the dancers in bikini tops. And that there were people kissing in the bathroom. And that Itzie Lieb got drunk. Honey’s parents didn’t even want her at Tammy’s party, so I guess if Effie’s bar mitzvah is anything to go by, Natalie’s might not be “appropriate.” But still, I wonder why it was okay for Micah to go to Effie’s bar mitzvah to begin with. At the very least they knew there would be disco-type dancing.

“But anyway, I don’t care,” Honey says nonchalantly.

I look at her in disbelief. She doesn’t care that her parents aren’t letting her go to Natalie’s bat mitzvah? Natalie Aronovich’s bat mitzvah?

“But Natalie’s been saying she’ll probably ask you, me, Sophie, and Tali to do her best friend’s speech,” I say. I’ve already been planning what we could write for it, maybe do a funny song. None of us actually feel like we’re best friends with Natalie, but we’re still a group.

Honey looks at me like I’m one of her brothers—who has just passed some massively stinky gas. “I said I don’t care, Milla. I’ve got more important things to think about.”