I grip the orange I brought as a prop.

How could she do this to me?

It’s no more your idea than hers, a little voice inside my head defends her. I push it aside. I am too busy thinking about how I am now supposed to get up in front of my whole class and also do a speech about peeling oranges.

Okay, I think, trying to get control of my breathing. Okay. Okay. Mine is different enough from hers. At least what I can hear of what Honey is actually saying. I am having trouble concentrating.

All I can think about is that when it’s my turn all everyone will be thinking is Whah? Another speech on the same topic! And this time, this time by yours truly: the quieter, lesser, regular citizen versus the celebrity that is Honey Wine.

I can already hear Eric’s “humph” before I even start. I grip my orange so tightly I’m surprised it doesn’t squirt all over me. I feel like my face is covered in juice anyway.

Mr. Sandler is nodding and smiling as he watches Honey. I feel like someone has ripped out a piece of me.

When Honey is done, she flashes me a grin. I look away. She lifts her shoulders in a question mark, but Mr. Sandler has called me up and I find myself in front of the class holding my orange.

Right on cue, Eric calls, “More freshly squeezed orange juice, anyone?” and everyone laughs. My mouth is dry, and everything is tingling. I stare at the tops of the heads of all the kids in my class. I swallow. I’m not sure I’m breathing.

But I fight the urge to finger the ends of my braids. I flick one and then the other over my shoulders instead.

I clear my throat and count to three in my head.

“Friends, classmates, teacher: You might not know this, but I am here to tell you that the way you peel an orange says a lot about you.”

I hold up my orange. “My grandpa—he has time, he has experience, he has patience. He whittles it in one long strip. He says it’s more satisfying to enjoy the inside when the outside has been taken care of properly. My twin toddler cousins, on the other hand, they have no experience in life, or patience—” I pretend to bite the orange whole like you would an apple. Everyone laughs.

I pause, suddenly realizing that I’m doing this. In front of an audience. It’s like I heard my voice just now—but it’s hard to connect that it was me, standing up here in front of everybody, that I was hearing.

But I am not going to get freaked out. I am not going to think about what (else) can go wrong. I am giving my speech now, how I practiced it, and in the best way I can.

I take another deep breath.

“A Talmudic discussion,” I say, pretending to stroke my beard like a rabbi. “The House of Hillel says we should peel from left to right, but the House of Shammai says we should peel from right to left.” Everyone laughs again.