“He won’t get to see me at the speech contest—” I say, and then halt, wishing I could pull those words back, that I hadn’t said that right now to Honey.

But she doesn’t hesitate. “He loved your speech, Milla. You probably couldn’t see as you were doing it, but he was laughing his head off. Everyone could tell he thought it was really creative.”

“Yeah, but you had the same speech.”

“It wasn’t the same, Milla.”

“I’m sorry we were in a fight,” I say.

“Me too,” she says quietly.

“I’m sorry I didn’t wish you good luck,” I say.

“It’s okay,” she says.

And then, like a storm flood crashing through house windows, I start sobbing and can’t stop.

I weep and weep.

About everything.

After a while, Honey rolls over to her side. I feel her brown eyes studying me. I try to catch my breath. My tears have soaked the pillow, and I use the back of my hand to swipe at my nose.

“Should we pay a shiva call to his family?” she says. “I bet Ima would take us. She always says how important it is to be menachem avel and comfort people who are mourning. Anyway—” She wipes an eye with her sleeve. “It’ll make us feel like we’re doing something.”

I was too little to remember when my zaidy died, and I have never been to a shiva house, where people come to comfort the mourners. My parents, who went to the Sandlers’ yesterday, have always said a shiva house is not a place for children. But Mrs. Wine called my mom last night and they spoke for a while, and in the end, they agreed that in this case it was a good idea for us to go; they agreed that we are old enough.

Just as Honey and I are finishing supper, Josh, Ezra, and Micah come home from yeshiva, banging into the mudroom and through to the kitchen. Micah’s face lights up when he sees me.

“Ooh, it’s Milla!” he says. Josh salutes, and Ezra nods in my direction.

“I. SEE. DEAD. PEOPLE,” Micah says, stalking toward me, looking to his brothers to join in. “I. SEE—”

I burst into tears.

“Micah!” Honey says with disgust.

“What? What did I do?” Micah says.

“Their teacher just died!” Josh supplies as Ezra looks menacingly at Micah.

“Oh,” Micah says, his face reddening. “I didn’t know! How was I supposed to know?”

Ezra digs into his pocket and hands me and Honey crumpled tissues. Honey isn’t crying, but she doesn’t look too good either. Sure, Mrs. Wine is on the chevra kadisha and the Wines talk about death matter-of-factly, but I don’t think Honey has ever personally known anyone who’s died before, or been to a shiva house. Josh comes over and gently bumps shoulders with her in protective solidarity.

I blow my nose. “No one tells me anything around here!” Micah mutters.