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I wait for Lindsay, who’s at the ring toss booth next to me. We had to rip tickets for a while until a couple freshmen took over our shifts. In exchange, we got handfuls of free tokens. Being on student council means half my time spent at any event is not devoted to enjoying it. I’ve gone to Homecoming and Tolo all four years of high school not to dance, but to serve refreshments and check coats.
“Tovah? Tovah Siegel?” A guy in the ring toss line is calling my name. He smiles, revealing clear braces.
“Hi?”
“I’m Connor,” he says. “You’re, uh, you’re Adina’s sister, right?”
“Her twin, yeah. We’re fraternal,” I feel compelled to add, and he nods like of course this makes sense now.
“I’m in orchestra with her,” he says. “I play the double bass.”
“Okay . . .”
His cheeks turn beet. “What’s her deal? Like, is she seeing anyone?”
“I don’t think so.”
&nb
sp; “Cool. Thanks,” he says before he moves up in the line.
There are probably a dozen lust-sick Connors roaming the school at any given time. Adina knows exactly how guys like Connor, guys like that waiter in Canada, look at her, and she loves it. She hasn’t mentioned any specific guys to me since we were preparing for our b’not mitzvah and we both had crushes on David Rosenberg, the first boy our age to grow facial hair. If she returns the affections of any of the multiple guys who ogle her, she keeps it a secret.
Lindsay wags a stuffed tiger prize in my face. “Rawr,” she says. “What next? I wouldn’t mind throwing a pie at Mr. Bianchi.” She eyes the Pie the Teacher booth, which has been tonight’s most popular game.
“Food?” I say, my mind still on Connor and my sister and how that pairing, I’m sure, will never happen. He’s too uncertain of himself.
She makes the tiger nod. “Sure.”
I follow her to the concessions, dragging my double helix behind me.
“Are you doing okay?” Lindsay asks as we get in line for cotton candy. “With . . . everything?”
I can sense her discomfort with the question. She’s not quite making eye contact, and her mouth is bent in a pity smile. A for effort.
“Honestly, it’s been rough lately,” I admit. “My mom had a bad fall over winter break, and she’s going to have to retire from her job earlier that we thought she would.”
“That’s awful.”
“And my sister’s . . .” I trail off, unsure how to explain what’s happening with Adina. We’ve barely talked since my deferral. Before I’ve begun to formulate a response, Lindsay waves her tiger at someone behind me. Troy descends on us, carrying a stack of three cakes.
“I’m really good at the cake walk,” he explains.
Lindsay nudges his shoulder, and he clambers to keep the cake on top from falling. “You can’t be good at the cake walk.”
“?’Course you can. It’s all a matter of statistics.” Troy lifts the plastic off the top cake, and Lindsay dips her index finger into the chocolate frosting.
“I take it back,” she says, licking it off. “You are great at the cake walk.”
“Hey, Tovah,” Troy says, as though just realizing I’m here too. “Zack’s working on something in the art room, but he said he’d stop by later.”
“Oh. Okay. That’s great. I mean, he can do what he wants.”
I expect them to tease me about my poorly hidden feelings for Zack, but they’re no longer listening. Lindsay flicks the brim of Troy’s Mariners baseball cap. “You don’t have to wear this all the time. No one cares that you’re prematurely balding.”
“I care,” he says as she steals the hat and puts it on her head. “Thief!” He places the cakes on the floor, but before he can snatch his hat back, Lindsay darts out of the way, running a circle around me. Turning me into an inanimate object.
Troy catches Lindsay. Starts tickling her. She howls with laughter that grates against my eardrums.
