How to Ruin My Teenage Life by Simone Elkeles

hand. My heart skips a beat and my stomach feels like little butterflies are flying around inside me as I run my fingers over the return address.
    Since Avi and I have this long-distance relationship, I get insecure. When I’m in bed at night, thinking about how much I miss him, I wonder: Did he forget about me? Has he met someone else who’s cuter or nicer or just … doesn’t have as many hang-ups as me?
    I’m feeling a bit better as I rip open the letter, but then notice my dad staring at me … gauging my reaction.
    â€œWhy don’t you read it out loud,” he suggests.
    â€œYeah, right,” I say sarcastically. I stick the letter in my pocket, I’ll read it later when I’m in bed … alone.
    â€œWait!” Marla calls out as we’re about to leave. She’s holding a backpack. “Do you know that boy who was sitting on one of the chairs over there? He left this.”
    â€œIt’s Nathan’s,” I say. “I’m sure he’ll realize it and come back to get it.”
    â€œDon’t be silly, Amy,” my dad says. “You can return it to him on the way home.”

8
    Deborah was a great prophetess of Israel, even led Israel for
a time (Judges 4:4). She ordered a man named Barak
(relation to me, perhaps?) to take ten thousand men into
battle. Barak told Deborah that he’d only do it if Deborah
came with him. Kind of parallels my life, doesn’t it?
Also reinforces that men need women to back them up
    I want to protest, but the backpack is being shoved into my hands. “Dad, I’m sure he’ll come back to get it once he realizes—”
    â€œAmy, don’t be a snob.”
    My mouth opens wide in shock. My own flesh and blood just called me a snob. I head out the door and into our condo building entrance. I wave to the doorman, who buzzes me into the elevator banks.
    â€œAmy, come back here,” my dad says.
    I put my hands on my hips. “I can’t believe you, of all people, called me a snob.”
    My dad never backs down. I guess being an ex-commando makes you act like a tough guy in your personal as well as army life. Occupational hazard. “Just because he doesn’t look like the kids you hang out with doesn’t mean you can’t be friends with him.”
    â€œDad, he told Kyle Sanderson I joined a dating service because I couldn’t get a date for the Valentine’s Dance.”
    Who’s the snob now?
    My dad looks concerned; his eyebrows are furrowed as he contemplates this new piece of information. Taking a deep breath, he tells me, “Then confront him about it.”
    Spoken like a true Israeli.
    We’re in the elevator, which has just reached our floor. Stepping off, I turn around to face my father and hold out Nathan’s backpack (which weighs a ton, I might add). “You give it to him. Then you can ream him out for spreading rumors about your daughter.”
    â€œWe’ll go together.”
    Ooh, partners in crime. “Fine.”
    â€œFine.”
    I follow him to Nathan’s aunt and uncle’s condo right down the hall from us. My dad knocks obnoxiously loud, like he doesn’t know the power of his own strength. That’s my dad .
    Mr. Keener opens the door, but doesn’t invite us in.
    â€œNathan left his backpack in the café,” my dad says. “Amy wanted to bring it back to him.”
    Mr. Keener smiles and opens the door. “You can go give it to him. He’s in the guest room. It’s the second door on the right.”
    My dad puts his hand on the small of my back and pushes me forward. I’ve never been into their condo. Mr. and Mrs. Keener keep pretty much to themselves. I step inside the foyer. I’m feeling awkward so I’m glad my dad is backing me up.
    A cell phone rings; it’s my dad’s ring tone. The national anthem of Israel. Dorky, but totally him . He’s still in the hallway as he answers