The Truth About My Bat Mitzvah by Nora Raleigh Baskin Page B

even tell. Except that it was so special. It was gold paper. No, I couldn’t say gold, exactly, more like copper, with a border of purple along one side. In the center, also bordered in purple, was a white paper announcement:
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    Please join us in celebration of our daughter

    R ACHEL Y AEL BECOMING A B AT M ITZVAH S ATURDAY , D ECEMBER EIGHTH TWO THOUSAND AND SEVEN AT TEN-FIFTEEN IN THE MORNING T EMPLE S HALOM 259 R ICHARDS A VENUE K IDDUSH LUNCHEON FOLLOWING SERVICES S ANDI AND J AY M ILLER
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    At the very top, on the copper paper, were three perfectly placed lavender-colored gems and more Hebrew letters, with the translation:
    Make for me a holy place so that I may dwell among you.
    There was a phone number and even an e-mail address just for RSVPs. [email protected].
    I held the invitation in my hand, turning it over and feeling the weight of it. It had been addressed to my whole family, Sammy too, because, as Rachel had told me, we were family friends. Not just friend-friends. I ran my finger over the three little stones glued to the top of the page. They held fast.
    I thought about all the people who were getting this invitation today. Rachel had invited her entire family, cousins and relatives she didn’t even know but who wanted to come and share this event with her. People were going to make plane reservations now and book hotel rooms.
    Â 
    â€œYou ready to go?”
    I nearly dropped the invitation on the kitchen floor.
    â€œDad?” I turned around.
    â€œTo your party, Car. Isn’t it time? Don’t we have to pick Rachel up?”
    I had that kind of look, like I was doing something wrong. I dropped Rachel’s invitation on the counter, like I had just broken something or I was sneaking extra cookies, even though, of course, I wasn’t. But when my dad looked at me, I could tell he thought the same thing.
    â€œI’ll be ready in a minute, Dad. Don’t forget Sammy’s sleeping bag for Rachel,” I called out behind me. I was already halfway up the stairs.
    I threw my clothes into an overnight bag. Pajamas, two pairs, depending on what the other girls wore. Clothes for tomorrow: clean jeans, a shirt, another sweater, new socks, two pairs of underpants, and my one extra bra. You never know.
    I threw in my toothbrush, hairbrush, and my iPod in case I couldn’t sleep, which happens to me sometimes. And then just before I headed out the door I opened my grandmother’s bottle of perfume. I put my nose right up to the top.
    If there were a genie in that bottle, she would have appeared right before my eyes. And she would have looked just like my nana. Actually, it wasn’t like I could see her, but suddenly I could feel her. I wanted to know what she would tell me if she were here.
    I knew what I would ask.
    â€œDon’t come up,” I shouted down to my dad as I passed the landing of the stairs on my way to my parents’ bedroom. “I’ll be right there.”
    I went into my parents’ bathroom.
    There, I thought so.
    My mother had cotton balls in her medicine cabinet.
    I turned the tiny bottle upside down against the cotton very quickly, up and down. I didn’t want to waste it. This was all I had. I could see a tiny spot of golden soaking into the fluffy cotton. I carefully put the top on and the bottle back in my room, and then right before I flew down the stairs and out to the car, I tucked the cotton ball under the elastic of my bra. The tan one.
    If she could hear me, I knew what I would say.
    Maybe I could have a bat mitzvah, Nana.
    And then I’d be Jewish too.

19
    You Don’t Look Jewish
    Lauren’s house was massive. My dad didn’t seem to notice, but if he had, he wouldn’t have cared. My mother and father are not impressed with things like that. He dropped off Rachel and me and all our stuff at the front door. He introduced himself to Mrs. Chase—“Pick-up time is noon tomorrow”—and then