“Well,” I contended, “we’re friends. Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?”
My mother tapped on the door. “Shifra?” She peered through the crack. “Are you up? You need to leave in 20 minutes.”
“Yeah, Ma.” My muffled voice drifted to her from inside the closet. “Just getting dressed.”
“I’ll make you oatmeal for breakfast if you’d like.”
“That would be great, Mommy. I should be down soon. Thanks a ton!”
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