Like No Other by Una LaMarche Page B

dark-skinned boy I saw made my heart pound. I don’t know if I was more scared to find out that it
was
him or that it wasn’t.
    “Ever since Rose had the baby you haven’t been returning my calls,” she says, pouting a little. “And you haven’t told me anything yet.” She lowers her voice and leans in so that the teachers chaperoning lunch won’t hear. “
Especially
about the stranger.”
    “How did you hear about that?” I stage-whisper. But it’s not surprising. Gossip travels fast in our community, because the culture is so insular. Everyone wants to know everyone’s business. Amos probably told Shosh’s brother, Judah, or Hanna told her friend Naomi who lives next door to Shosh’s older sister, Aviva. Jacob also sometimes does his Shomrim patrol with Aviva’s husband, Michah. The potential paths are endless.
    “Come on,” Shoshana says with a playful smile. “
You?
Trapped in a confined space with a black man? That’s like a joke setup, like ‘Two rabbis walk into a bar.’”
    “Thanks,” I say.
    “But seriously,” she says. “What did you
do
? Did you freak out?” Shosh has always been easily excitable; the first time I met her, on the street in our neighborhood when we were six, she was literally spinning in circles because she’d eaten too much chocolate babka. I can’t help but get worked up by proxy.
    “A little,” I admit, taking a gulp from my water bottle. “Inside, anyway.”
    “Did he try to talk to you?”
    I nod, ducking my chin to hide the smile that reflexively parts my lips every time I think about our conversation.
    “What did he
say
?”
    “Not much at first. He told me not to worry. Then he tried to get us out. He actually climbed through a hatch in the ceiling.”
    “No!” Shosh’s eyes have grown perfectly round. She is loving this.
    “Mmm hmmm.”
    “What did you do?”
    I look around to make sure that none of the teachers are paying attention, and then I lean forward, my chin nearly trembling from the weight of what I’m about to say. I’ve been dying for four days to get the guilt off my chest, and if anyone will understand, I know it’s Shosh. “I spoke to him,” I whisper.
    “Shut
up
.”
    “I know,” I say. “But he was being so considerate, and after he kicked open the ceiling just to try to help, I felt bad—or rude—not saying anything.”
    Shoshana sits back, smiling softly. “I’m impressed,” she says. “I never would have pegged you for such a rebel.” Of course she’s joking, just like Jaxon was when
he
called me a rebel. But still, my face burns with shame.
    “It’s awful, isn’t it?” I ask.
    “It’s not awful, it’s awesome,” Shoshana cries, drawing the attention of the nearby tables. I glare at her, and she lowers her voice again. “What did you guys talk about? No, wait, first tell me what he looked like. Spare no details.”
    “He was . . . normal,” I sputter, unprepared for the question.
    “Was he handsome?”
    “I . . .”
am obsessed with his face, even though I can’t remember exactly what it looks like
. “Couldn’t really tell. It was dark.”
    “What about his body?” Shoshana wiggles her eyebrows. Girls in my community tend to respond to the laws of
yichud
in two ways: Some never, ever think about the opposite sex, to keep their minds pure; and some think about them all the time, seeing romance as a forbidden mystery. My best friend is clearly in the second camp.
    “Shosh! Stop it,” I say, covering my face with my hands.
    “Oh, you’re no fun, frummie,” she says, tearing off the end of her straw wrapper and blowing the paper at me. I raise an eyebrow.
    “Hey,” I say. “If you must know, my
frum
status has been falling steadily since Thursday.”
    “Prove it,” she challenges, sipping her cranberry juice and feigning disinterest.
    “Well, I talked to him,” I say. “I listened to music on his phone—”
    “What?! Which songs?” Shosh interjects.
    “Something old, I don’t