“Well, they are. But they’re not my birth parents.”
Huh? “You’re adopted?” I’ve known David most of my life, have vacationed with his family, and this is the first I’m hearing of this.
David nods.
I frown. “I never knew that.” Disappointment sinks my heart into my stomach. Not because he’s adopted, but because I didn’t know. Because I don’t know him as well as I thought I did.
David’s broad shoulders shrug, the chai dancing on his skin. “Neither did I. I only found out a few months ago.”
Wow. “Does my brother know?”
The small shake of his head means the world to me.
David just confided something to me he hasn’t even told his best friend.
“So, you know, I’m just as Jewish, or not Jewish, as you.”
“Have you met your birth parents?” I ask him, suddenly less interested in Ira Traeger’s bullshit.
David scoffs. “Nah. No thanks, right? They got rid of me as fast as they could, so why would I want to meet them now?”
I don’t respond to that. I’m not sure I agree with him, but I do know there’s something all wrong about not wanting David, even if rationally I know they might’ve had good reason for their choices.
“But…I know her name.” I know he means his birth mother.
“You do?”
“I asked my mom.” He averts his gaze and starts to slip his shirt back on.
“Well, who is she?” I ask. Where did David come from? Whose genes combined to make this impossible, perfectly imperfect boy?
“I don’t really want to get into it, B, but I’ll tell you this—she’s not Jewish. So I’m not. I’m not actually anything, technically. So if I could have a stupid bar mitzvah, then you can, too. But if you want to do it, do it for you, not for your dad, okay? That’s a fuck of a lot of time to put into something for someone who doesn’t put any time into you.”
I stare at David. Reality is sharp and bitter, but that doesn’t make it any less true, and if anyone knows the truth about my father, it’s David. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“Always am, kid,” David smiles. “But I still think this Ira Traeger could use a good ass-kicking.”
I giggle. “It wouldn’t be a fair fight.” I picture scrawny, pimply Ira. David would crush him with nothing more than a look.
“No such thing as a fair fight, B. Someone always has the advantage.”
I suppose he’s right.
David stands and holds out his hand to help me up. “Come on, let’s blow this joint.”
I let him lead me to our car, where Sammy and my mom don’t ask questions. There’s only a few minutes left of class now, and my tears have long dried.
David hasn’t made me feel any more or less Jewish than Ira Traeger said. But he has made me realize the technicalities don’t really matter. I can be what I want. I can forge my own identity.
Chapter Five
David
Present Day
I lean against the red brick wall of Building D of Standman Hall, sipping my black iced coffee, and waiting impatiently. Beth still won’t return my texts, and it’s pissing me off. I get that she’s mad, and I don’t actually blame her, but it’s not like I can take it back, right? It’s not like I can go back in time and tell her about Falco before the douche bag showed up at last night’s party—unin-fucking-vited, by the way. And to be honest, even if I could, I probably still wouldn’t. In fact, the only thing I’d do differently is make sure he knew better than to show up at my goddamned frat house.
I glance at my phone again. Neither of the texts I’ve received are from Beth, so I don’t bother reading them. Not even the one from the hot senior I used to mess around with last year.
