A Jewish Journey of Identity and Courage

“Fun,” I replied, sinking into the car seat and closing my eyes. I was wiped out from the day—the tension before the game and then the game itself. It had been exhausting. “Did Jimmy and Thomas say anything about Marcus? Were they cool with you?” Dad pressed. I understood his concern, but I wasn’t in the mood for a long conversation. I sighed. “I swear everything was fine,” I promised, still keeping my eyes shut. Honestly, I was surprised by how things had shifted. Jimmy was nice to me even when the coach wasn’t around, and Thomas took a picture with me and posted it in his story. He must have known Marcus would see it and didn’t care. It felt like everyone was just waiting for Marcus to step back so they could be friends with me again. Everything felt like it was returning to normal, like the days when we were younger and there were no stories or Instagram—just friends being friends. “Happy to hear that,” Dad said. “And whenever you have the energy, we’d love to hear more.” I nodded, feeling myself drifting off. Beep. An incoming message jolted me awake. It was from Emma: Champs! Congrats on your spot in the finals! I know you’ll win! An adrenaline rush brought some of my energy back. Emma had made me promise to update her about the game as soon as it was over. I was so excited I almost forgot, only texting her after we arrived at the restaurant. This time, I quickly replied: Thank you! Good luck to you too! Don’t worry about it—no one can really understand what you’re saying anyway…

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