How to Ruin My Teenage Life by Simone Elkeles Page B

I’m a Dorky Mom ? ”
    â€œI didn’t see that one on the racks,” she says, teasing me.
    In the end, she picks out a pants suit for work, one dress, two pairs of jeans, and three T-shirts that don’t have writing on them. I swear, before my mom was married and actually had a job, she dressed like she was a Vogue model. She knew everything about fashion and taught me so much. Now, my mom got married, quit her job, and seriously does not know what’s in. I hope after the baby is born she’ll change back into the same mom I had before.
    â€œAre you staying over for dinner?” she asks when we’re on the way back to her house.
    â€œSorry, can’t. I’m going to some Jewish teen group thing with Jessica.”
    â€œYou sure about this Jewish route, Amy? Marc and I were discussing it the other day, and we just don’t understand this sudden interest in conversion.”
    Mom doesn’t understand that during my trip to Israel last summer I changed. It’s like I found a missing piece of myself. It’s a small piece, but sometimes I feel like when I find the missing pieces of myself I get closer to being whole. “It’s not sudden, Mom.”
    â€œWhat does your father say? From what I know, he’s not all that religious himself.”
    I look out the window, fighting the urge to argue with her. Converting to Judaism is something I feel strongly about. It has nothing to do with my dad or my mom. It has everything to do with me. To argue and try to make her see my side is pointless. My mom has her own opinions about organized religion and I don’t share her view.
    When Safta gave me a Jewish star pendant, I felt something I’d never felt before. A connection to people I had previously not acknowledged. And when I climbed Masada, it really hit me. My dad is Jewish, so half of me is Jewish. To ignore it suddenly felt like it would be dissing a part of who I am. I admit, learning about Judaism and reading the Tanakh (that would be the Torah and learning about the numerous Prophets) isn’t easy. And, to be honest, I don’t totally agree with or understand the Torah.
    Rabbi Glassman encourages discussion, even disagreements. Which is great, because I’m disagreeable by nature. I question everything, like why Abraham really was going to kill his son. And it’s obvious men wrote the Bible (it’s a bit male-centered if I do say so myself.) But did the stories actually happen or were they made up?
    â€œDad supports me.”
    â€œBut can’t they consider you Jewish because your father is? It’s seems silly to have you go through months of classes—”
    â€œThey’re not making me do it, Mom.” She just doesn’t get it. Or maybe she doesn’t want to get it. “I don’t have to convert. I want to convert. Just … leave it alone, okay?”
    Mom shrugs. “Okay, okay. I just want you to be happy.”
    â€œThen stop nagging me about religion. Nag me about something else instead.”
    Looking at me sideways, my mom smiles. Oops, I should never have said that. Because … you guessed it, she takes me to Sally’s Intimate Boutique on the other side of town to get me fitted for bras.
    Mom drives me back to the condo in the city after the bra run. I kiss her goodbye, get out of the car, and attempt to hide the girly pink bag under my arm. It’s gotten so cold I pull my coat tight around me, but catch sight of Nathan standing on the curb with a bouquet of yellow tulips in his hand.
    I’m still watching Nathan as my mom drives off. When the public bus heading to Evanston stops at the corner, Nathan gets on without a backward glance.
    Hmm.
    I wonder if he’s going to see Binky … I mean Bicky. Not that I believe he’s actually dating that girl in the picture in his room.
    I still haven’t figured him out. Why is he staying at his aunt and uncle’s house? If