August:

It's Sunday, and I'm sitting on the sofa in the living room. I hold the bulky phone in my hand. I sink into the chair. I dial the number, let it ring. She answers, her voice tired. I congratulate her for second place in the horse show. She thanks me and asks if she can hang up and sleep.

September:

It's Wednesday, and I'm on the way to Hebrew school. The radio sounds rock music. I open my phone. It rings once, and she answers, laughing. I wish her a happy birthday. She thanks me and asks if she can call later because she has friends over.

October:

It's Thursday, and I'm sideways on my bed. I call to ask her how she is. She asks how I am, wanting to know if I do anything now that I've quit horseback riding. I ask her about going to the movies sometime, or at least eating lunch together in school, but she says she's too busy.

November:

It's Tuesday, and I'm waiting in the library after ESL. Her mom answers, asks who's speaking. She no longer recognizes my voice. When she takes the phone from her mom, I ask how she is. She tells me about being invited to her new friends' parties, about drinking, about drugs. She tells me about the new boy. And we laugh, like old times.

December:

It's midnight, and I'm in the bathtub. She answers, tired. Asks if she can call me tomorrow. When she realizes I'm crying she asks if I'm okay. I try to say it but I find myself describing the way I couldn't remember my conjugations and I couldn't open the door. I find myself saying the small details, like how I need to learn the subjunctive better in Latin and my list of one hundred questions and how I need to shave my legs. She says that no one will understand if I talk in poetry and hangs up.

July:

It's Friday, and I'm sitting in the kitchen. I just got back from Spanish camp. I ask her why we haven't talked in so long, why we walked through hallways in school pretending that the other didn't exist. She tells me that she thought of calling me so many times. I don't bother to ask why she didn't. She asks me if I became friends with him again, even after the "molest incident." I remain paralyzed on the other line, thinking about the difference between the root words of "rape" and "molest." I wonder how some people now use them interchangeably.

Click.