Andys Bar Mitzvah was less than a year away, and he could feel those differences creeping up on him, threatening to sever his tenuous grip on “normal.”
Deep down, however, he knew it was not his religion which risked turning him into a pariah, that he would feel the same anxiety if his last name were Smith instead of Greenbaum. It had to do with what he liked, which, he guessed, had to do with who he was. Take his bike, for instance. He had it since his formative years and though he’d had to have the seat raised a few times, he liked it just fine when he was riding alone. It was familiar, comfortable, and reliable.