"Burns!" my best friend, Roger, shook me. "It's 11 am! We slept through our alarms."
"Huh?" I squinted against the late August sunlight. "Where are we?"
"Your brother's apartment in Jerusalem. We flew here last night, remember?"
I groaned. "I'm still on American time."
"It's your first day of Yeshiva."
"So?" I turned over on my brother Yoav's couch bed.
"Dude, we literally graduated high school two months ago. Now, we're in Israel to learn for the year. What's your problem?"
"Nothing. I'm just tired." I sat up. "You're right. Being late's a big deal. I'll order a Gett. It's, like, the Uber of Israel."
"Cool." He tossed me my white shirt, which I buttoned over my tzizit, cursing as the white undershirt's strings got caught on the couch's frame.
"Dude."
"Sorry. There's a reason we're going to different Yeshivos," I joked.
He rolled his eyes.
The taxi came. Roger helped me bring my suitcases inside.
"Eh..." the Israeli taxi driver drove like a maniac. "You boys... from America? Here to study?"
"Yeah." I said in fluent Hebrew. "I'm already late on my first day. Shame, since it's when the Rosh Yeshiva decides who the troublemakers are."
Roger elbowed me. "Still can't believe you're fluent when we went to the same high school. What'd you say?"
I translated in English, and he laughed. "Yeah, right. You could be a smart aleck, but that's far from being a troublemaker."
"Not this year," I mumbled.
Roger squinted. "What do you mean, Eliyahu?"
"Don't worry." I gave him my best smile as we pulled up to Yeshiva, the school I'd be attending for the next 9 months. "The best never get caught."