Hall Notes

Cobian was a complicated person. When Tzipora met her, she was burdened by her parents and wracked by small faults that glinted openly at the other girls in the school halls. She was insecure, out of touch, a little childish, and desperate to be liked. Tzipora was a fair bit like her, but carried those traits in different ways. It was funny how people, similar in disposition, came across so differently.

Cobian used to say what she thought people wanted to hear. Kids can sniff weakness a mile off. Desperation reeks. Her lame jokes and self-conscious friend-making were tolerated politely, but she didn’t have a regular group to spend recess with until Tzipora came along. Tzipora pitied her and liked her eagerness to establish a boring sort of friendship — they were both lonely and really just wanted to do the things normal girls do. Sleepovers and phone calls and that shit.

Tzipora has coarse, bouncy hair made up of many hundreds of spirals and tufts, which she straightens. If you tousle it, grains of sand might fall out, like she’s just ploughed her head into the ground somewhere. Cobian has shiny, conditioned hair with a severe fringe and, at school, a bun that meets regulations that don’t exist. That was what they were like, as friends. You could tell by looking at them.

Cobian is not like how she used to be. She knows herself now and isn’t so distraught by sad memories of primary school. It was funny how people so different improve each other.