My Basmati Bat Mitzvah

When Ben-o came over on Saturday for movie night, my dad answered the door wearing gray silk pajama bottoms and his Math Teachers Play by the Numbers T-shirt, an unlit pipe clenched between his teeth.
“Ben-o, old chap!” he cried heartily. “How are you, dear boy?”
Daddy was practicing his Jay Gatsby routine-so embarrassing. His eleventh-graders were reading The Great Gatsby in their English class, so he planned to go to school on Monday in character-even though he teaches math, not English. I hoped it wouldn’t turn into a phase, like last year, which was much worse-steampunk. At least he doesn’t go around wearing a leather helmet and aviator goggles anymore.
“Good, Mr. Feinstein.”
“Joshua, Ben-o, pal,” Daddy said, slapping him on the back. “Call me Joshua.”
I wished he wouldn’t call him Ben-o. It sounded stupid when he said it. Ben-o started being called Ben-o because of the other Ben-Ben D.-who moved away in fourth grade. But Daddy didn’t even know that.
Ben O’Connell is like my best friend in the whole world, besides Rebecca. He lives three floors down, so we practically grew up together. He didn’t even put on shoes to come upstairs.
I stood across the room, next to Mum, watching with embarrassment. Daddy teaches trigonometry and calculus. He is, by definition, not cool, but he tries to compensate by getting into whatever “all the kids” are into. Which is double uncool, but his students love him. Mum, on the other hand, doesn’t even try to be cool. It’s one of her more endearing qualities.
“Tara,” she said, “go and rescue Benjamin from your father.” She gave me a not-so-subtle push forward, sending me not-so-gracefully bounding across the room. “Come along, Joshua,” she added.
“Hey,” I said when they left.
“Hey,” Ben-o said.
I looked him up and down, puzzled. “Why are you dressed like that?”
He was wearing a red polo shirt, tucked into a pair of jeans with no obvious holes in them. Something was up with his hair, too, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
“Like what?” he asked, trying to sound casual.
“Like since when do you tuck in?”
Ben-o surveyed himself in surprise, as if his shirt had tucked itself in when he wasn’t looking. He shrugged.
“Never mind,” I said. “You look nice, is all.”
“Um, thanks,” he mumbled.