A Test of Faith (25 page)

“WOULD YOU GET OUT OF MY WAY, YOU MORON?”

The kid in front of Trista scrambled to comply.

“Freshmen. What a waste of space.”

Faith laughed as they made their way down the steps, heading for the buses. “Hey, they gotta be someplace.”

“So long as it’s not around me.” Trista tossed her hair back, gave a smug smile, and planted one hand on her hip. “That particular place is reserved only for the most deserving.”

“Hmm.” Faith had seen Trista’s
most deserving
, and she wasn’t impressed. Why was it Trista always gravitated toward losers?

“So we going to your place tonight?”

Faith shrugged, falling into the line forming at the bus stop. “I don’t know. My mom’s being a pain about you coming over all the time.”

“So tell her to take a pill.”

Faith snorted. “Believe me, I have. But—oh
crud
!”

“What?” Trista pulled a bottle of nail polish from her purse and started touching up her nails.

“I left my jacket in my locker.”

Trista shrugged. “So? It’s an ugly jacket.”

Faith made a face at her. “It’s not ugly, and it’s got my keys in it. Save me a seat, okay?” Without waiting for Trista’s response, she made a dash back down the sidewalk, up the concrete stairs, and into the school.

In her rush, she had to work her locker combination three times. When she finally pulled her locker open, it was with a muffled obscenity.

“Faith?”

She hesitated, her hand on her jacket, and closed her eyes. Wonderful. Just what she needed. Winnie the Saint to catch her swearing. She’d probably run to tell Faith’s mom what a slug Faith was.

She grabbed her jacket and slammed the locker. Spinning on her heel, she made to push past Winnie as though she hadn’t heard her speak. But Winnie’s hand shot out and grabbed Faith’s arm, stopping her cold. Faith looked down at Winnie’s hand, then up into her face. “What are you doing?”

“Actually, that’s what I was wondering. What are
you
doing?”

She looked down at Winnie’s hand again. “Waiting for you to get your hand off me?” The sarcasm was back in full force now, more honed than ever.

Winnie’s hand slid away. “I wanted to talk with you for a minute, okay?”

“Fine.” Faith cast a glance to the ceiling. “Whatever.” She put on her best say-what-you-gotta-say-and-make-it-fast face.

Winnie didn’t seem to notice. She studied Faith for a moment. “You’ve really changed.”

Another shrug. “People change, Win. That’s life.”

She gave a slow nod. “You ever think about what you’re doing?”

Faith narrowed her eyes. What was
this
about? “Meaning?”

“The way you treat some of the kids, the way you talk about your mom—”

Faith crossed her arms. “You got a point,
Winola
?”

She’d expected Winnie to back off, to recoil from the force
in her tone. But the other girl didn’t budge. She met her glare with an expression Faith couldn’t quite understand.

Compassion. It touched Winnie’s features, reaching out to Faith with an offer of cooling water on a hot, scorching day.

“I want to help you, Faith.”

She stepped back. “Help me what? Miss my bus? I don’t have time for this—”

“For me, you mean.”

Faith stopped. She met Winnie’s gaze, and images flitted through her mind—Winnie in grade school on the playground … Winnie laughing and teasing her … Winnie encouraging her when Trista hurt her feelings…

“You don’t have time for me. Not anymore.”

An unfamiliar emotion twisted in Faith’s gut. She bit her lip and looked away. “Look, Win—”

“No, it’s okay. I understand.”

Faith looked back at her—and she had the oddest feeling Winnie did understand. Everything.

“You’re hanging out with Trista, and that’s your choice.”

“Listen, just because you don’t like Trista—”

Winnie held up a hand, halting the words, leaving them crowded on the tip of Faith’s tongue. “This isn’t about Trista and me. It’s about you. You came back from the summer … different. Happy. You found what really mattered.”

Faith swallowed hard.
Don’t let her see she’s getting to you
. “What
you
think mattered. Not me.”

This time it was Winnie who shrugged. “I’m telling you what I saw. And it was good. Like you were finding out who you really are instead of who Trista says you should be.”

“Lay off Trista. Good night, Win. What makes you think you need to fix everything and everyone? Trista’s my friend. I like her. As she is.”

Winnie glanced down, then sighed and met Faith’s gaze. “Fair enough. I won’t say anything else about her. I wanted you to know I’m still here. I care about you. And if you ever need to talk, well … I’m here.”

Faith stood there, staring. She tried to say something, but her usually glib tongue couldn’t find any words.

Winnie smiled, and though it seemed kind of sad, it was clearly sincere. “Take care of yourself. Thanks for being my friend for so many years.” With that, she turned and walked away, shoulders straight, head held high.

Two words came to Faith’s mind, words she’d never used in her life, words her mother used … words that suddenly made sense.

Class act
.

Suddenly uncomfortable, Faith made her way to the bus stop, slipping into line behind Trista. The boy behind her started to protest, but one glare from Trista shut him up.

“
Thanks for being my friend for so many years…
”

Faith gripped her jacket. Why would Winnie say that?

“What did
she
want?”

Faith started. “Who?”

“Winnie the Wimp.” Trista smirked. “I saw her talking to you. Talk about a total loser—”

Trista went on, ragging on Winnie, her words caustic and crass. But Faith wasn’t listening, not really. Not to Trista. No, the voice she heard was entirely different.

“
Thanks for being my friend for so many years … Thanks for being my friend for so many years…
”

But what got to Faith wasn’t
what
Winnie said. It was the way she said it. There’d been no resentment, no anger.

No, Faith heard only one thing in Winnie’s tone as she spoke those words, one thing that made no sense whatsoever.

One thing that shook her to the core.

Love.

“Hey, hon. If you need me, I’ll be in my shop.”

Anne looked up from the sink full of dishes she was washing, stretching her aching back. Jared saw the movement and pressed his warm palm to the base of her spine.

“Hurting again?”

“Always.”

“Did you talk with the doctor about it?”

Anne plopped her hand in the fluffy soapsuds. “He said it’s
the extra weight. It makes me stand wrong, and that makes my back hurt.”

Jared slid his arms around her. “I’m sorry, hon. I wish I could help.”

She leaned back against him, batting her eyes at him. “You could always take over washing dishes.”

He chuckled and gave her a peck on the tip of her nose. “Keep dreamin’, Annie. Keep dreamin’.”

“Fine, leave me in my misery.” She infused her tone with as much woe-is-me as she could muster. “I slave all day, working at the junior high, making sure kids get a good education, and then I come home and slave all night …” She glanced at him to see if it was working.

No such luck.

He just stood there, pretending he was playing a violin.

She flicked soapsuds at him. “You’re all heart, Bennett. You said you’re going to work in the shop?”

“For a while.” He grinned. “I’ve got a slave driver of a wife who expects me to fix stuff around this place.”

She shooed him away, smiling as he closed the kitchen door behind him. No sooner had he left than the front door slammed.

Faith was home. Oh, joy. And only a half hour late.

Anne steeled herself, hating that she felt the need to do so with her own daughter. Ever since the night a couple of months ago when Faith left rather than attend Bible study with Anne, she’d grown increasingly hostile. Anne wasn’t sure why.

She had spent hours talking with Jared about it. Had talked with Susan, who also worked at the junior high now and had years of experience dealing with problem kids. Had prayed with Marge and Anita, asking God for wisdom. Always, the answer was the same.

“
A soft answer turns away wrath
.”

And so Anne did her best to be soft. Understanding. Patient. She figured, as hard as it was, it had to be refining her.

If it didn’t kill her first.

Faith came breezing into the kitchen a few seconds later, and Anne turned to face her. “Hi, sweetheart.”

Faith didn’t even look at her. She went to pull the fridge open and rummage.

“So, no friends with you today?”

“Do you
see
any friends with me?”

Anne’s fingers drew into a fist. “Faith—”

She emerged from the fridge, chomping on a carrot stick. “Well, then, unless they’ve turned invisible—” Faith swept an exaggerated looked from side to side—“which isn’t going to happen, no matter how much you want it to, they’re not with me today. That okay with you?”

Anne’s jaw ached from grinding her teeth. “Enough with the sarcasm, Faith. I asked a simple question—”

“Oh, so now
simple
is a synonym for
stupid
?”

That almost undid Anne. Faith had never been this out-and-out hateful before.
Soft answer, my Aunt Fanny!
She opened her mouth to let Faith have it, but she didn’t get the chance.

“That’s
enough
!”

Anne and her daughter both spun to look behind them. Jared stood there, red creeping up his neck, a storm cloud brewing on his brow. Anne glanced back at Faith. The girl’s features were pale as she stared at her father.

“Daddy. Where—?”

“I was outside the door, young lady.” Jared met Anne’s questioning gaze. “I remembered I’d bought some more duct tape and left it on the counter.” Anne glanced at the counter. A bag from the hardware store lay there. “I was coming in the door when I heard what Faith said.” He pinned his daughter with a glare. “Every rotten thing you said to your mother.”

Faith scowled. “Of course, you don’t say anything about the way she rides me. Gives me the fifth degree anytime I come in the house.”

Before Anne could deny the accusation, Jared stepped forward. “Because that’s not true. I heard the whole thing, Faith. Your mother was making conversation, trying to be nice. To which you responded with undeserved insults. And that, young lady will
not
happen again. Underst—”

Jared stopped and stared at his daughter. Anne followed his gaze, and her mouth dropped open. She’d been so focused
on Faith’s words, on her face, that she hadn’t realized what Faith was wearing. Where were the jeans and T-shirt she’d had on when she left that morning? And where on
earth
did she find that getup? A cropped, filmy top over a black bra? A miniskirt that majored on mini and minored on skirt?

“
What
in the bald-headed dog snot are you wearing?”

Anne couldn’t have put it better.

The sullen expression that washed over their daughter’s face was all too familiar to Anne—and sent a chill raging through her. She’d seen that same look before. Time after miserable time. On Trista’s face.

“They’re called clothes.”

Jared’s brows shot up, and he took a step toward Faith. “I beg your pardon?”

She backtracked, clearly realizing she’d used the wrong tone on the wrong parent. “It’s nothing, Daddy.” She was all sweetness and sugar now. The adoring little girl. Anne wanted to throw something at her. “It’s the style.” She went up on her tiptoes to kiss her father’s cheek—a ploy that never failed, when she was little, to turn Jared into putty—but the kiss missed its mark. Didn’t even get close.

Jared held her away from him like a viper about to sink its fangs into his throat.

Hurt sparked in Faith’s eyes, and Anne ached for her. She and Jared had always shared such a special relationship. Didn’t she realize her actions, her poisonous words, were slowly destroying it?

Jared looked at Anne, and the anguish in his eyes made her want to weep. He clenched his jaw, then nodded and let his hands fall away from their daughter.

Anne turned to Faith. “We’re concerned, sweetie. We’ve never seen you wearing anything like—like this.”

“If I had,” Jared ground out, “you never would have been allowed out of the house.”

Faith trembled, rubbing her arms. “
Everyone’s
wearing this! What do you want me to dress like? Some kind of nerd?”

“Nerd?” Jared’s hands clenched at his sides. “Is that what this is about? Being popular?”

Faith’s chin lifted. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“There is if you make popularity your god.”

“Oh, come on, Daddy. That’s not true!”

“No? I think you need to take another look at yourself, Faith. You used to be a beautiful girl, a
sweet
girl. You used to want to honor God with your actions and words.” He cast a scathing look at her outfit. “But there’s no honor in what you’re wearing right now. You’re telling everyone who sees you that you couldn’t care less about God, about your family. About yourself.”

Faith hugged herself, as though her arms could protect her from her father’s hard words. “People like the way I look.”

“
What
people?”

“The
right
people!”

“Faith, don’t you see what you’re doing to yourself?” Jared sounded desperate. “How can you sell your self-respect for something as empty and meaningless as being accepted by the in crowd?”

“I’m not selling myself to anyone!”

Anne held out her hands. “But you are. Dressing that way, it’s wrong, Faith. There’s no way we could like the way those clothes make you look.”

She glared at Anne. “Then don’t look.”

“You will
not
take that tone with your mother.”

Anne had always thought Jared’s patience was unending. Now she knew better. He was clearly about to lose it.