Evolution, Me & Other Freaks of Nature (14 page)

Sometimes it gives me such a headache.

I believe in God—nothing will ever change that. You can hook me up to a torture machine and I'll still say I believe. I'd die if I didn't have God.

But I also believe in science. Does that make me a bad Christian? Why do I have to ignore facts just to prove my faith is strong?

Pastor Wells said it himself: God gave us brains, and we shouldn't be ashamed to use them. My brain tells me there are facts out there to prove Darwin had it right. My brain also tells me there must be a way to keep believing in the Bible while also believing in science.

Not quite as easy to fit on a sign as
Darwin = Devil,
I admit. Maybe if I had to boil it down to one easy sentence, it would be this: I
believe in evolution, and
1
believe in God.

I just haven't worked out the details yet.

Twenty-eight

“Read it and gloat,” Kayla told me this afternoon as she dropped the latest issue of the
New Advantage Post
onto my lap. “Advance copy. All those fans out there will have to wait until tomorrow, but you, Bible Grrrl, are now officially part of the inner circle.”

She tossed another copy over to Casey, who sat in the armchair across from mine, then she docked on the couch next to Josh to wait for my reaction.

Which, I'm fairly certain, involved my skin turning the color of paste.

Because here's the headline:
RELIGIOUS FANATICS TO SCIENCE: LA, LA, LA, CAN'T HEAR YOU,
which isn't so bad, but it's the headline on the bottom half of the page that's the problem:
RELIGIOUS FANATICS DRIVE GAY TEEN TO SUICIDE.

“They're not fanatics!”

“Says you,” Kayla answered.

“And he only
attempted
suicide!”

“They drove him to it, and he would have been
successful if his parents hadn't come home in time. I stand by my headline.”

I glanced over at Casey. He was totally absorbed in the paper.

“Don't look so sweaty,” Kayla said. “You're still anonymous.”

“Like they're not going to know it was me!”

“So what?” Kayla said. “Is any of it false?”

“No—”

“Then freedom of the press, baby. That lawsuit the Pierces brought is public information. I could have found out about it anyway. You just steered me in the right direction.”

I had visions of Adam Ridgeway not only slamming me into the wall tomorrow, but then taking out his pen and jabbing me in the throat. And Teresa kicking me with her pointy shoes. And a dozen other Christians banding together and stoning me with their biology books.

Because yes, everything I told Kayla was true, but no one—I mean
no one
—wants me to advertise it. A week ago, when I was feeling all persecuted and outraged, my response would have been “too bad.” But today, reading the results of all that snitching (what else can I call it?), I wanted to go back in time and beat myself about the head the very moment I decided to open my mouth.

“Besides,” Kayla said, “you're not my only source.”

She got up for a second to point to a line about halfway down the page.

According to Denny Pierce …

“Oh my gosh. You talked to him? How?”

“This thing called a phone.”

“No, I mean, he actually talked to
you?
Why?”

“Why not? He's got nothing to hide. His lawsuit already says it all. ‘Course, it probably didn't hurt that I told him I was a friend of yours, gave him a few facts that could only have come from you—standard Pulitzer procedure. Besides, who can resist my charms?”

Which caused Josh to pretend to choke on the cold chicken drumstick he was eating.

“Case in point,” Kayla said, sweeping her arm in a grand gesture toward her boyfriend and former lab partner. “How many times did you ask me out?”

“None,” he said.

“Lie. Hundreds of times.”

“Twice.”

“Close enough. And why was that?”

Josh cocked his head. “Your innate charm and beauty, Precious?” He said the last word in a weird, raspy voice and went back to eating.

“Exactly.” Kayla kissed him on the cheek.

She was practically giddy, and Josh must have been pretty giddy himself to string together more than two words at once for a change, and I'm sure the whole thing would have seemed much more amusing to me if I weren't sitting there ready to puke my guts out. Because it's one thing to have a conversation with someone where you get to unload everything that's on your mind. That actually feels great. It's quite another to see the whole thing regurgitated in print.
“Someone's going to show this to my parents,” I said. “I'm dead.”

“Why?” Casey asked, finally glancing up. “Don't they know all this already?”

“You don't understand how things are right now. They'll think I'm … I don't know, making a joke of it or something. And believe me, it is anything but a joke around our house. All they talk about is how they're going to get sued and then they'll lose the agency—”

“Wait a minute,” Casey said. “It says here Denny didn't sue you.”

“He didn't.” I took a deep breath so I could answer him without sounding as panicked as I was starting to feel. “Look. My parents are insurance agents, right? Most of their customers are from the church. All of the people Denny and his parents sued have insurance policies through my parents. Follow?”

I sounded like Ms. Shepherd. Except I must really have Insurance Brain, because I actually understand what this is all about.

“So Denny ends up in the hospital, almost dead, and I feel so bad about the whole thing I send him this letter telling him how sorry I am, and explaining why it all happened—Pastor Wells's crusade, Bethany's big idea about converting him—all of that. And I think if I send that letter it'll absolve me somehow and I'll be free, and then next thing I know it shows up attached to some lawsuit Denny and his parents have filed for punitive damages, citing intentional infliction of emotional distress and assault and all this other stuff.”

“Denny read me the letter,” Kayla interjected. “Very moving. You do good work.”

“That isn't the
point,”
I said, although secretly I had a brief moment of pride. “The point is, now the insurance company my parents got the policies from is saying they won't cover anyone because these were intentional acts, and so all those people are threatening to sue my parents for selling them policies that won't actually insure them. Understand?”

“Okay,” Kayla said, “but—”

“So my parents are going to lose their agency, we're probably going to lose our house, they're going to get kicked out of our church, which is practically their whole
life,
all because of me.”

Somehow just hearing all that stuff out loud really got to me. I've known it in my heart, but it's different once you say it.

I could feel myself ready to cry, which was the last thing I wanted to do, especially in front of Casey. I needed a break. I bolted out of the chair and escaped through the front door.

Casey has this bad habit of following me when I'm in a terrible mood. There he was again, just standing off to the side while I paced up and down his driveway.

Finally he broke the silence. “This isn't your fault.”

“Of course it's my fault!”

“Why, because you wrote that letter?”

“No, because I let them torture Denny in the first place.”

“I didn't realize you were the team boss,” Casey said.

“I could have at least done
something.
I just went along with it—the notes, the phone calls—”

“Did you do any of that yourself?”

“No—”

“Then I don't see how it's your fault.”

I stopped pacing and glared at him. “I let them do things, do you understand? Adam and Teresa and Jesse— really hateful things. And Bethany dropping to her knees in the hallway every time she saw Denny and praying to God to save his soul—how would you like that? And you know what? Some of what they did was kind of funny. I actually
laughed.
And then Denny tries to kill himself—”

“You didn't do any of it. They did.”

He wasn't getting it at all. “Look, I am a pig. I am an evil human being. I could have done something and I didn't. Okay? I just let it go on.”

“Okay,” Casey said, his voice finally as stern as mine. “What do you want me to say? It's great that you let your friends abuse some poor gay kid into trying to kill himself? No, Mena, I don't think that's admirable. I think it's small and weak and shameful. But I think what they did is far worse than what you did, and I think sending that guy a letter telling him how sorry you were and explaining how the whole thing happened
is
admirable, and I'm willing to say so to your face. Now can we please go back inside and stop yelling since all this is futile since it's already in print and my sister is disseminating it tomorrow?”

The two of us stared at each other, both breathing a little hard.

“So you agree I'm a pig,” I said.

“Yes. A huge, undignified porker. Satisfied?”

I cracked the smallest of a smile.

“Seriously, Mena, you have to have thicker skin than this if you're going to play with my sister. I told you she takes no prisoners. If you're going to sign on for this Bible Girl blog thing, you need to do it at your own risk.”

“What risk?” Kayla shouted from the house. “It's gonna be great!” She was standing just inside the screen door. She had been listening the whole time.

Kayla opened the door and ushered me back inside. “Your problem is you're still thinking like Mena. Mena's nobody—no offense. That's your Bruce Wayne. You're Bible Grrrl now. She ain't afraid of nobody.”

Sometimes I have no idea what these people are talking about. “Bruce what?”

Kayla handed me a semi-melted ice cream sandwich and licked the remnant off her hand. “Sorry it's a little mushy. Thought I should wait till the end of your tirade. Feel better?”

I wasn't ready to talk. I peeled off the wrapper and took a humongous bite.

“Wow, you weren't kidding—you really are a pig.” Kayla draped her long monkey arm across my shoulders and led me back to the forested living room.

Josh waited until I sat down. Then he pulled out a sunflower yellow T-shirt from behind the sofa cushion and tossed it across to me.

“Your bat suit,” Kayla said. “Wear it proud.”

On front, in navy blue letters, Josh had put:

BIBLE GRRRL SEZ: HAVE FAITH—EVEN RELIGIOUS FANATICS CAN EVOLVE

Then in smaller print:
Join the discussion at …
and it listed Kayla's website.

“I can't wear this!”

“Why?” Kayla asked.

“First of all, let me remind you once again—I don't know
anything.
I am not an expert. That whole Jacob and the sheep thing is a fluke, and it's not that great to begin with.”

“Says you.”

“I'll probably never come up with anything else.”

“I have faith,” Kayla said. “Is there a second?”

“Yes. Second, if I wear this, everyone will know I'm Bible Girl.” I couldn't bring myself to growl out the “Grrrl” like Kayla does.

“Not if Josh and C and I and twenty or thirty other people are wearing them.”

“Twenty or thirty people? Come on!”

She counted them off. “Everyone from the
Post,
Josh's buddies, Ms. Shepherd's assorted fans—in fact, sweetie,” she told Josh, “we might need a lot more. How many yellows do you have?”

“Hundred,” he answered.

“Print ‘em all.”

“Kayla!” This was getting seriously out of hand.

But she waved off any further objections from me. “This is advertising, Bible G, plain and simple. It's how we
get the word out. And I happen to think Bible Grrrl will be a draw to my website. Now wear it proud and fix your hair tomorrow, no offense.”

I glared at her, to no effect. I turned to Casey, who just shrugged. He probably knows better than anyone how his sister can just wear you out.

“Fine,” I said with a huge sigh. “I'll wear the stupid shirt.”

“Excellent,” Kayla said. “And don't you worry about hurting Josh's feelings by denigrating his product. Little brother? Size dwarf?” She tossed him his own shirt.

He held it up to his chest and said in British, “For England and St. George.”

I don't know how I got mixed up with these people.

But I do know one thing: my mother had better let me call in sick tomorrow, or this is only going to get worse.

And by the way, did Casey actually say he admires me?

Twenty-nine

I have a serious problem. And it's bigger than the fact that all the people at this school who already hated me now REALLY, REALLY hate me. There's nothing I can do about that anymore. They've read the paper, they've seen my shirt, they know I'm part of some other crowd now— some movement against them and for Ms. Shepherd and for Denny Pierce and for evolution and who knows what all I haven't even decided I'm for that they're against. I guess time will tell.

The problem I'm talking about is solely within my own control to fix. So that should make it easy, right? Just decide not to think a certain way about a certain person anymore, and bingo, I'm cured.

What happened was this: he walked into biology.

No, back up.

First of all, it's lunchtime right now, and I'm hiding in the girls’ bathroom because I can't face Casey at the moment, although I'll probably meet him in the library in a while just so he doesn't think I'm avoiding
him or anything. I just need a break. To pull myself together.

So far, today has been just as horrendous as I knew it would be. By the time I got to school the
Post
was everywhere, in everyone's hands, and people saw my shirt and knew I had something to do with it, and just when I was wondering if Kayla had tricked me somehow and I was the only one wearing this bright yellow shirt with the big blue letters across it, I saw off in the distance, walking up from the parking lot, a group of about seven or eight people wearing the shirt, too, and I almost wanted to run to them and say, “You are my people!” but I held back, since I didn't know a single one of them.