Meant to Be (6 page)

I shrug. “According to the law.”

“What about in Europe?”

“What about it?”

“The law is different there.”

I shrug again. “But we're not in Europe.”

She grins. “We can pretend.”

I have to laugh at that. And now the guys are back with her beer and my cocoa. But when I take the cocoa it smells a little funny. “What's in this?”

“Peppermint,” says Tyler. “Like I told you.”

“Is it alcohol?”

“It's just for flavoring,” he says. “Try it.”

For some reason, I take a sip, and to my surprise it tastes okay. I mean, I've tasted alcohol before, and I really don't like it. But this just tastes like cocoa and peppermint, and before I know it I've finished it off.

“I should probably go,” I tell Maggie.

“But this is New Year's Eve,” protests Tyler. “And it's early.”

“Don't be a party pooper,” teases the tall guy.

“How about another cocoa?” asks Tyler.

So the next thing I know, I'm having another peppermint cocoa. And after that, things get a little blurry, but somehow I realize that it's the cocoa, and I start to feel a little freaked. “I've gotta go,” I tell Maggie.

“What's wrong?” she asks.

“I don't feel very good.”

“Is it your head?” she asks with genuine concern. Then she tells the people who are standing around us about the wipeout I had today.

“She really smacked her head,” she finally says.

I nod, rubbing my head for what I hope is a good effect. “I think I need to go.”

“You shouldn't walk back alone,” she says.

“I could walk her back,” offers Tyler.

Now this kind of scares me. I mean, I hardly know this guy. He's in college, and he's given me drinks laced with—who knows what? “No thanks,” I say quickly. “I'm fine on my own.”

“No way,” says Maggie. “You might pass out and freeze to death in the snow.”

Somehow I manage to find my coat and the door, but to my dismay, Tyler is still at my side. “I'm really okay on my own.”

“You never know,” he says as he takes my arm.

Okay, my heart is pounding now, and I'm certain that he plans to mug, beat, or rape me out here. My legs are shaking as I walk down the path toward our cabin. The walk has been shoveled, but it's icy and slick. I almost fall down, but Tyler manages to keep me on my feet. Finally we're at my cabin. “Thanks,” I quickly tell him, bracing myself for I'm not even sure what.

“No problem.” He walks me up to the door. “Happy New Year.” Then he turns and walks away.

I fumble around for my key and, unlocking the door, slip inside then lock it behind me, waiting in the darkness to be sure that he's not coming back. Finally I realize that he's long gone and I'm just being extremely paranoid—whether it's from the cocoa or the blow to my head or simply a guilt attack for having gone to a drinking party.

I go straight to bed, but before I go to sleep I tell God
that I'm sony for being such a hypocrite, and I ask Him to forgive me and to help me do better in the upcoming new year.

“You're awfully quiet,” Mom said as Dad drove us toward home today.

“Just tired,” I told her. But what I was really feeling is guilt. Plain old ordinary guilt. I can't believe that, after I wrote about it in my column and even lectured Matthew about it last week, I actually went to a drinking party and even inadvertently consumed two drinks last night. I really do feel like a total hypocrite now. Oh, I know that God forgives me. But I'm having trouble forgiving myself.

Not only that, I'm thinking of all the things that could've happened or gone wrong last night. Like what if Tyler hadn't been such a nice guy? Or what if someone had put something even stronger in my drink? I mean, there I was with a bunch of complete strangers, all older than me, and I was drinking! It just boggles my mind,
and I'm more ashamed of myself than I can admit—to anyone besides God, that is.

I cannot begin to imagine what Nat would say to me about this. And even Matthew, although I think he'd understand, but I'm sure I'd lose some respect in his eyes. I wonder what Maggie thinks of me. And here I thought I was going to. share my faith with her. All I did was manage to look like a total idiot. Aghh!!!

After we get home, I try to distract myself by practicing violin, and though it works for a while, I am still feeling really guilty for making such a stupid decision last night. What is wrong with me? Okay, I realize that I'm human. I'm not perfect, and I'm expected to blow it occasionally. But it still really bugs me.

Finally I decide to respond to some letters for this week's column. Maybe I think it's like doing penance, or maybe it's the old Buddhist thinking coming back. But I hope that doing something “good” might help to alleviate this feeling of guilt that keeps gnawing at me. Naturally, the first letter I pick up has to do with alcohol. It figures!

Okay, this might require some research on my part. This is a serious question, and I don't want to sound glib or trite in my answer to her. So I go online to do some research on teen alcoholism. I'm somewhat shocked to leam that millions of teens are confirmed alcoholics, and millions more have “drinking problems that are out of control.” I also leam a number of other disturbing things that I will include in my response to Boozer Girl.

Realizing that the letter was not only longer than usual but pretty heavy in content, I decided to run it by my dad. I printed it out, then found him in his office, working on his computer. His face seemed fairly concerned, so much so that I decided not to interrupt him.

“Oh?” he said as I was just turning to leave. “Kim, I didn't even see you there.” He removed his glasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose, then sighed deeply. “What s up?”

I approached his desk. “I was about to ask you the same thing. You look kind of troubled, Dad. Something wrong at work?”

He shook his head and glanced back at his screen, then I bent over to see what he was looking at. It turned out to be one of the very same cancer sites I'd looked at recently.

“Oh.” I sank onto the chair across from his desk. “I've read that one too.”

“I don't know why I bother. It's mostly just depressing news.”

“But you keep hoping you'll find something new and encouraging.”

He nodded. “Yeah, some amazing medical breakthrough that will change everything.”

“I've kind of decided to avoid researching it anymore,” I admitted. “It just gets me too bummed.”

He switched off his computer screen. “Maybe I should follow your lead.” Then he looked at the paper in my hand. “What's that?”

“A letter for the column. I thought maybe you should read it first.” I handed it to him and waited for him to skim over it.

“This sounds well done to me, Kim. I'm assuming your facts are correct.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I checked it online. Pretty sad, huh?”

“It's too bad.” He handed the paper back. “By the way, I think you're doing a really great job on the column. Charlie is very happy with the responses we've been getting.”

“Cool.” Now I considered confessing everything to
him, telling him about the irony of me answering a letter about teen alcoholism after I was a guest at a drinking party just last night. But he already has Mom and her problems weighing heavy on his mind right now. Why add to his stress?

“I really had a great time snowboarding last week,” I finally said for lack of anything else. “Thanks again for taking us up there.”

He kind of smiled. “I expect you're ready to trade in your skis for a snowboard now.”

I laughed. “Anything wrong with that?”

He shook his head. “You're a working girl, Kim. Plus you have the Christmas money that Uncle Steve and Grandma Peterson sent. If you want to buy a snowboard, that's entirely up to you.”

“Maybe I should look into a helmet too,” I told him.

“Now, that sounds like good thinking to me.”

I rubbed the back of my head. “I actually had a wipeout yesterday It kind of shook me up, and I found myself wishing I'd taken your advice and rented a helmet.”

“How about if I spring for the helmet. After all, your mind would be a terrible thing to waste, Kimmy.”

I had to laugh at that. “Thanks, Dad; that'd be great. Maybe I can get it in time for the church snow trip.”

And so it was that I never told him about my little drinking episode. I feel sort of bad, but at the same time, I don't think he really needs anything else to worry about right now. Even so, I still feel a little guilty—or maybe it's just hypocritical.

Matthew is quite impressed that I took up snowboarding. I think it's what helped to convince him to come to snow camp with our youth group next weekend. I haven't told him that I'm not bad for a beginner. I figure I'll let him make up his own mind about it when we get up to the snow.

“I wish I could get a snowboard before then,” I tell Matthew during art.

“Why don't you?”

“Well, I looked online yesterday, and I'm not really sure what I want. Besides, it probably can't get here by Friday now.”

“Why don't we go into the city to look around?” he suggests. “I know of a good shop, and they might even have some good deals since Christmas is, over with.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. It's worth a try.”

So I call my mom and tell her about my plan, and she seems okay with it. “Just drive safely,” she says like usual.

“Take care,” I tell her then hang up. It occurs to me after hanging up that I never even asked how she was doing. I know she went to a doctor's appointment today, and I should've asked. But I also know that she doesn't really like to talk about it. Besides, I've been praying so hard that God will heal her. And I'm really believing that it can happen.

“You're going to the city with Matthew?” Natalie asks
me during lunch. She has a suspicious look, and I can tell she's not really comfortable with my relationship with Matthew. But I don't see what the big deal is. It's not like we're really dating anyway We're mostly just good friends.

“Yeah,” I tell her. “And if it makes you feel any better, he's decided to go on the snow trip with our youth group.”

Her eyes light up now. “That's great, Kim. Maybe he'll get saved after all.”

Somehow this comment kind of bugs me, and it reminds me of what Maggie said about the Christian girls at her school. “So, are you saying that you'd accept Matthew if he was saved?”

She kind of shrugs. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, it seems as if you don't like him very much, Nat.”

“I worry about you dating a non-Christian, Kim. You know that.”

“We're not really dating.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“It just bugs me that you keep drawing this line between non-Christians and Christians. It seems like segregation or discrimination or something. Do you really think that's how Jesus wants us to treat people? I mean, think about it. When Jesus started ministering on earth, NO ONE was a Christian. And He hung out with everyone. In fact, according to what I read in my Bible, He was pretty down on the religious guys who
acted like they were better than everyone else.”

Nat looks slightly offended now. “Are you saying that I'm like that?”

“Not exactly…but sometimes you can come across that way.”

“Well, my youth pastor is always reminding us that light and darkness don't mix. And he warns us against dating non-Christians.”

“Matthew and I are NOT dating.”

“Call it what you like, Kim. But you're getting more and more involved with him. I mean, you guys exchanged Christmas presents.”

“I thought you were okay with that.”

“I'm trying to be okay with it, Kim. For your sake. But I still worry about you. You're still kind of a baby Christian and—”

“A baby Christian?” Now this really irks me. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“It's from the Bible, Kim.” Now, if you ask me, the tone of Nat's voice is sounding pretty condescending. “And it means that you haven't been walking with the Lord long, and you might get tripped up pretty easily, especially if you start dating a non-Christian.”