On the Loose (18 page)

“Nobody knows?” Frances whines. “The video footage is probably all over YouTube, titled “Girl Falls In Cake. Loses One Earring and All Her Self-Respect.”

“Hello, girls. I like your shoes, Katie.”

Frances lifts her head in bewilderment. I turn around to be sure my ears aren’t deceiving me. Because that sounded like Chelsea Blake. In fact, it sounded like Chelsea being nice.

“Um . . . hi, Chelsea.” Or girl who looks like Chelsea. Her boyfriend stands by her side. His eyes flit to me before he smiles warmly at Frances.

“Great party Saturday, Frances. Thanks for letting us work on our projects there,” Charlie says.

“Yeah, I heard about your little tumble.” Chelsea awkwardly pats Frances’s shoulder. “These things happen to all of us.”

“Really?” Frances grits her teeth. “You’ve done a whole body belly flop into a five-tier cake? You’ve sent the cake and the table it’s on crashing into the ground? Did you single-handedly cause a cake to explode under your impact, covering every person within a ten-foot radius, including your grandmother, with strawberry icing?”

Chelsea attempts a smile. “Well, no.”

“Charlie, where is Spiky?” I notice my science partner does not have the other plant. “I brought Leafy this morning. I thought we agreed we would take them with us everywhere.”

His girlfriend laughs. “I wasn’t going to let him bring that silly plant with him to church. Come on, Katie. You were just kidding about that, right?”

I glare at Charlie.

Chelsea continues. “Actually, I was talking to Charlie, and I really don’t know if your project is up to his caliber. I think you’re underestimating Charlie’s ability if your idea of an experiment involves him toting around a fern all day.” She laughs like there was a punch line.

“We came up with the idea together.” My eyes shoot daggers—no, machetes—at Chelsea’s brilliant boyfriend.

“Well, maybe you should come up with something else,” Chelsea purrs. “Charlie is in the running for valedictorian. He doesn’t need you bringing his grade down.”

“Now, wait a minute, I—”

“Katie,” Charlie’s hand on my shoulder cuts me off. “Why don’t you show me how your plant is doing. I could get a comparison.”

I close my mouth. And glare. “Fine. I’ll take you to Leafy.” We walk toward the stage. “But I don’t want your girlfriend’s negativity anywhere near my plant.”

We walk next to a giant speaker upstage where I have placed Leafy. “He seems to really like music. I wanted him to be close.”

Charlie nods. “Yeah. That’s great. Just write down your data.”

“Are you not going to say anything?”

He lifts up the plant and inspects a frond. “Say what?”

I grab my plant back. “Like you’re sorry?”

“Sorry? For telling you to watch out for Trevor?”

“What? No. For Chelsea totally insulting me. Insulting our plant.” I hold Leafy to my chest. “And get off Trevor’s back. It’s getting annoying.”

“Chelsea’s just looking out for me. She can be a bit much.”

A Rottweiler with rabies is a bit much. Chelsea is beyond bearable. “If I’m holding you back, Charlie, then do your science project on your own.” My cheeks burn red. Am I too stupid to be this guy’s partner? At least I’m not dumb enough to date someone like her.

“No, of course you’re not holding me back. Forget what she said. We have a good project, and we need to stick with it.” Charlie runs his fingers through his hair. “Hand me the plant so I can check it out.”

“You’re not touching him. You weren’t responsible enough to bring his brother. If Chelsea really wants the truth,
you’re
the one not pulling your weight in this project.”

“And you’re not holding up your end of our bargain by hanging out with Chelsea.”

“I’m not . . .” I shake my head. “You say I haven’t . . .” My brain is about to explode with horrible, mean things. “First of all,” I spit out, “your girlfriend is . . . is . . .”

“She has nobody here. No girls to hang out with anyway. Why aren’t you helping?”

“You haven’t helped Frances.” And your girlfriend’s a shrew!

“Whatever. I got Nash to Esther’s party, didn’t I?”

I jab my finger into his chest. “I need more output from you.”

“Fine,” Charlie frowns, then looks away. “Just help Chelsea this morning. Please?”

The only thing that’s gonna help her is a personality transplant.

“Do it.” His voice is bitter in my ear.

“Why are you acting like you’re mad at
me
?”

Charlie’s eyes finally focus on mine. “I just . . . I . . . I’m not mad at you. It’s just—”

“Hey, guys, take your seats. We have lots to talk about today.” Pastor Mike jumps on the stage, dissolving my conversation with Charlie.

“Try and be her friend, okay?” Charlie takes Leafy from my hands and places him back on the floor next to the speaker.

Charlie and I walk back to where we left Frances and Chelsea. Frances doesn’t bother to hide her relief at our return.

“Chelsea was just telling me she’s thinking of spending Spring Break with our youth group,” Frances says with forced enthusiasm.

Charlie catches my eye and inclines his head toward Chelsea.

“Wow. That’s . . . um, great. You know we’re doing mission work that week, right?”

Chelsea flips her golden hair. “Well, of course. I bought some new Coach luggage. I can’t wait for everyone to see it.”

I take my seat. “Yeah, that will look great. I’m sure all the homeless people will love your designer bags.”

Pastor Mike sets his Bible down. His bald head shines under the stage lights, but he doesn’t wear his usual pirate grin. He looks tired and worn.

“Welcome, everyone. Guys,” the pastor runs a hand down his face. “I have a lot to share with you today.” The room quiets, as his intensity has everyone’s attention. “Last night we got a phone call. My wife’s father was killed in a car wreck. She flew out at midnight to be with her family in Memphis. And I’ll be leaving this afternoon.”

My heart clenches. Tears sting the back of my eyes. I may be on a permanent hiatus from God, but I like Pastor Mike. And his wife. I feel terrible for her. Yet another example of God not stepping in. Why did this guy have to die? Where was God? He wasn’t too busy healing Millie, that’s for sure.

Pastor Mike swabs at his eyes. “Right now, I just want to pray for my wife, her family, pray for all of us.”

We bow our heads. I stare at my lap, not wanting to close my eyes. Not wanting to make that full connection with the G-Man.

“Dear Heavenly Father, I come to you tonight shaken and saddened. Lord, I pray for my wife, for my mother-in-law, and family. I ask for strength and comfort in this horrible time. God, I don’t have any answers here.”

That makes two of us.

“I don’t know why this happened. I do know when we hurt, you hurt.”

Whatever.

“Hebrews tell us faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. I sure can’t see the sense in any of this. All my family is seeing is pain, and all we have are questions.”

Preach it, brother. I totally understand.

“But we will rely on you. Put our trust fully in you.”

Whoa, no. Where are you going with this?

“Lord, there are others here tonight who are also hurting. They have problems that seem much bigger than you. Questions that don’t have answers. Situations that don’t make sense.”

I can testify to that.

“Maybe their parents are getting a divorce. Maybe someone is sick. Maybe every day at school is torture. I know there are needs in this room. There are doubts. There are people mad at you, God.”

Try furious.

“And this morning I ask your Holy Spirit go to work on these kids. Let them know your love is constant. And even though life is unpredictable, your love is never changing. You care more for us than we do. There’s a person sitting here right now who feels like you’ve turned your back on him. Or her.”

I lift my eyes to see if the pastor is looking at me, but his head is down. His full concentration is on this prayer.

“There is a person here tonight who thinks you don’t exist. You can’t be real.”

Now this is just creepy. Do I have a sign over my head or something?

“God, we know those are doubts Satan has placed in this person’s heart. And it takes a stronger person to not listen to that. It takes a stronger person to run to you even when things don’t make sense. When we’re hurting. When there is no happy ending.”

Warm tears slowly slip down my cheeks. Pictures of Millie, James, and my time with them pass through my mind like a slide show. Millie cooking dinner. Millie taking me shopping for a new wardrobe when I first came to stay with them. My bedroom—decorated by Millie.

God, I don’t want to lose Millie. I don’t want to be taken away from this family. Where are you? Why are you doing this? How can you just let these things happen? Death. Cancer. My life before the Scotts.

I just don’t know. I was so close to buying all of this—to believing in you. And then everything stopped making sense. And now Laura’s dad? Is Millie next? You didn’t protect her father. Why should I believe you’re going to save Millie?

“You don’t promise us you’ll make sense. You only promise us you’re in control. And you will take care of us. If anyone knows sacrifice, it’s you. If anyone knows the pain of watching a loved one suffer, it’s you. Deal with our doubts. Help us get past those fears. So we can run into your waiting arms.”

Pastor Mike closes up his prayer amidst a symphony of sniffles and broken cries. I wipe my own eyes, desperately wanting to erase all traces of a reaction. Silly, I know. The whole room is sniveling, but I don’t want to be a part of that. I want to be dry-eyed. Unaffected.

The pastor opens up the area in front of the stage like an altar. The band begins to play softly as people pray individually and in small groups.

“Katie?” Frances whispers beside me. “Do you want us to pray with you? For Millie?”

It’s like the room stops. The noise all fades away. Charlie and Chelsea lean in for my answer. I feel like God himself holds his breath, waiting for my response.

“No.” I look away. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Well, I’m gonna pray for her anyway.” Frances scoots past me. “And for you.”

Embarrassed at Frances’s not-so-subtle display of faith, I cross my arms and silently watch my friend pray. On one hand, I want to grab Frances and tell her she’s wasting her time. But yet I wonder what it feels like to be that secure in something. To have that much faith, that much conviction. There are a million reasons why I shouldn’t believe God is gonna heal my foster mom. And right now Frances isn’t letting a single one of those reasons hold her back.

The music winds down as Pastor Mike grabs the microphone again. “Guys, I appreciate the prayers. Keep ’em up. My family’s really gonna need them. Speaking of families in need, it’s time to talk about spring break. We have the details ironed out. Are you ready?”

Oh, can’t wait. He’s already told us our trip to Florida is cancelled and we’re staying in In Between.

“There’s a lot of work to be done in this town. The tornado wreaked havoc on a lot of neighborhoods around here. You guys know the area churches have been housing families in any way they could. The local apartments are full. Our church even has families staying in our gym. You guys are gonna get your socks blessed off in two weeks. We are going to show these families what Christ looks like.”

I’d like to know what Christ looks like. Maybe he could stop by my house and
heal Millie
!

“We’ll camp out on the church grounds. During the day we’ll help rebuild homes.” Rebuild? Um, I was gonna have to practice my sand castles before I went to Florida. There’s no way I can do actual house construction. “In the evening we’ll cook for the displaced families and have church services for them. It’s gonna be great.” His eyes twinkle with enthusiasm as I let go of my vision of sunbathing on the Florida beaches. “There will be four people to a tent, so choose wisely. Pick your friends who smell the least.”

The mood lightens a bit, and the room fills with Spring Break chatter.

“Four in a tent,” Frances says. “That’s you, Hannah, and me . . .”

“Guess you’re gonna need another person.” Charlie’s eyes bore into mine.

I force the words out of my mouth. “Chelsea, would you like to be in our tent?”

A smile spreads across Charlie’s tanned face. I wait for Chelsea’s own joyful display.

“I don’t know.” She pops her gum. “I’ll let you know.”

Before I get the chance to tell Chelsea where she can pitch her tent, Charlie stops me. “Hey, congratulations on your role in
Cinderella.
”

“What?”

“Yeah, Mrs. Hall posted the cast list on the school website right before we left for church.”

My heart pounds. “I . . . I got the part?”

Charlie nods. “Yeah, good job.”

I grab Frances and pull her into a fierce hug. We share a moment of senseless, high-pitched girl shrieks.

“I got it!” I yell. “I’m Cinderella.” Frances and I jump up and down.

“Cinderella?” Charlie shakes his head anxiously. “Katie, no.”

No more squealing.

No more jumping.

“What do you mean no? You said I got the part.”

Charlie clears his throat; his face glows red. “The part of Drizella.”

“Drizella? The
ugly stepsister?
” Can’t. Breathe. I think I’m gonna be sick. I can’t be the ugly sibling of Cinderella. I’m supposed to be Cinderella. There has to be a mistake.

Frances moves in close. “Who’s Cinderella?”

Chelsea twines her arm around Charlie’s and smiles. “That would be me.” Her blue eyes laugh at me. “I’m sorry you didn’t get the part, Katie. Maybe you just need some more practice. I could help you sometime.”

I grab my Bible, desperate to escape. “I’ll let you know.”