Paige Torn (20 page)

Fifty-some-odd kids fall into their seats. Six of them walk up to the front and pick up guitars I hadn't noticed there and one sits down behind the drums. Bethany sits behind the keyboard. Rick stands beside me and operates the soundboard.

“Wow,” I whisper.

“I know. I feel powerful here,” he whispers back.

“Hi there,” Ben, one of the senior guys, says into the microphone. “Good morning.”

Everyone mumbles something that may have been “good morning” back to him while Rick pushes six or seven little knobs and buttons around. He looks very professional.

“Everyone stand up, please.” Ben starts strumming and I immediately panic. Whatever he is strumming is definitely not “Come Thou Fount.” Then the drums start and I get even more panicked.

“This isn't the right song!” I hiss to Rick.

He frowns at me. “Put the words up, Paige.”

I click the button right as Ben starts singing. “Come thou fount of every blessing,” he sings and the rest of the kids sing with him.

Wow. This song has taken a makeover in here. I didn't even know you were allowed to play drums to hymns.

Ben leads the kids in four songs, and I am so focused on making sure I'm clicking the button at the right time that I don't even notice the extra thirty or so kids who trickle
into the room during the music. Our youth group is exploding.

Rick thanks the band, grabs his Bible, and walks up there as the band goes to their seats. “All right, guys, turn to James.”

I walk back to my chair and listen for the next thirty minutes as Rick teaches on serving. “You guys are single. You guys have very few real responsibilities. You guys have the ability to be totally focused on Christ. So how are you spending that singleness? Doing things for yourself? Or serving Jesus with the time you have right now?”

I write a note in the margin of my Bible.
Am I serving Jesus with the time I have now?

I am single too. I have very few responsibilities. Other than showing up for my job every weekday morning and paying my rent on the fifteenth of every month, I don't have much else to be responsible for.

So why am I so busy?

Tyler's voice from yesterday's lunch comes back into my brain.
“I think you need to learn how to say no.”

I know how to say no.

“Paige, will you pray for us?” Rick asks me suddenly.

I jump and then nod. “Sure.”

“By the way, everyone, if you haven't met Paige, she leads the freshmen girls on Wednesday nights and is one of the best people I know, so get to know her,” Rick says.

“Let's pray,” I say, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks. “Jesus, thank You for this time, thank You for this day, help us use it to serve and honor You. Amen.”

“Amen,” Rick echoes. “Don't forget to stack your chairs on your way out!”

Chaos erupts and for the next ten minutes all I hear are loud voices and metal clanging against metal. A few girls come over and chatter about how much fun they had at the movie night last week.

“We should totally do that every week!” Brittany says.

“Dude, you shouldn't just invite yourself over.” Tasha elbows Brittany in the ribs.

Now even the girls are saying
dude
? This greatly concerns me. I don't know what it is about that word, but it just grates somewhere back in my left temporal lobe.

“I don't know about every week,” I say slowly when all the girls get quiet and look at me, and I suddenly realize they are waiting for my thoughts on it.

“Every other week then,” Brittany says. “And we can all just keep pitching in for pizza, and I bet if Paris's mom can't make cookies, our moms would make some snacks for us to bring.”

And with that, my apartment gets booked every other Friday night until graduation in May. I think about the question Rick asked during the lesson and bite my lip. Maybe this is the way God wants me to serve Him with my time.

“Your apartment is so cool,” Tasha says to me. “I can't wait until I get to move out and get my own apartment.”

I remember when I used to think that. Back before I realized that having an apartment means having to pay for rent and utilities.

I wave good-bye to the girls and walk back down the hallway for church, squeezing through the crowded hallways filled with chattering, happy people. I find the same row I sat in last week all by myself and sit down, smiling. Alone. I might be weird, but I love worshipping God when it is just me and my thoughts.

“Paige!”

I look up as Layla comes into the row. “What are you doing here?” I ask as she pulls me up to give me a hug.

“Dude, we totally just skipped the singles' class!” she squeals.

“Not you too,” I moan. Seriously, there are so many other wonderful choices to express the word
friend
.

“Yep! Rebels, we are. Is this where you're sitting? We'll sit by you. Oh, this is nice! I haven't been to big church in, goodness, I don't even know how long.”

“Too long if you're still calling it big church.” I wave at Peter. “Hi, Peter.”

“Hey.”

“Well.” Layla dumps all her stuff in front of the seat next to me. “We're here now.”

Yes, they are. Peter squeezes past me and sits on the other side of Layla. I try not to sigh as the worship band takes the stage. So much for being all by myself.

“Why don't we all stand?” Victor, the music pastor, says into the microphone. Everyone in the room stands and he starts strumming his guitar.

“Hey, guys.”

Tyler is suddenly standing right beside me. He looks down the row at the extra empty seats. “Can I sit with you?” he whispers as everyone starts singing.

“Before the throne,” the congregation sings.

“Oh!” Layla squeals, turning to see Tyler standing there. “Peter! Move down so Tyler can sit by Paige.” She half nudges, half pushes Peter down a seat and then grabs my arm and yanks me over so Tyler can get the aisle seat I previously had.

“Thanks.” He grins at me.

“Sure.”

Now I am not only not alone, I am surrounded. Layla's sweet soprano is on my right. Tyler's surprisingly good voice is on my left.

I can't sing loudly now. And I also don't feel comfortable closing my eyes and raising my hands like last week.

We sing three songs, and then Pastor Louis climbs onto the stage. “Thank you, guys, that is great music. Let's pray, shall we?”

He prays and preaches for the next thirty minutes. Tyler takes notes from the sermon on his bulletin, and Layla keeps giving me sidelong grins through the whole thing.

It is very hard to pay attention.

The service ends, and I pick up my Bible and jacket. Now I am slightly depressed, and I have a headache from the lack of caffeine this morning.

“So,” Layla says, drawing the word out. “What are you two up to for lunch?”

I cannot eat out. Especially when I really won't have the spare funds to eat out until the summer. And I still have to be saving for a bridesmaid dress, the inevitable shower I'll throw for Layla, and a wedding gift. I am already planning on a quiet afternoon at home, finally finishing that wreath and probably eating peanut butter and crackers.

“Well,” I start, about to tell them my grand plan of hot gluing muslin fabric rosettes to a grapevine wreath.

“Because I am thinking we should all go to that little sandwich shop down the street. Last time I was there, I had the best peach iced tea I've ever had in my life.”

Too much tea in this day.

“I had tea today already,” I say. “And I really shouldn't eat out.”

Layla shrugs. “It's on me. And why did you have tea?”

“Mrs. Daugherty wasn't doing the coffee this morning,” I say sadly.

“Oh.” Layla nods. “I'm sorry. You should have texted me. I would have brought you coffee. And anyway, there's a Starbucks right beside the sandwich shop. Just go in there and grab a macchiato before you come get lunch.”

“I'm not sure businesses appreciate when customers do that,” I say.

“You really think you'll have some left by the time you get back to the sandwich shop?” she asks, shocked.

I think about it and my head aches even thinking that much. “True.” I need caffeine or an Excedrin, but one of the two.

“See? So it's settled.” Layla grins brightly. “Yay! We'll see you two there! We have to go find Rick and ask him a quick question about the ceremony.”

“You're having Rick do the wedding?” I ask, a little shocked. Layla likes Rick, but she's always said he is too crazy to ever perform her wedding.

“You just never know what he's going to say next,” she told me right after they first got engaged. “That's a big no in my book for a preacher to do at the ceremony. I want to know
exactly
what he's going to say.”

Layla nods to me now. “Of course, Paige. We're closest to him of all the pastors.”

“Right, but earlier you said that — ”

“Well, I just decided that even if he's unpredictable, at least he knows us. Plus, his premarital sessions have got to be more entertaining than some of our other pastors',” she says to me under her breath.

I smile. “Yes. There is that.”

“So. Peach iced tea?” she asks again.

Peter shrugs. “I'm pretty much up for anything.” Which might have been the longest sentence I've ever heard him say.

Tyler shrugs as well. “Why not? I like sandwiches. I like iced tea.”

“
Peach
iced tea,” Layla corrects him. “Peach. There's a huge difference between regular iced tea and the goodness that is peach iced tea.”

“Four hundred calories and some high fructose corn syrup?” Tyler asks.

“Taste,” Layla says.

“Oh. Right.” Tyler picks up his Bible. “I'll stick with just the regular stuff.”

“Your loss,” she says. “Okay. We'll see you there. You guys should go on ahead and get us a table.” Layla takes Peter's arm. They leave the sanctuary, walking back down the hall to the youth room.

I follow Tyler out into the bright sunshine. It is probably sixty-five degrees outside. Welcome to spring, apparently.

“Where's your car?” Tyler asks me. I point over to the lot by the youth room and he nods. “Why don't you just ride with me? I'm right there, and the sandwich place is just a couple of minutes away.”

And here comes Accidental Date Number Two. And exactly what Layla is likely hoping for, seeing as how the sandwich shop is only a few blocks away and she easily could have fit all four of us in her Jetta. We could have waited while they talked to Rick. I've been to the sandwich shop once with Rick and Natalie, and it isn't crowded at all.

“Look, Tyler.” I hold up my hands and squint at him in the bright sunlight.

“I know, I know. Consider it free gas.” He leads me to his car.

“You know what?”

“You don't have time to date, you wish I'd just leave you alone, Layla's already got your engagement ring from me all picked out, whatever.” He unlocks his truck and opens the passenger door. “Hop in.”

I bite my lip. “I wasn't going to say that.”

“Really,” he says, but it isn't a question. He leans one arm against the open passenger door, ducks his head closer to mine, and gives me a disbelieving look. “What were you going to say?”

I cross my arms over my chest and think about it. Which is hard to do with him standing so close. “Well, she really is going to overreact,” I say finally. “I mean, she went on and on about the ride you gave me to the lounge for like seriously forty-five minutes, and I couldn't even hear the band's first three songs and — ”

“Get in the car, Paige.”

“Fine.”

He closes the door after I get settled onto the seat and comes around the front to his side. “So.” He turns the key in the ignition. “Sandwiches.”

“Something between two slices of bread? They're really a neat invention. I'm surprised you've never heard of them.”

“I lead a sheltered life.” He grins at me. “No, I was going to ask, what kind of sandwiches are we talking? Like Subway sandwiches or like guy sandwiches?”

“Jared's a guy, and he seems to like Subway.”

“No, not guy with a little
g
. Big
G
Guy. As in Guy Fieri. Food Network? My mom loves him.” Tyler sighs at the windshield. “Honestly, I have big envy problems when it comes to his job.”

“Because he makes sandwiches?” I haven't watched too many of his shows. I am not the biggest fan of cooking shows. When I sit down to watch TV, I want it to be HGTV so I can dream about decorating my future house.

“Great-looking sandwiches,” Tyler says. “Huge. And with stuff like roasted chicken and homemade mayonnaise.”

Another thing I am not a fan of: mayonnaise. Even the name grosses me out. I make a face.

“What?” Tyler looks over at me.

“I don't like mayonnaise.”

“Why not?”

“It's gross.”

Tyler looks at me like he is still waiting, and I frown. Do I really need another reason?

“It tastes like fake food. Like American cheese.”

“Hey,” Tyler says, a warning ring in his voice. He holds up a hand. “American cheese is not fake.”

“It is too fake. It's not cheese at all. It makes me feel sad for all the poor Americans who live over in Switzerland and have to defend their native country's namesake cheese.”

Tyler laughs. “Well, I guess you have a point.”

“Oh, stop here,” I say quickly as he drives past the Starbucks. “I really need some caffeine.”

“I thought the sandwich shop had legendary iced tea.”

“Real caffeine. None of this watered-down, weak stuff.”

He grins and pulls into the Starbucks parking lot.