Chaste (16 page)

Four months ago, when Amy brought him home from the hospital, I thought he looked more like a prune than a baby. Like my sister had lied about where he came from and had given birth to an alien child. Then Elijah started gaining baby fat. His face became round like a cherub’s, his cheeks pink, his eyebrows the same shape as Amy’s.

Now I can’t imagine thinking Elijah isn’t cute. He doesn’t just have my sister’s hair, he has her dimples and laugh as well. If anyone had told me six months ago how much I’d love my nephew, I wouldn’t have believed them. Now I can’t imagine feeling any other way. Relief floods me as I watch my nephew suck his thumb in his sleep. He’s here, safe, no longer pale and sick. He isn’t just a part of my family, he’s a part of me, which is why I’ve decided to consider George Mason for college after all.

Amy may not think she needs help, but after this weekend, I know otherwise. “You’re safe here,” I whisper to my nephew. “Uncle Quinn won’t let anybody hurt you.”

I kiss his forehead. When I glance at my watch, I see that I have plenty of time. But if I stand here much longer, chances are he’ll wake up and start fussing. So I throw on my backpack and head out the door.

Yesterday, I let Kat take care of me and aside from too-salty eggs, nothing bad happened. In fact, I kind of liked that I didn’t have to be the responsible one. If I can let go of my pride enough to accept help from Kat, maybe I can stop hiding Elijah from my church friends.

As I walk to seminary, I think about the disaster this year has turned into. Nothing has happened like it was supposed to. For starters, I don’t have any time to practice. Molly has gotten jealous. My grades are slipping, Pastor Jackson’s daughter is turning into more than a lab partner, and Elijah’s has had some serious bouts of illness.

My entire future is shifting before my eyes. I have no problem with sticking around for college, but what’ll happen to my nephew when I go on my mission?

The trees along my street are losing their leaves. They sway and lean in the wind, barely visible against the dark sky. I count my blessings that Preston lives close, that his father always starts a fire in the room where he teaches us. The weather’s getting cold! I shove my bare hands deeper in my jacket pockets.

Preston looks out his window before coming out to meet me on the sidewalk in front of his house.

“Dude, no one’s ever
this
early,” he says with a dry laugh. “The only reason I’m up is cause Dad made me set up chairs. Hey, where’s your car?”

Figures he only cares about the car.

“Elijah got sick. I left it home for Amy.”

I go into a brief explanation of my nephew’s RSV infection, running into Kat at the hospital and the tension between Molly and me. While I’m speaking, I wonder if Molly would ever go through the trouble of dealing with my sister, driving me home and making breakfast without saying a single word against my family?

“What do you think of Kat?” I ask Preston.

“I’d cut my arm off to have a chance with a girl like that,” he says.

Typical Preston, able to say whatever he wants as long as there isn’t a snowball’s chance it will ever happen.

I clear my throat. “That’s not what I mean. Do you think there’s any chance she’s not the same girl she pretends to be?”

He claps me on the shoulder. “You’re with Molly, remember?”

How can I forget? Molly hovered non-stop after Kat left yesterday. Not only did she help me finish breakfast, she stood over my shoulder after Elijah came home from the hospital so she could tell me how to hold him, explain the proper way to burp him and tell me I’m using too much baby powder—all while Amy took a nap.

The thing about Molly is she’s pretty and nice and smart. Also, it’s hard not to value her opinion when she knows so much. Sometimes I wish she would listen to me, though. That, and give me more space. How do you tell a girl to back off without hurting her feelings?

Yesterday, I couldn’t turn around without having her body smashed up against mine. It was invigorating at first, feeling all her curves and smelling her soft hair. But then I remembered I couldn’t do anything about it. It turned into a kind of torture where I had to keep my hands to myself while she rubbed against me.

She had no inkling how it made me ache.

I tried to walk away, but she hooked her fingers through my belt loops until I felt as if I were carrying an anchor.

Please let go, Molly. I need to breathe.
Even with squeezing through narrow doorways and moving fast on purpose, she never did get the hint. Not until I asked her to let go of my jeans, which she did … right after her eyes filled with tears.

No, Molly
.
Don’t cry, please.
She reminded me of my mother when she sobbed, so miserable and lonely no matter how I tried to help her. Except in this case, I couldn’t blame other things. Molly’s tears were all my fault. Was it really so terrible to ask for space?

Then she did something unexpected. She held back her shoulders and tilted up her chin.

“You’re pushing me away because of Kat,” she accused.

“No,” I said. “Kat’s just a friend.”

Friend, wow! Had I just called Kat a friend?

“She is not! That witch has no interest in your thoughts or opinions. You may think she’ll come to Preston’s house tomorrow, but I’m telling you, you’re wrong. Not only does she think she’s better than us, but she has a reputation. You should steer clear.”

I blinked. “Molly, what’s gotten into you? We weren’t doing anything but making waffles.”

“Oh, please. I see how you look at her.”

I shook my head. “You’re overreacting.”

“No, I’m not.”

It was the last thing she’d said before she stormed from the house.

The sound of a rattling muffler drags me from my thoughts. When I look up, I see Molly’s small Honda pull up to the curb beside Preston and me. It may be cold, but her glare is colder. Seems I’m not the only one thinking about our fight yesterday.

She steps from the driver’s seat, kicks some pebbles on the pavement with her tennis shoe and then slams the car door behind her.

“You’ll notice Kat’s not here,” she says icily.

I glance at my watch. Seven after six in the morning, and the girl is right. That’s the thing about Molly. Even when she’s wrong, she’s right, which makes her rightness harder to swallow, because to stay on her good side, I always have to apologize. It doesn’t matter what problems we’re having, they’re always my fault.
Quinn, why didn’t you tell me about Amy? Quinn, that’s not how you hold a baby. Stay away from Kat. If you think she’s your friend, you’re out of your mind!

As she brushes past me, I try to ignore her shivery silence. Seems I’m in the doghouse again.

Maybe I should buy myself a leash.

26

Katarina

The moment I see my father sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee in his hand and a newspaper in front of him, I know convincing him to let me leave the house early will be a pain in my ass. Normally the man isn’t even around. But this morning he’s made a point of acting all paternal. Yes, I know. After the events of last weekend, I shouldn’t be surprised.

“Why are you up so early?” he asked as my high heels click on the kitchen floor.

“I’m studying with a friend before school,” I say, which isn’t completely false. Quinn, after all, is a friend of sorts, and we will be studying. Even if the subject is a cult religion my father can’t stand.

“Where are you meeting?” he asks, folding up the paper to focus his eyes on me.

“John’s house,” I lie. “You know John, don’t you?”

My father rakes a hand through his dark hair, lets out a long breath and smiles a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. My dad likes John, probably because he plays the piano for his Sunday services. I feel a spark of hope. My dad will let me go, I know it.

“I’ll drive you,” he says.

Please, no!
The spark goes out. I push my urge to whine down to my toes, blink away panic and try to look as if his proposal doesn’t faze me.

“Why don’t you follow me to his house,” I say in an even voice. “Otherwise I’ll have to get a ride home with Mike after basketball practice.”

My father freezes at mention of Mike. Let’s see who has the upper hand now? He doesn’t give in.

“You’re not on the team. I don’t see why you need to go.”

“I’ve been videotaping the team for the yearbook,” I tell him.

Not a total lie, but not the truth either. The reason I’ve been taping the team is to bring me closer to Roland by helping me remember how he used to move on the court. It occurs to me that the truth may work better on my father than a lie about the yearbook, but since my brother is the last person I want to talk about, I stick to my lame-ass story.

He sighs. “Fine, I’ll follow you there.”

When I show up at John’s house at six o’clock in the morning, he doesn’t greet me with a smile. Instead he almost takes my head off when I step inside.

“What are you doing here?” he demands.

When I answer his question, he says I should leave Quinn alone and that I brought this situation on myself.
Nice, John, like I asked for your opinion.

“You owe me big time, Kat.”

We wait for at least fifteen minutes before my father pulls away from the curb, and in those minutes I learn everything I didn’t want to know about John—like how he sleeps in boxers and smells like a bear first thing in the morning, and like how Debbie broke up with him last night, leaving him totally depressed.

“I’d planned on skipping school today,” he says.

“You can’t do that now,” I tell him, pointing out the window to my father’s BMW.

“No. And thanks for that,” he says sarcastically. When did John turn into such a grouch?

I burn a ton of rubber on my tires on the way to Preston’s house. So you’d think Mr. Nice would be happy to see me. Instead I sense there’s something wrong as I walk through the door.

Molly’s back goes stiff. Preston smiles as if he’s trying to hide a bite of breakfast behind his teeth. The tall dark man (who I assume is Preston’s father) shakes my hand with a rigid grip.

“I’m Brother Parker,” he says. “You must be Sister Jackson.”

My fingers feel clammy as I sneak a peek at Quinn, who’s glancing at me with one raised eyebrow. A fair response, since I almost didn’t make it this morning. His eyes go from me to Molly as the air in the room grows thicker by the second. Preston’s dad leads me to the seat next to his son. Firelight throws eerie shadows against the wall behind us. My hands start shaking, and I shove them in my pockets.

Forget what John said about the bet. What Quinn doesn’t know can’t possibly hurt him. Not that I care if anything hurts him. Caring really isn’t the point, I tell myself, and I almost believe it.

“We were just talking about King Benjamin,” Brother Parker says, pointing to a white board where he’s written something about charity.

I’ve no idea who King Benjamin is, only that Molly is scooting her chair closer to Quinn’s and whispering something in his ear.

She puts her hand over his, and the tension drains from his shoulders. When she squeezes his fingers, the stress in the room vanishes.

I feel sick.

Their house, their rules
. Brother Parker has seated me as far away from my lab partner as possible. Preston is the first barrier. The space between our table and Quinn’s table is the second one. Add the way Brother Parker walks back and forth in that small space, and we might as well be on separate sides of a divided highway.

Hey, hold on a second. I’m their guest! They should be welcoming me, smiling, letting me sit wherever I choose. I didn’t lie to my father and get lectured by John to be ignored and shoved into a corner. Quinn had better take his eyes off his girlfriend and take a minute to notice I’m here. Scooting closer to nerd boy, I put a hand on his knee.

Preston isn’t my type. His hair sticks up from his head like a scarecrow’s, his clothes are too big and he needs to shave. But he’ll do just fine for making Quinn jealous.

“Preston,” I whisper at the base of his neck. “I’m lost. Who’s King Benjamin?”

His breath hitches when I linger near his skin, and I feel a heady rush of power.

“Come on, Preston,” I breathe into the silence.

“Urg … ahem,” he says.

What is it with guys and grunting? No wonder scientists think humans come from apes.

“Sister Jackson,” says Preston’s dad.

“Huh?” Great, now I sound like a teenage boy.

“What would you do?” he asks.

I feel Quinn’s and Molly’s eyes on me. How do I answer a question I didn’t hear? If I stick with “I don’t know,” I’ll sound like a brain-dead idiot. Then again, something honest like “What was the question?” will make me look like a jackass.

“Better to remain quiet and feel like a fool, than open your mouth and remove all doubt,” Molly says.

I curl my hands into fists. Little-Miss-Perfect obviously thinks she’s the smartest one in the room. If I thought Quinn would forgive me, I’d punch her in the mouth. See how smart she feels while making whistling sounds through broken teeth.

“Molly, don’t be mean,” Quinn says, raising his hand to get Brother Parker’s attention. He looks much too comfortable next to that cheating brat.

“Brother Walker,” Preston’s dad says, pointing to my lab partner.

“It doesn’t matter if he stands in the same spot every day and holds up traffic on the
Duke Street
ramp,” Quinn says. “If the homeless man needs money, you should give it to him.”

“But he’ll blow it on booze,” Molly says.

“We don’t know that, do we?” Quinn asks. “I mean, Brother Parker said he waits at the top of the exit ramp and asks for cash. But he has no proof that he spends it on alcohol. As far as we know, he could be using it to feed his family.”

Mr. Nice holds his hands palms up as if appealing to common sense. Maybe I should rename him Mr. Gullible because that’s the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard.

Molly snorts. “You think he has a family?”