Camp Damascus(16)

Dr. Smith just brushes past my amendment, barreling onward. “Petrov rang a bell every time he presented his dogs with food. He did this for a long time, training them, until one day he rang the bell and delivered no food. Even though there was no food, the canine bodies reacted to his bell, salivating profusely. Now, what do you think would happen if he scared the dogs every time he rang his bell?”

“They’d be afraid of the bell,” I reply flatly.

He nods. “God is ringing a bell for you, Rose. He’s telling you to steer clear of temptation, but you’re much more thoughtful than the other pups. You’re curious, and that can be a virtue, but it can also be a curse. Do you know what happened to the dogs that were too unruly for Petrov’s research?”

“They didn’t have to worry about someone experimenting on their salivary glands,” I say.

Dr. Smith smiles. “They were taken out back and shot in the head.”

“That’s … not how the scientific method should work,” I counter.

“God doesn’t use the scientific method. So I’ll ask you again, Rose. Do you have any temptation in your life?”

I hesitate, then confidently shake my head no.

Dr. Smith lets my reply marinate for an uncomfortably long time. Finally, he relaxes. “Well, that’s good. Maybe what’s going on here seems to be some massive, cataclysmic event, but what we’re really looking at is a stressed-out young woman at the end of her senior year. When you consider your Tenet Intensives, plus kindergarten, that’s a fifteen-year journey.”

Every child raised in Kingdom of the Pine takes two years away from traditional schooling to study the tenets, focusing on respect and integrity after fifth grade, then service and excellence after tenth.

Dr. Smith knocks twice on the arm of his chair as the tension dissipates from the room.

“What I’d recommend is a hearty dose of fun,” my therapist enthusiastically suggests. “Your parents let me know you’re going to Isaiah’s birthday party tonight after school.”

“They did?” I ask.

Dr. Smith leans in a bit, lowering his voice as though he’s letting me in on a little secret. All this, despite the fact there’s nobody else in the room to overhear us. “What I think you should do is just … have a good time, you know? Let loose a bit. The congregation understands kids are gonna be kids, that’s what these youth excursions are all about.”

“Okay,” I reply with a nod.

“Good,” Dr. Smith offers in return, slapping his knees and standing up. He strolls over to the office door and opens it, waiting for me to follow his lead. “We don’t need a long session today. This was just a little checkup.”

I stand and head for the door.

“Have fun with Isaiah,” my therapist imparts with a wink.

“Sure,” I reply, trying my best to sound enthusiastic.

Dr. Smith closes the door, plunging me into the stuffy silence of a church basement once again.

I stand uncomfortably for a moment, still struggling to process our conversation. I came here for answers, but the dichotomy blooming at the depths of my soul still sits awkward and jagged.

Eventually, I make my way up to the main floor of the church.

At least this KOPTOC, or Kingdom of the Pine Therapeutic Outreach Center, is located conveniently, positioned just a few blocks from school and easily walkable.

I wave to some familiar volunteers and head out into the sun on my quest for second-period calculus. It’s a beautiful day, and as I amble along I can feel some of my haunting anxiety beginning to slip away. I’m relieved, but there’s one thing that lingers in the back of my mind.

I hadn’t mentioned the red work polo my intruder was wearing before Dr. Smith brought it up in our session; not to him, not to my parents.

Or maybe I did, and it just slipped my mind.

I shake my head, rattling loose any doubt that still desperately clings tight. I need to take the advice I’ve already received and just relax—have a good time!—especially given the fact that my parents are actually letting me attend a mixed party this evening with both Kingdom of the Pine and secular kids in attendance.

Hopefully things with Isaiah won’t be too weird, I think to myself. At least Martina’s gonna be there.

There’s a faint tickle at the back of my throat, but I ignore it.



* * *



I gaze across this suburban basement packed with friends and classmates, the whole gang spreading out before me in a perfectly imperfect balance. It’s as though they were placed here by some artful Renaissance painter; Veronese, maybe. Music is blasting from the nearby stereo and fellow students struggle to shout over it as they lean casually against walls or laugh together in small pods. Any observer might see this as a quintessential teenage party scene, but a careful eye reveals assorted crucifix jewelry and T-shirts sporting various God-centric catch phrases.

I’m feeling reasonably confident thanks to my social preparation routine—a large notecard of potential discussion topics, interesting facts, and small-talk questions. This card is folded and tucked away in my pocket for quick reference, though I don’t think that’ll be necessary. I spent enough time on this one to recite it from memory.


The word “muscle” is derived from a Latin term, meaning “little mouse.”