Say a Little Prayer(20)

I run a finger over the spine of my prayer book as we all turn toward the trees. Time to be…slothful, I guess. Of all the sins facing me this week, this feels like a good place to start. Sloth doesn’t have to be bad. It could be self-care or relaxation. It could be not building a shelter in the middle of the woods because, honestly, who came up with that idea in the first place? I take a deep breath, sneak a glance at Delaney out of the corner of my eye, then take a hesitant step toward the trees.

Part one of my seven-step plan is officially in motion.





VI


    Jesus Might Have Been a Carpenter, But I Most Certainly Am Not


“Okay, this has to be illegal.” I duck under another low-hanging branch, swatting it aside right before it smacks me in the face. “They can’t just, like, make us do manual labor.”

We’ve spent the last half hour wandering through the sparse wooded area across from the picnic tables, and the only thing our group has managed to build is a small pile of misshapen twigs. Not that I care. I have no delusions of success when it comes to this competition, but I also haven’t figured out how to embody sloth without literally collapsing to the ground and becoming one with the earth. I like my clothes. I don’t want to sacrifice them to the rough Kentucky dirt.

Behind me, Delaney swipes her way through a swarm of gnats. “This is what I get for quitting Girl Scouts. Maybe we could use those leaves over there for a roof? Or something?”

“Definitely not.”

I jump as Greer appears on the other side of a nearby tree, one hand lifted so she can examine her perfectly buffed nails. “You can’t use the leaves,” she adds, like she didn’t just materialize out of nowhere. “You need something sturdier. And preferably waterproof.”

I roll my eyes and keep walking. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. Like a tarp. Or a bunch of tightly woven vines.”

“Sure. Let me pull a bunch of tightly woven vines out of my ass, Greer.”

Delaney chokes back a laugh, and to my surprise, the corner of Greer’s glossy mouth twitches, too. Then she blinks and the expression dissolves. “It’s not supposed to be easy. We’re supposed to be diligent.”

“In this economy?” I shake my head. “You’re not going to hell for using scissors.”

“Sloth is a sin, Riley. That’s literally the whole point!”

The fact that someone as rich and beautiful as Greer can also be this outrageously annoying feels like proof enough that prayers don’t work. She’s glaring at me like I’ve just kicked her puppy or something, and for the first time, I wonder if this plan might be harder than I thought. Greer “I Got a Thirty-Five on the ACTs and Also Run the Madison High School Student Government Association like It’s the Marine Corps” Wilson has never relaxed a day in her life. She’s not going to start now when she obviously still thinks Gabe can give her an A in diligence.

I glance over my shoulder to where the edge of one picnic table is half visible through the trees. The supplies Gabe brought to tempt us are still sitting unattended, slowly baking in the mid-morning sun, and I think I could probably grab a pair of scissors if I wanted to. It might not prove my point exactly, but it would definitely make Greer’s head explode, and that feels like a start.

Sure enough, her shoulders stiffen the instant I turn toward the clearing. “Where are you going?”

“None of your business.”

If there’s one thing I know about Greer, it’s that she believes everything, to some extent, is her business. I keep my gaze locked on the path ahead, but it’s only a second before I hear the sound of her footsteps hurrying after me.

“You can’t,” she hisses. “That’s cheating, Riley. We’re supposed to figure this out ourselves.”

“I thought we’re supposed to have fun.”

“I mean, yes, but—”

“Then what’s the problem, Greer? Isn’t that the whole point?”

“How would you know what the point is? You don’t even go here—”

Greer breaks off, almost plowing me over as I come to an abrupt stop at the edge of the clearing. The supplies are still there all right, gleaming up at us from the picnic tables, but that’s not what I’m looking at now. Instead, I’m staring past the tables altogether, back down the hill and over the tops of the buildings below.

I knew the picnic area sat at the eastern edge of camp, across from the chapel and directly behind the parking lot, but I hadn’t realized how far we’d walked this morning or how high we’d climbed. The Dayton suburbs are mind-numbingly flat, but northern Kentucky is full of these soft rolling hills that stretch toward the sky. From where I stand at the edge of the clearing, I can see across the entire camp—the twisting paths, the patched roofs of the cabins, the other groups wandering through the central field. A handful of puffy white clouds dot an otherwise clear sky, and everything smells vaguely of pine.

I’m not an outdoorsy person. I’ve been on exactly one hike in my life and most of my biggest fears can be categorized as “finding outside creatures where they don’t belong,” but something about the view up here feels steadying. Distant. I release a shaky breath, and for the first time since getting on that bus yesterday, I feel the tension lining my shoulders release.