Say a Little Prayer(24)

“Of course.” It takes everything in my power not to roll my eyes. “Good talk.”

I start walking again, not bothering to hide my frustration. This time, I make it all the way to the fork in the path before Pastor Young calls my name.

“Riley?”

There’s an edge to his voice now, a warning that slides across my rapidly fraying nerves. Every muscle in my body coils tight. “Yes?”

Pastor Young’s hands slide casually into his pockets. “I am glad you’re here,” he says. “I want you to know that. This week is a wonderful opportunity for you, and I don’t want to tell your principal that you’re wasting it by sitting under tables and encouraging bad behavior in your fellow campers. Understand?”

So I have a chaperone now, a personal attendant tracking my every move. Heat pulses under my skin, but my smile doesn’t slip. “Sure.”

“Good.” Pastor Young’s gaze doesn’t leave my face. “I know you mean well, Riley. I’m here to guide you on your journey, but I also have to look out for my family. I have to protect my children from the perils of the world, and I’d hate for you to become a bad influence.”

Despite the warm, cloudless sky, a chill whispers down my spine. I don’t know when the shift happened, exactly—when I stopped seeing Pastor Young as my best friends’ dad and started seeing him as a threat. Maybe it was when he told an entire congregation that Satan created homosexuality to keep people out of Heaven. Maybe it started the day with the sweater in church, long before I thought to question why so many people allowed something like that to happen.

I’ve spent months telling myself that if he tried coming after me the way he came for Hannah, I wouldn’t let him get away with it. I’d created scenario after scenario where I finally stood up to him, where I threw those accusations back in his face, where the people watching would believe me, but no one is watching now. I’m alone, faced with the full force of Pastor Young’s stare, and the only thing I can do is nod.

“Excellent.” He smiles then, a quick flash that does nothing to warm the space between us. “I’ll see you at lunch, Riley.”

And then he’s gone, heading toward the cafeteria with his arms swinging casually at his sides.

I’d hate for you to become a bad influence.

The warning is clear—sit down and be quiet. Don’t cause problems, don’t ask questions, and maybe, just maybe, you can keep your best friends. Watching him walk down the path now, tall and confident in a place that’s his to command, I think I understand why so many people have let him go unchallenged for this long.

I can almost believe that kind of power is preordained.

I don’t move until Pastor Young rounds the corner and disappears into the line of trees. Only then do I stumble toward the safety of my cabin, mind racing the entire way. I always thought Pastor Young’s interest in me was administrative—he didn’t know why I’d left his congregation and the thought probably haunted his otherwise impeccable record. I know he hates Hannah. I know he resents my whole family for leaving, but now I think he might hate me the most. The girl who left before he could kick her out. The girl who’s been brushing him off and ignoring his Bible study invitations all year.

The girl who, despite his best efforts, is still best friends with his perfect, God-fearing children.





VII


    Hey, Macklemore, Can We Go Thrift Shopping?


“And then he said, ‘I’d hate for you to become a bad influence.’ Like, what the hell am I supposed to do with that?”

I press my phone to my ear and lean against the rough bark of a nearby pine tree as I watch the line of campers file onto the bus a few yards away. It’s Field Trip Day—a.k.a. the morning where Pastor Young ships us all into downtown Rhyville so the senior counselors can have their own day of training and worship. It also means we get our phones back, a concession that’s supposed to exemplify today’s virtue of generosity.

I personally think returning my own property is less generous and more an act of psychological warfare, but whatever. At least I’d been able to scroll through the list of notes Kev sent me from yesterday’s rehearsal and at least I’m able to talk to Hannah now.

“That’s a weird thing to say, right?” I press when she doesn’t answer. “That’s, like, a threat?”

Hannah makes a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat. “I don’t know, Riley. Everything that man says sounds like a threat. Have you talked to Julia about it?”

“You know we don’t talk about him.”

“I know you don’t talk about him. But she’s your best friend. She probably wants to know how you feel.”

I hesitate, digging the toe of my sneaker into the ground. She’s right, of course. Julia knows me better than anyone, but we’ve never explicitly talked about the role her father played in ruining Hannah’s life. At the time, it hadn’t felt necessary. We both knew what happened even if no one said it out loud, and now, after months of talking around it, it doesn’t feel like there’s a way to bring it up.

It’s not like I’m required to tell Julia everything. I’m not telling her about my new and improved essay, for example. I’m not telling her about the conversation I’d had with her father or about how this entire thing feels personal now, like if I can’t prove how wrong Pastor Young’s sermons are, then I might lose her, too. And I’m absolutely not telling her about how I fell asleep last night desperately wishing she would reach down and squeeze my hand again.