Say a Little Prayer(33)

Pastor Young looks up when Julia and I step forward. “Welcome back,” he says, his gaze sweeping from my face to my mud-flecked sandals. “Glad to see you took today’s lesson to heart.”

I know the compliment is supposed to be genuine. I know he can’t see the clothes tucked in the bottom of my bag, but I still feel the warning laced beneath every word. “Of course.” I nod toward the sizzling tray of casserole behind the counter, eager to change the subject. “Did you make that?”

Pastor Young shakes his head. “Not this time.”

“Bummer. Yours is always the best.”

I flash Pastor Young my most charming grin as he hands me a plate, ignoring the way the corners of his mouth pinch. Julia’s watching me, too, expression locked somewhere between concern and alarm, and it’s not until we’re out of earshot that she leans in and whispers, “What are you doing?”

Being a good influence. I force the thought away. “Just being polite.”

“Well, stop it. It’s freaking me out.”

But that’s the thing, I think as we drop into two empty seats toward the back of the cafeteria. I can’t stop. Pastor Young might want me back. He might genuinely believe he’s saving my wayward soul, but he’s still waiting for me to slip. I can’t give him or Mr. Rider any reason to discredit me, not before I’ve blasted my essay to anyone who will read it.

Most of the people around us are still waiting for food, but the ones who’ve already found seats are poring over their workbooks. Greer’s sitting at the other end of our table, one foot propped against her chair as she frantically circles a line at the bottom of the page. Something about the image feels off, and it’s not until I look again that I realize the seat beside her is empty. Amanda is nowhere to be seen. I avert my gaze and pull out my own workbook. Vaguely, I remember Cindy telling us to finish our assignments before we returned, but I haven’t opened my book since yesterday. I don’t think generosity is something you can study for, but even Ben pauses by our table on his way to the kitchen.

“Did either of you finish that assignment?” he asks, looking from me to Julia.

I shake my head. “Do I look like I finish assignments?”

“Yes, actually. You’re usually quite reliable.”

I’m saved from responding by Delaney and Torres, who slide onto the bench across from us. “You talking about the prompts from this morning?” Delaney asks. “I just finished them on the bus.”

Ben perks up. “Really? How did you…” He flips through his workbook until he finds the right page. “…show the light of God’s generosity in the community today?”

Delaney grins, stabbing her fork into her casserole. “I let some lady go ahead of me in the Walmart checkout line.”

“Are you serious?” Torres looks vaguely scandalized. “I spent half an hour chasing carts in the parking lot.”

“That’s your problem, Torres. I’m not on their payroll.”

I bite back a grin as Ben nods. “That’s good,” he says. “I totally did that checkout thing, too. You all saw me.”

“Definitely,” Delaney says without missing a beat. “It was really moving.”

Ben shoots a finger gun in her direction, grabs a potato chip from Julia’s plate, and continues toward the kitchen. I shake my head at his retreating back. There’s nothing more frustrating than Ben Young’s academic history. As far as I know, he’s never once done his homework on time. He’s always finishing essays on the bus or memorizing speeches between classes or asking me to quiz him in the fifteen minutes before we leave for school. To this day, I have no idea how he got a 1500 on the SATs without even pretending to study, and I’m not surprised that level of nonchalance extends to camp, too.

After all, there’s a reason why no one lectured him for walking back into camp with an armful of shopping bags. Because he’s Ben, and he has yet to meet a situation he can’t charm his way out of.

“Do you think that assignment is mandatory?” I ask, lowering my voice as the chatter swells around us. “Or could I, like, make something up if they ask?”

I glance over my shoulder at Julia, expecting to find her reviewing the prompts we’d missed this morning, but instead, her prayer book sits open in her lap. The page is tilted up, so the only thing I can see is the small butterfly sticker she’s placed on the back cover—the freckling of pink wings and gossamer-thin antennae the only thing differentiating her book from the rest of ours. She snaps it closed when she sees me looking.

“I’m sorry, what?”

There’s a soft flush sliding over her cheeks, like I’ve caught her in the middle of something strangely intimate. I shift in my seat, eyes dropping down to my lunch. “Nothing. I was just asking if you did the assignment.”

“Oh.” Immediately she’s back to normal, expression smoothing into casual interest so quickly I can almost believe I’m imagining things. “Right. I should probably get started on that.”

Julia drops her prayer book into her bag but makes no move to pull anything else out or start the assignment. She just swirls her straw around her cup of watery soda, takes a long sip, and leans both elbows on the table as Ben slides back onto the bench across from us. That’s how we sit for the rest of lunch—Julia laughing with her friends like normal and me trying desperately not to look at the corner of the little blue book that’s still peeking over the top of her bag.