Say a Little Prayer(38)

“Excuse me.”

She pushes past me, shoulder knocking into mine on her way out. By the time I turn around, she’s halfway down the stairs, disappearing around the side of the cabin just as Greer and Delaney come to a stop behind us.

“I didn’t do anything!” I blurt, instinctively raising my hands as Greer’s gaze lands on me.

I brace myself for the accusations, for a repeat of our fight at breakfast, but to my surprise, Greer just sighs. “I know,” she says. “She’s been like that all week. She won’t talk to me.”

That can’t possibly be true. Amanda and Greer are always together, whispering behind cupped hands, laughing over the same inconsequential jokes. Except now that I think about it, Greer had been alone at lunch yesterday. She’d been alone this morning, too, and Amanda had been in the locker room with me.

I turn away, absentmindedly rubbing my aching shoulder. “Maybe she finally got tired of the sound of your voice.”

If Greer registers the insult, she doesn’t react. She crosses the porch and pulls the screen door open. “Maybe,” she says. “Or maybe I’m not the person she wants to talk to.”

Last year during tech, a sandbag had swung loose from the rafters and nailed me in the ribs. The air had whooshed out of me at once, sudden and quick, and I spent the rest of the night wondering if I’d ever breathe properly again. That’s how I feel now, watching Greer’s shiny ponytail disappear into our cabin. Like she might as well have reached out and slammed her fist through the center of my chest. I grit my teeth around the ache, push the feeling to the back of my mind, and follow her inside.

Julia and Torres are already sitting cross-legged on the floor, snacks piled between them like a poorly designed summoning circle. Delaney leans down to inspect the haul, but Julia shoots to her feet the second she sees me. “Riley!”

She lurches forward, then stops just short of where I stand in the middle of the cabin. Her hands hover in the space between us, face a portrait of wary concern, and I realize that the last time she saw me, I’d been storming out of the cafeteria. I flash her a casual, toothy grin and hope for the life of me that she can’t tell how difficult it is to pull off.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“What’s…” Julia blinks. “Are you okay?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Julia’s face shutters, a split second of disoriented confusion, before she shakes her head. “Nothing,” she says. “It’s just good to see you.”

She sinks back into the circle as I turn toward my bunk. The others have piled their workbooks against the side of my bed to make room on the floor, but when I start to nudge them aside, she stiffens again.

“Can you hand me my prayer book, actually?” she asks. “I’ll just keep it over here. It’s—the one with the butterfly sticker, yes.”

I fish Julia’s book from the pile and slide it across the floor. She tucks it under her thigh, and again, I try not to think about what she could possibly be writing. Instead, I sink into bed and lift a hand to catch the half-empty bag of cheese crackers Torres tosses my way. The crumbs smeared against the side of the plastic don’t look particularly appetizing, but my stomach still growls at the sight. Does this count as gluttony? Is this truly one of the sins Pastor Young is so adamant we avoid?

“I thought the packing list said no food,” I say, tearing open the top. “Is that just, like, a suggestion?”

Greer shrugs. “The last time we fasted wasn’t exactly enjoyable, so I like to be prepared.”

Prepared feels like an understatement. She’s currently sitting with her back braced against her bedframe, distributing the snacks from her suitcase in color-coded order.

“Were you also learning about temperance last time?” Torres asks bitterly.

“I don’t remember.” Greer glances at Delaney. “Do you?”

Delaney shakes her head. “All I know is that Miles Briggs’s mom threatened to sue because he was diabetic, so they ended up caving at dinner. And then we got a very weird sermon about how a relationship with God cures all ailments.”

Julia winces. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Greer says. “You weren’t even there.”

It’s the second time today Julia has apologized for her father’s actions. I wonder if she always feels this responsible for him, if she’s ever tried to stop him before, or if that’s nothing but my own wishful thinking.

“Are the counselors fasting, too?” I ask. “They’re all remarkably perky.”

Julia shakes her head. “They have a key to the kitchen, so they can just stop by whenever they want.”

We all let out a collective groan. Of course the counselors can just stop by. Of course the rules don’t apply to them. I burrow deeper into my blankets, momentarily overwhelmed by the blatant injustice of it all. How does Pastor Young keep getting away with this? Why am I the only one who seems to care? Sure, the others are annoyed, but they’re also sitting in a circle on the floor, passing snacks back and forth like this is some sort of game.

Maybe it is to them. Maybe they genuinely can’t imagine a world where things like this don’t happen.

I shove another handful of crackers into my mouth and tug my prayer book from under my mattress. Between yesterday’s field trip and this morning’s breakfast fiasco, I haven’t made much progress on my essay. The first few pages are still covered in a collection of random notes, observations from my time under the picnic table and shopping with Julia. Bits and pieces that hardly add up to something substantial. If I want Pastor Young gone, if that really is my goal at the end of this, I need to think bigger.