Say a Little Prayer(9)
Them on one side, me standing alone on the other.
When I finally spot Julia, she’s talking animatedly with a group of girls by the bus. Her hair is piled in a messy bun on top of her head, and when she sees me, she throws her arms in the air and cries, “Good morning!” with so much enthusiasm that my sleep-addled brain momentarily short-circuits.
Julia’s always been a morning person. I think it’s genetic. I spent exactly one Thanksgiving with the Youngs back in sixth grade before realizing they’re the kind of people who wake up at dawn to run half marathons, and I haven’t been back since. Now it takes every ounce of my stage training to return Julia’s grin without looking like I want to die.
“Good morning,” I say. “Happy to be here for this completely normal call time.”
Julia waves a hand. “It’s not that bad. Come on. I want you to meet everyone.”
She tugs me across the lawn, weaving effortlessly through the crowd as the sky lightens overhead. It’s been a year since we’ve walked the Pleasant Hills parking lot together, but I fall into step beside her, my feet hopping over the sidewalk cracks with familiar ease. I’d still rather be curled up in bed, but when Julia’s fingers slide through mine, I feel myself steady. Sometimes I wish I knew how much I’d be giving up when I left this place. Last year, I saw Julia at least three times a week—at church, at youth group, and at Bible study. Now I’m lucky if we can sneak in a movie night or two between our equally packed schedules. We’re still friends, of course. She still feels like my other half, but there’s a strange distance between us now that we don’t have this thing in common. A crack in our foundation that’s never been there before.
Maybe that’s part of why I agreed to come this week. Because even if I don’t believe in church or camp or organized religion, I can still spend this time with her and Ben. I can still pretend nothing has changed.
“Over here.” Julia releases my hand, gesturing toward where a tall Black girl stands on the other end of the sidewalk. “Riley, this is Delaney.”
I haven’t officially met Delaney Adebayo, but I know she’s one of Julia’s school friends. Another East Christian Academy girl, who still attends Pleasant Hills camps even though her family goes to another church across town.
“Hey.” I stifle a yawn with the back of my hand. “Sorry, I think I’m still waking up.”
Delaney nods knowingly. “It’s way too early for this, isn’t it?”
She rolls her eyes in Pastor Young’s direction, an expression that’s equal parts joke and condemnation, and I decide I like her. Despite the early hour, Delaney’s wearing a dark-green Academy crewneck over a perfectly ironed collared shirt. Her black hair is braided tightly down her back, and there’s even a hint of golden highlighter brushed across the tops of her cheeks. She looks more like the star of a CW show where the teenage cheerleaders also happen to be vampires, for some reason, than someone who’s about to spend a week in the woods.
I’ve just glanced down at my own baggy jeans when Pastor Young’s voice cuts through the hum of the crowd. “Can everyone circle up, please?”
The crowd in the parking lot has thinned; there’s finally room for us to shuffle reluctantly into a circle as Pastor Young does a quick head count. He’s wearing a faded gray T-shirt and a pair of acid-washed jeans, which I think is part of a very misguided attempt to appear Cool and Hip with the Teens. On Sundays, he always wears white—long flowing robes with a bright red stole hanging around his neck—and when I see him around the neighborhood during the week, he’s strictly business casual. So this morning, he’s clearly trying to curate a vibe.
“There we go,” he says, spreading his hands to acknowledge the entire circle. “Thank you all for coming out so early and for dedicating your spring break to this week of spiritual growth. Whether it’s your first time here or you’ve been a regular throughout your high school career, I’m thrilled to welcome everyone to this year’s spring retreat. Why don’t we join hands and say a quick prayer before we head out?”
There’s a brief awkward moment where we all hesitantly reach for each other in the dark. Delaney takes one of my hands, her collection of rings pressing cold lines into my skin, and Julia grabs the other. I keep my gaze deliberately fixed on my shoes as Pastor Young leads us in a prayer for safe travel. It’s mostly a lot of talk about “blessing the youth” and “opening our eyes to the glory of God’s holy word,” and after everyone has mumbled an appropriately humble Amen, he raises his voice to acknowledge the circle again.
“Are there any prayer requests before we hit the road? Anyone to keep in our thoughts this week?” Pastor Young’s gaze slides from person to person before landing very pointedly on me. “Riley,” he says, and every cell in my body turns to stone. “It’s so good to have you back. Is there anyone in your life you’d like us to pray for?”
My hand instinctively tightens around Julia’s. Pastor Young’s gaze is curious as he watches me across the circle, almost kind, but I know better. I know exactly what he’s implying, and the worst part is everyone else does, too. He’s made sure of that. Heat creeps up the back of my neck, fingers trembling in silent rage, but Julia doesn’t flinch. She just squeezes my hand and holds me steady as the pavement tips ever so slightly under my feet.