Those Who Prey

by Jennifer Moffett

  The Leader? I sit up straight. I’ve learned enough to know the Leader’s attention is a very big deal. My heart pinches at the thought of not being home for the summer to hang out in the Gulf of Mexico with my friends—no deadlines or scheduled pressures—just the hum of a boat motor and music trailing in our wake.

  “I’m not sure about my summer plans yet—” I say, squirming.

  Meredith interrupts. “There was a recent mission to Africa to see where we’d have the most effective impact in such an enormous continent with so many lost souls. And I can tell you …” Her eyes gleam through a dramatic pause. “Miracles happened there.”

  More than a little intrigued, I wait for her to continue. Meredith silently fidgets with her wedding ring as her eyes follow the volleyball with each bump keeping it airborne. Unsure of what to do, I turn to watch the game. Josh is in front of the net, where he leaps up to slam the ball into the ground on the other side. Everyone cheers and screams. His eyes scan the sidelines until he finds me, a huge smile on his face. Nothing could stop my own smile in return, and it’s clear Meredith notices.

  “Did you know I met my husband when I was your age?” she says, her attention turned back to me. “We were both at Vanderbilt, back in Nashville where I grew up. I was a freshman and he was a senior pitching for the baseball team. I spent so much time sitting in the stands and just watching him play….” Her voice trails off as she looks down, still twisting her ring. She looks up at me with a quick smile. She seems embarrassed to have revealed something so personal, yet happy to share the memory.

  She quickly shakes off whatever she’s feeling and continues. “Well. I know Josh is hoping you’ll join the Italy mission.”

  “Why do you say that?” I ask, playing dumb.

  “Oh, just a hunch. I’m not that old, you know. I still remember what boys his age act like when they’re interested in someone.” Heat rises in my cheeks. Italy with Josh …

  “What about Heather? Is she going?” I ask, trying to deflect the conversation and my own thoughts.

  Meredith wrinkles her nose and pauses carefully. “Heather has a gift for turning the numbers by helping students find their way to Jesus. We believe that her gifts are best utilized here on this campus where she can do the most good for the Kingdom.”

  “She really wants to go to Italy. She could recruit so many people there,” I say, out of obligation or guilt I’m not sure. Italy is Heather’s dream, but when I imagine being there with both her and Josh, I’m conflicted.

  Meredith’s face shifts to the aloof expression I’d first noticed at church. “Heather will do what God asks of her,” she says. “I told her to study it out while fasting and praying. God will lead her to the right decision. He always does.”

  I glance at Heather, already chatting with a new group of girls. She may be difficult at times, but she was my first real friend here. My gaze shifts to Josh, and a picture of just the two of us relaxing together in Italy flashes through my mind. A smile creeps across my face.

  “I’ll ask my dad about Italy.”

  Meredith’s face brightens. “Wonderful! And we can make it super easy for you. You can store your stuff at our house over the summer—free of charge. That way you wouldn’t have to mess with a storage unit,” she says offhandedly. She sits up straight and adjusts her ponytail. Her blond hair shines in the sun. “We want you to think of us as extended family—people who look out for you when you’re so far away from your own.”

  An unexpected sadness temporarily blurs the volleyball game and everything else around me. “Thanks. I’ll tell him,” I mumble.

  “You do that,” Meredith says just before popping up and dusting off her shorts. She leans down and puts a hand on my shoulder. “So good to chat with you, Emily. I’ll look forward to hearing from you soon.”

  On the other side of the game, Heather is staring in my direction. When I catch her eye, she turns her back and starts talking to the same girls, who are laughing as if they’re all best friends.

  incentive effect: when a rewarded member serves as an inspiration—or a corrective example—to other members competing for the same incentive in a high-pressure group

  A Gift for Numbers

  Heather is late for our morning BT. And Heather is never late. I call her room, but her phone just keeps ringing. When I knock on her door, she’s startled to see me. “What are you doing here?” I hold up my notebook and Bible. “I’m here to study,” I say, confused.

  “Didn’t she tell you?” Heather says, distraught. Her eyes are red and swollen. “I’m no longer your DP. They’re assigning you a new DP to prepare for the world mission to Italy.”

  I reel back. “What? But I don’t even know for sure if I’m going,” I say, panic in my voice. “I haven’t even talked to my dad yet.”

  As a bunch of girls bump past me in the hallway, Heather keeps her arm on the doorframe, blocking my entrance. Her mouth is locked into a frown.

  “Well, it’s not like you can say no.” Her tone is distant and bitter.

  “Maybe they’re still deciding who’s going,” I offer helplessly. “There’s still time for them to change—” I stop talking when I see tears streaming from her eyes.

  Not sure what to do, I step forward to give her a hug. Her back is as straight and tense as a metal pole. When I pull away, she doesn’t move. She looks right through me. “They said I have a gift for numbers, but that your gifts would be more useful for the special world missions,” she whispers through more tears.

  What could they possibly consider a gift better than Heather’s?

  Heather wipes her eyes with her sleeve and levels a glare at me. “I saw you talking to Meredith at the volleyball game. What did you say to her? You must have said something to change her mind. She told me I have a defiant heart.”

  “No! That isn’t true! I didn’t say anything except that I hoped you’d get to go too. She was talking about Josh.” I flinch, suddenly realizing I may have said too much.

  She scoffs indignantly. “Well, that makes sense. I guess my mistake was focusing on my salvation and not seducing.…” Heather exhales through her mouth to compose herself. “Let me guess. Josh is going too.”

  I look down at the floor.

  “You should leave,” she says, as if talking to an annoying stranger.

  I clutch my Bible and notebook to my chest. “Heather, please. I feel so terrible about all this. Can we please just talk?”

  “No.” She decisively slams the door in my face.

  Her door magnet crashes to the floor. I stare at it in a state of shock, and then bend down to pick it up and put it back in its place.

  * * *

  The rest of the day is a blur. My emotions overshadow everything else around me. I go to class and back to my dorm. I call Josh, but he doesn’t answer. I study and take a nap. I go to the cafeteria to eat dinner alone. Loneliness creeps in with its cold intensity—a reminder of life before I met Heather. I pick at my food and gaze at the metal napkin holder until I lose track of time. People sit down, talk to each other, eat, and get up again, only to be replaced by other people. I sit there until my legs begin to fall asleep. I picture my dorm towering above the noise and traffic. I have to make myself go home. Home.

  As I walk across campus, a woman with short hair and glasses stops right in front of me. “Emily?”

  At first, I don’t recognize her. Then I notice the blue shirt with the Senior Meals logo. “Hi, Jackie,” I say to the coordinator I used to work with at the soup kitchen.

  “I was just on campus giving an informational workshop. You know, we really miss seeing you,” she says with a genuine smile.

  A smile covers my embarrassment. I’ve been so busy with Heather and the Kingdom that I haven’t even thought about how long it has been since I was over there helping out. Now all of my time and donations are going to a cause that’s “more effective and reliable,” according to Meredith.

  “You know, Helen has asked about you,” she
continues. She looks at me with concern. “How are you feeling? You look … not quite yourself.”

  I try to find the words to express my guilt and shame when I think about Helen waiting for me to come back, but I can barely speak. “I-I’m so sorry,” I stammer, unable to hide my emotions. I say it again as I rush away.

  I head back to Heather’s dorm, determined to make it right with her. Despite her coldness, she’s become my best friend in Boston. And I hope that a trip to Italy won’t change that.

  When I knock on Heather’s door, no one answers. I try again. Still no response. “Heather?” I turn the knob. It’s unlocked. I walk inside. The room is dark, the blinds completely closed. It’s too quiet.

  “Heather?” I say again, quietly, in case she’s asleep.

  An abrupt sound alarms me.

  It takes me a few seconds to register what it is, exactly. I look around the room. No one is there. Plastic bags are strewn all over the floor, which is unusual for Heather, who always keeps everything in its exact place.

  Then I hear the sound again, coming from the bathroom. I rest my ear against the cool metal door, where a sliver of light glows underneath.

  “Heather?”

  I hear violent retching with loud moans and sobs in between. “Heather?” I try the knob, but it’s locked.

  I bolt out of her room and down the hall to get the RA, who is sprawled across her bed reading a magazine.

  I try to catch my breath long enough to speak. “My friend on your wing is very sick. She’s locked herself in her bathroom.”

  “Let me guess,” the RA says as she flips the page of her magazine, unconcerned. “Heather the Jesus freak.” She sits up to mute the television and turns to me. “You must be her—what is it called—disciple?”

  “Yes,” I say, bristling a bit. “And her friend.”

  “Well, don’t worry. She’ll be fine.” The RA looks at me in that condescending upperclassman way and says, “All I’ll say is, you reap what you sow.”

  Frustration courses through me. “She’s sick. Someone should help her.”

  The RA looks me up and down, this time as if she feels sorry for me. “I don’t understand why you all curl your hair to look like hers. It’s just weird.”

  I touch my hair, confused. It looks better this way. I open my mouth to tell her off, but she’s already flipping through her magazine again, so I slam the door without responding.

  I run to the lounge area down the hall and rummage through the kitchen in search of crackers and ginger ale. I find an unopened package of water crackers and grab it, promising myself I’ll replace it later.

  I burst back into Heather’s room, and I’m surprised to see her at her desk with an open Bible under a lamp—the only light on. The room is completely picked up, all of the plastic bags gone. Her hair is pulled back and twisted into a giant clip, and the lamp gives the fuzzy curls around her face an ethereal glow. Her expression is distant and serene.

  “Heather?” I say tentatively, walking toward her. “Are you okay?”

  “Of course I’m okay. I thought I was clear earlier when I asked you to leave.” She doesn’t look at me, and I can tell by her posture that she’s still hurt and upset. She doesn’t appear to be sick, though.

  “Is your roommate here?” I ask.

  “She’s been in the library all day.” Heather pauses to glare at me. Then she looks back down at the Bible as if I’d just rudely interrupted her.

  “Are you sure you’re okay? I thought you were sick, and—” I awkwardly hold up the crackers. “I brought you this.” As I step forward, right beside her bed, a loud crinkling sound under my foot causes me to jump back.

  Heather’s eyes widen when she sees the Oreo cookie package that I just crushed. All three sleeves inside are empty, except for a few crumbs nestled in the shiny white ridges. Her face turns so pale that it almost seems translucent. I stretch over to the trashcan beside her and politely throw it away. Heather looks down at her desk as if I’d never walked in to check on her, as if I’m not even in the room.

  It’s as if I’d never existed to her at all. I gently place the crackers on her desk, right beside her Bible and a large tin of Altoids. “I’m so sorry. I thought you needed this,” I say.

  When she doesn’t respond, I tiptoe out of her room and pull the door shut.

  milieu control: a tactic that isolates members of an insular group; enforces limitations on communications between the group and the outside world; creates a sense of general alienation; can deepen bonds between isolated members

  The Bridge

  Back at my dorm, I pull out my room key, and stop when I notice something taped to my door. My heart leaps when I see what it is: an origami airplane.

  I drop my keys on the ground to undo the paper folds hiding the message:

  There’s only one place (but it’s nearby)

  Where boats drift under as planes cross high

  And cars and trains pass in between.

  Meet me tonight at eight fifteen.

  Happiness briefly overcomes my sadness and confusion as I step onto the down escalator at 7:30 p.m. The sky has darkened to a vivid blue that makes everything against it more visible and radiant. The nagging memory of Heather ignoring me at her desk drifts further and further away as I take in the countless lit-up windows outside—Heather’s one tiny room among city blocks packed with buildings glowing top to bottom with squares, all so small from this perspective. I grip the moving rubber handrail and watch the thousands of crisscrossed lights travel with haphazard purpose.

  The walk isn’t far from my dorm, but the winding staircase to the top of the BU Bridge is steep and noisy. I’m dizzy by the time I reach the top. A jogging professor huffs an acknowledgment as he passes and thumps down the metal steps. I walk to the middle of the bridge and stop to see the buildings’ staggered glowing curve along the water. I remember at orientation someone saying the BU Bridge is the only place where you can see an airplane above a car above a train above a bike above a boat. It’s been one of my favorite spots since then—the perfect place to achieve distance.

  “You’re early,” Josh says into my ear.

  I jump.

  “Hey,” he says, laughing. He puts his hand on my shoulder affectionately. “I’m always scaring you, right? I’m sorry.”

  “No. It’s okay. I just didn’t see you coming,” I say.

  His hand drops down to my arm and searches for my hand. “That’s funny, because I saw you the moment I got to the top of the stairs,” he says. “You know, I still remember the first time I saw you reading a book in that chair, completely oblivious to the rest of the world around you.”

  “That’s me. Oblivious.” I laugh bitterly, my interactions with Heather creeping forward again.

  Josh puts his other hand around mine and leans into me. “No,” he says. “You’re the opposite of that, actually. You’re observant and kind and adventurous.” He kisses my hand. “I admire you for all those things,” he says.

  Cars whoosh by us in a steady rhythm as we step aside for a pack of students heading toward Cambridge with black guitar cases covered in stickers. I pull away from him to lean against the cold, metal rail where the wind is stronger.

  “Come back here,” he says. He drops his hands to my waist and pulls me closer.

  “Josh …” I want to ask him so many questions about Heather and Meredith and Italy, but I don’t want to break our connection, so I don’t say anything else.

  As I wrap my arms around him, my butterflies give way to something warm and exhilarating. As the cars pass, it’s like time is suspended.

  “Did you make a decision about this summer?” he asks.

  I think about Heather. How cold and cutting she was this afternoon. I think about my family back home, unaffected by my absence. I think about how I’ve felt alone and lost for so long now. And, finally, I think about my mother and desperately wish she could help me decide. Life is fleeting. How could I not accept this opportunit
y?

  “I’m coming with you,” I say, my face pressed into his shoulder.

  He kisses the top of my head, his other hand clutching my hair, and I let him hold me like that for a long time. The wind whips around us and people continue to pass by in both directions, yet it somehow feels like we are separate from the rest of the world.

  In this moment, I’m certain of one thing: Josh and I were chosen for this. I was chosen.

  EMILY X—

  (continued)

  They will tell you the numbers don’t lie.

  The weekly Victory Bulletins confirm multiple successes in their mission to save the world. The bulletins are crammed with figures, along with words like, “Awesome!” “Glorious!” “Amazing!” The statistics are made into artistic graphics, which are then projected onto large screens for the members, who often stand and cheer for each success every Sunday.

  Here are just a few “Kingdom facts” from past bulletins:

  Average attendance in Boston this year: almost 8,000

  Baptisms in Boston YTD: 727

  Largest single special church contribution for missions: nearly $1.5 million

  Give to Boston nonprofit volunteers: close to 5,000

  Funds raised for the poor and needy: almost $700,000

  Kingdom Publications sold: nearly 10,000!

  Chosen interns for world missions: 79

  Number of major cities with successfully planted Kingdom churches: 67 … and counting!

  How is it that one of the world’s fastest growing organized religions has recently been banned from 39 U.S. college campuses?

  INTERVIEWS FOR EMILY X—

  Article by Julia O. James

  HEATHER: Emily never should have been chosen over me, so, yes, I was furious. I didn’t even get credit for recruiting her. Josh did, even though I did all the work.

  I know it’s a sin to say this, but what happened in Italy serves all of them right.