by Sonia Hartl
Have a Little Faith in Me
Sonia Hartl
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Table of Contents
About the Author
Copyright Page
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For Kaitlyn and Rylie
To my beautiful baby girls, as you journey through this life I hope you’ll always have friendship, compassion, and wisdom to light your way
Chapter 1
If I hadn’t made such a big deal about my virginity, I might not have spent a valuable portion of my summer checking nosebleed tissues for images of Jesus. I blamed society. Virginity had always been viewed as this monumental thing, like you gave away a piece of yourself just because you got tired of saying “no” or curiosity got the better of you. A whole piece of your heart, soul, or whatever. That mentality was how I ended up poring over brochures for Camp Three SixTeen a week after my junior year ended.
Sun streamed in through my partially closed curtains, a single beam of light stretching across the Camp Three SixTeen pamphlet on my pillow. Some would’ve said it was a sign from God. In my mind, it was a way to get my ex-boyfriend back, and that single slant of sunlight was all the justification I needed.
I put my feet up on the wall and let the row of wildflowers I’d tacked above my headboard tickle my toes. A few browning seeds clung to the end of a dandelion head, from the time Ethan had brought me to a puffy white field so I could make unlimited wishes. My mom called it my Garden of the Dead. My dad called them dust collectors, but I couldn’t bear to get rid of them. Without the flowers, I’d have nothing left from my relationship with Ethan, other than the empty place inside me that never stopped aching.
Camp Three SixTeen could make us right again though. Ethan always said he left camp feeling closer to God, and if I wanted to be with him, I had to get closer to God too.
I tucked the camp application into my top drawer, next to the condoms that claimed to be ribbed for my pleasure. A purchase I made a little too late. Ethan had broken up with me in order to restore his virginal heart before I could take them out of the Walgreens bag. Even though I didn’t need them for sex anymore, they could still be used for my pleasure. I peeked out my bedroom window, where my best friend, Paul, lay on his backyard trampoline, wearing his earbuds. Probably listening to a band I’d never heard of.
I ripped open one of the condom packages, filled the condom with water in my bathroom sink, and tied a knot around the end. My window hadn’t had a screen since the night Paul had climbed a ladder to our second story so we could split our first beer.
I slid the glass open and launched the water condom toward the trampoline. “Incoming!”
The condom sailed over Paul’s head, hitting the grass behind him. It burst open. Damn. Not only had I missed, but I’d given away my position.
Paul pushed his sunglasses up on his head. “Weak!” he shouted. “Try again.”
He put his sunglasses back on and lay with his fingers linked over his chest. Like he wasn’t about to get a face full of water courtesy of Trojan. I filled up a second condom, threw it out the window, and it burst six feet to the right of the trampoline. Paul faked a yawn.
Now he was in for it.
I filled up the last condom in the pack and stood at the window, my arm raised high above my head. Paul gestured for me to bring it on. As I was zeroing in on his smug expression, I hadn’t noticed his mom coming out onto the back patio. I let the condom fly, too far to the left, where it hit Paul’s mom smack on her shoulder and exploded.
She looked around for the source of her unexpected soaking while Paul rolled with laughter, safe and dry, on his trampoline. I debated ducking and hiding, but nothing got past Paul’s mom. She’d raised five boys and knew all the tricks. I gave her a sheepish wave.
She put her hands on her hips. “CeCe, what on earth are you doing?”
“Sorry, I was trying to hit Paul,” I said.
“In that case, carry on. I’m sure he deserved it.”
“Hey.” Paul sat up. “You’re my mom—aren’t you supposed to be on my side?”
“Sorry, kid. Girls have to stick together. I just made a fresh batch of lemonade,” she called up to me. “Come on over and have a glass.”
Paul’s mom was the best.
I raced downstairs, letting my mom know I’d be next door as I passed by her in the living room. Once I was outside, the sun baked my shoulders, bringing out all the little freckles I had only in the summer. I’d tugged my long brown hair into a sloppy bun to keep my neck from sweating, and it flopped around on top of my head as I jogged over to Paul’s.
He pulled out his earbuds as he opened the back gate for me. “My mom is going to have a lot of questions if she discovers you weren’t throwing water balloons.”
“Who says balloons can’t be ribbed for her pleasure?”
“Ribbed for Her Pleasure would be a great band name.” He slung an arm over my shoulder. “Just so you’re prepared, even though you didn’t hit me, expect certain retaliation.”
“You have to catch me first.” I ducked out from under him and ran to the other side of his trampoline. “Because I’m fast. You’re no match for my catlike reflexes.”
“When’s the last time you beat me in a race?” He strolled around the edge of the trampoline. “Third grade?”
“And I’m still riding that high.” I side-shuffled to keep him on the opposite side.
“I let you win.” He picked up his pace.
“Oh really? Is that why you cried when you lost?”
Before I could get my feet to catch up with my brain, he pounced. He caught me around the waist, and I hooked my leg under his, sending us both crashing onto the grass.
Light danced in his dark eyes as he pulled off a piece of broken condom that had clung to the front of my tank top. “One of these days I’m going to find a way to guard myself against your classic move.”
“Impossible. I’ve been perfecting it for years.”
Paul’s mom brought out a pitcher and two frosty mugs, setting them on the patio table. Paul jumped to his feet and helped me up. His palm already had callouses from helping his stepdad out at his flooring company for the last week.
We sat under his patio umbrella, which his stepdad had hooked up to spray mist on hot days, sipping lemonade while puffy clouds drifted across the lazy sky. Summer didn’t get any better than this. I’d miss hanging out with Paul for three weeks while I went to camp, but I had a plan to win Ethan back, and I wouldn’t be deterred.
Paul ran a hand through his shaggy dark hair. “My stepdad said we can help out at his Habitat for Humanity gig this summer, to get our community service hours in before we start senior year.”
“That’s cool of Brad, but I have a different plan.”
“What plan? You don’t plan.” He lifted his mug to his lips.
Here went nothing. “I’m going to Camp Three SixTeen.”
Paul choked on his lemonade, pounding on his chest as he coughed. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I’m not in yet, but I’m applying for their rising senior leadership program.�
� I picked at the flecks of purple polish left on my thumbnail from junior prom. “So. I’ll be getting my community service done there.”
“CeCe. No.” His forehead wrinkled between his brows, like it did whenever he worried over a chem exam or his latest breakup. “You have no idea what you’re getting into.”
Paul had gone to Camp Three SixTeen between eighth grade and freshman year, right before his pastor father left his mom for the half-his-age church secretary. Paul’s mom got on okay after he left. She was the toughest woman I’d ever met, and everything I aspired to be, minus the whole abandoned-after-five-kids-and-twenty-eight-years-of-marriage thing. Paul hadn’t taken it as well. He’d been the picture-perfect pastor’s son his whole life, but when his father left, he gave up church, God, and everything he’d ever believed in, finding his pleasures … elsewhere.
“I’m not going for Jesus; I’m going for Ethan,” I said. “And before you tell me this is ridiculous and won’t work, hear me out.”
“Ethan is a douchebag and not worth three weeks at that place. Trust me.” To say Paul wasn’t a fan of my ex-boyfriend would’ve been a huge understatement.
“Listen. It’s perfect.” I drew little hearts in the melting frost on my mug. “He said in order to become born-again, he had to end things because he couldn’t keep his hands off me.”
Paul raised his eyebrows. “And you bought that piss-poor excuse?”
“Well.” I smiled to myself over my mug. “He really couldn’t keep his hands off me.”
“Since he’s claiming he’s a virgin again, does that make you a virgin again too? Because I’m pretty sure you didn’t have sex with yourself.”
“I don’t know.” I frowned. “Is that how it works?”
“No. That’s not how it works.” Paul ground his teeth. “He’s not a virgin and neither are you, and whatever line he fed you about being born-again is a bunch of bullshit.”
“You’re mad. Why are you mad? I know Christianity isn’t your cup of tea, but it’s Ethan’s.” Not that I’d known Jesus would be some kind of roadblock when we’d first started dating. “If I want to get him back, it has to be mine, too.”
“I’m not mad.” Paul rubbed his hands over his face. “I’m worried about you. What if you follow him to camp and he has another girlfriend already?”
“Ethan wouldn’t have another girlfriend.” My voice froze over. “He’s not you.”
Last month Paul had broken up with Bree Newman before her red hair dye had washed out to a light pink, then he showed up to a party with Sydney Lamb the next night. And I would’ve totally missed his fling with Ella Holt in between if she hadn’t bragged in the locker room about the ladyhead he’d given her after lacrosse practice. Paul meant more to me than anyone in the world, I’d defend him with my last breath, but secretly I had no clue why all these girls tried with him in the first place. He didn’t do meaningful or long-term relationships.
“Isn’t that a blessing?” Paul’s tone matched mine. “But let’s assume Ethan isn’t like me. What happens if you go to camp and get him back? Will you start going to church, quoting Scripture, carrying a Bible around?”
“I could suffer through church. What’s an hour out of my day once a week?”
“Suffering is exactly what you’d be doing. For a guy who doesn’t care enough to value you for who you are. I don’t know what you think that is, but it’s not love.”
“That’s mean.” I hadn’t expected Paul to be all rah-rah about my plan, given his feelings about Christianity, but I hadn’t expected him to be so harsh about it either.
“No, that’s truth.” He stood, grabbing the pitcher and his mug. “You better get comfortable with it, because you’re in for one hell of a rude awakening.” He went into his house, slamming the patio door shut behind him.
So much for winning the support of my best friend. Not that I should’ve expected him to understand. Paul breezed through girlfriends, never getting close enough to get hurt. He didn’t know what it felt like to give yourself completely to someone, or how bottomless the pain could be when they gave it all back and walked away. If I didn’t act, I’d sit and stew in all my ugly feelings. Ethan told me exactly why he ended our relationship. As far as I was concerned, that was an open door. All I had to do was fake my way through a few weeks at Jesus camp.
Seemed simple enough to me.
Chapter 2
A week later, Mom and Dad sat at the dining room table with their joint laptop open. My dad sorted through bills while my mom plugged numbers in to her budgeting spreadsheet. After my parents bought our house from a nice old couple, they racked up thirty thousand in credit card debt to remodel the kitchen and both bathrooms. They paid it off years later with my grandmother’s estate, becoming allergic to debt in the process. They tried to make it sound cool by saying they lived off the grid, but it really meant cash or nothing. I still had no idea how my parents met, but I’d heard the “how they got out of debt” story fifty billion times.
I grabbed a banana from the counter and pulled up a chair. “Are you sure there’s room in the budget for camp?”
“I already sent the check and your mom got you some of their shirts. They still need your recommendation letter, but that’s just a formality. Everything else is in order.” My dad scanned the electric bill, looking for any discrepancies. A weird hobby of his. I had no idea if he even knew what to look for or what he’d do if they had overcharged us.
“Okay.” I chewed on the banana as my argument with Paul ran through my mind. He’d made it sound like I’d be walking into a torture chamber. “Do you still think this is a good opportunity to build character while I commit to finishing my community service before senior year?” That’s how I’d pitched it to them. One of my finer moments.
Mom shut her laptop. “Are you having second thoughts? Because if you’re having second thoughts, we can put a stop payment on the check.”
“It already cleared,” Dad said. “Second thoughts or not, you’re going to camp. We made a lot of sacrifices for this to happen, and we’re hoping it’ll be a good influence on you. It’s high time you grew up and finished something you started.”
“I want to go.” This was my best chance to get Ethan back, and he loved the place. It was all he’d talked about right before we broke up. “I think I let Paul get in my head.”
“It’s no surprise he doesn’t want you to go, but three weeks isn’t that long,” Mom said.
“What are you two going to do while I’m gone?”
“We were thinking of hosting an orgy, and maybe even giving crystal meth a try.” My mom had an oddball sense of humor.
“Why are you like this?”
“Come on.” She laughed and poked my side. “What do you think we’re going to do? Between school, yearbook, and your friends, you’re hardly home as it is.”
She had a point. Even during the summer, I spent way more time at Paul’s than here. He had a misting umbrella and a trampoline. “Will you miss me?”
“We always miss you when you’re not here, Fancy girl.”
I hugged my mom and went back up to my room. The camp handbook I’d skimmed through last night lay on my dresser next to the Bible I hadn’t gotten around to cracking open. I still had another week. If time got away from me, I could always Google the best quotes and hope it would be enough to get by.
The pink-and-white striped suitcase I never got to use, because I never went anywhere interesting, sat at the end of my bed. I’d tucked a red satin-and-lace bra-and-underwear set into a secret compartment. Just in case. Camp Three SixTeen had a strict no phone rule, in bold black lettering at the beginning of the handbook, but they didn’t mention other electronic devices. I could probably stash my iPad behind my sexy underwear.
A rock hit my window, and I ignored it. I was still annoyed with Paul for getting pissy about camp. I debated between a floral summer dress and a navy skater skirt before throwing both of them into my suitcase. Another rock hit my window.
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I slid the glass open. “You can always knock on my—Oh.”
Paul had draped every sheet in his house over his trampoline, creating a secret hideout underneath. Something we used to do every weekend until we got too old for make-believe. But when his father left, we revived the tradition. It turned out we still needed a place where we could forget reality for a little while.
The night his father had packed his last bag and driven away, I’d re-created the hideout. I drew a hundred stars with a silver Sharpie on the underside of the trampoline and told him a story about a boy who was too good for this earth, so he’d been chosen to live among the stars. When things got hard or scary, we always had stories for each other. He put the hideout up the day after Ethan had ended things with me. Paul drew a bunch of little fish and told a story about a girl who created an ocean with her tears and learned how to swim.
I ran over to his house, letting myself in through his back gate. Per tradition, I put my arm in through an opening between his old Spider-Man sheets and pretended to knock.
“What’s the password?” he asked.
Whoever made the hideout decided the password. A rule I sincerely regretted agreeing to. I rolled my eyes and deadpanned my way through the spiel. “Paul is a king among men, desired and envied, and known the world wide for his great taste in music.”
“You may enter.” He’d spread a flannel blanket over the grass, and lay on his back with his hands laced under his head.
I crawled next to him and mimicked his position. He’d drawn a hill made of daisies with a little house on top that had smoke curling out of the chimney. “Who lives there?” I asked.
“A lonely boy. While he enjoyed the company of his twelve cats, he missed his best friend. Though he long suspected she only hung out with the boy to take advantage of his misting umbrella and his mom’s lemonade.”
“It’s not the girl’s fault the boy’s mom makes such good lemonade.”
