Have a Little Faith in Me

by Sonia Hartl

  “I’ll be waiting for you by the chapel. Until then, I’ll dream of you.” Ethan used to say corny but sweet things to me all the time. That stung. He kissed Mandy’s hand, and Paul pretended to stick his finger down his throat behind him.

  The boys left us to go to their side of the lake, and we filed into cabin eight. Sarina immediately went to the bathroom to remove her eye design, which turned out to be more of a process than ladies-in-waiting dressing a queen. I sat cross-legged on the toilet seat with her giant tackle box of makeup as she plucked rhinestones out of her eyebrows. She had ten tubes of lipstick, from cherry red to dark purple; two concealers, both a few shades darker than mine; and twenty eye shadow palettes holding every color under the sun. The second layer of her box held eyeliners, mascara, stick-on jewels, and a bunch of other stuff that had some purpose beyond my comprehension.

  “How long does it take you to do your eyes in the morning?” I picked up a thin black tube and squeezed the end. Sticky gold glitter splattered in my face. “Sorry.” I dropped the tube and tried to rub the glitter off, but I just ended up smearing it around.

  “It depends,” Sarina said. “Today was special, because of the first day of camp. I don’t do mermaids or things like that every day. Usually it takes me a half hour.”

  “I never got the hang of eye shadow.” I wore foundation and gloss and sometimes mascara, but every time I tried eye shadow, I ended up making myself look like a drug addict.

  “I could show you.” Sarina blushed. “No pressure. Only if you want to.”

  “Are you kidding?” I set the box aside and jumped up. “I’d love it. I don’t need anything super-involved, like your mermaids, but it would be cool if I could wear eye shadow without looking like I’d just walked away from a weeklong heroin bender.”

  “We have an hour free before dinner tomorrow. Let’s make it a date.”

  “Bless you.” I flung my arms around her from behind, sending us both tumbling into the rim of the sink. “One day I’ll sing songs and write poetry in your honor.”

  She patted my arm with a bemused expression on her face. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

  “It is to me.” Who knew I’d actually learn something of value at this camp? I checked the time on the clock above the towel bar. “Crap. I have to go.”

  I grabbed a black hoodie out of my open drawer and tugged it over my head.

  “Where are you going?” Mandy asked.

  “Just meeting Paul for a little bit. Don’t wait up, Moms.” I dashed out the door, leaving the screen slapping against the wood frame.

  Once I made it under the cover of the trees, I found a narrow, not camp-made trail to follow. Generations of boys and girls must’ve worn this path thin trekking to and from the other side of the lake. Pastor Dean really didn’t know teens if he thought a large body of water and some scary trees would be enough to keep hormones in check.

  The heavy scent of pine tickled my nose. As I kept my eyes out for Paul’s red shirt, I stumbled upon a yellow shirt, a multicolored scarf, what sounded like five or so kids having a small party deeper in the woods, and two counselors buried so deep in each other’s faces, they didn’t notice me. So much for night patrol and protecting the virtue of innocent Christian children.

  I finally made it to the red shirt, where Paul leaned against the trunk of his tree, all out in the open, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

  “Run for it if I get caught? Who exactly is supposed to be looking for me?” I asked. “It’s like the whole damn camp is out in these woods.”

  Paul laughed. “I forgot it’s always like this the first night. Pastor Dean thinks everyone is so high on his opening ceremony, and not yet bold enough to test the rules, he doesn’t set out as many counselors on rat patrol as he should.”

  “Rat patrol?”

  “It’s part of the counselor’s job to patrol for people at night, and then rat them out.”

  “Cute name. They should get a brand logo and matching shirts.”

  “That’s part of what I wanted to talk to you about tonight.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Branding the rat patrol?”

  “No, about this place in general. But first, a story.” He took my hand and led me through a tangle of overgrown roots and dense clusters of bushes until we reached a small clearing with a blanket laid out and a couple of cans of Coke. He’d drawn four cats in the dirt with a stick.

  “Again with the cats.” I sat down and crossed my legs, leaning back on my hands so I could stare up at the sliver of sky that cut through the canopy of pine needles. “Stories are only for the hideout.”

  “We’re away from home, so I had to improvise.”

  “Are you sure no one else will try to claim this prime spot?”

  “The forest is full of prime spots. They’ll see my T-shirt and keep a hundred-yard radius away from here. No one wants to stumble upon something they’d feel obligated to report.”

  “Like a girl conspiring with her best friend to fake being a Christian to win her born-again ex back?”

  Paul handed me a Coke and clinked his can with mine. “Exactly.”

  “Tell me about these cats.” I swirled my finger in the dirt, drawing tiny stars above their heads. “Are they part of the lonely boy’s troop?”

  “No, these are different and infinitely more precious.” He lay on his back with his hands laced under his head. “There once was a girl who trusted a terrible beast with her heart.”

  “Seems like a mistake on the girl’s part.”

  “It was, but it’s not her fault. The girl had been looking for someone to hold her heart for a long time. The beast had the ability to shift, and presented himself to the girl as a nice boy. One the girl thought she could trust.”

  “A tale as old as time.”

  “As expected, the beast was careless with the girl’s heart. His hands were too small and he wasn’t fit to hold it, and so he dropped her heart, shattering it into four pieces. But those four pieces didn’t turn to dust; they became alley cats with four distinct traits.”

  “I’m getting you a cat for Christmas.”

  He shushed me and continued on. “The first cat was angry, hissing at anyone who would pass. The second, feisty and full of fun. The third cried constantly, and the fourth had been injured, but suffered quietly as it stumbled on a broken paw. The cats tried to come together, but were too different and fought all the time, until the day they met a lonely boy.”

  “I wondered when he’d show up.” I smiled over my Coke can. “He’s my favorite.”

  “The lonely boy thought they fought all the time because they were hungry. So he took them back to his house, at great personal risk of having his neighbors call Pet Hoarders, since he already had twelve cats.”

  “The lonely boy is too good for this earth,” I said. “Eventually the feisty cat and the angry cat became one, and the boy found a cheetah in their place. It was then the girl came to collect the pieces of her heart, but she thought the cheetah was better and stronger, so she took only that and left her other two pieces behind. But the cheetah made the girl fast and prone to rash decisions. To the boy, all the cats were valuable, and the girl’s heart wouldn’t be right without them.”

  I used the stick to draw a frowning face in the dirt.

  “It gets better,” he said. “Because after a series of bad choices, the girl came to realize the parts of herself she rejected made her who she was, and so she comforted the crier and bandaged the cat with too much pride. They became whole with the others, and she gave a mighty roar as her heart transformed once again. For she’d always had the heart of a lioness; she just had to put the broken pieces back together.”

  “You were right.” I rested my hand on his cheek. “It did get better. The girl might not be whole yet, but she’s finding her way.”

  “I have no doubt she will.”

  “Did you still want to cover camp activities?” I yawned as the end of the day zapped the last of my energy
. “What’s this devotions thing we have first thing in the morning, and can we skip it?”

  “It’s church. As I recall, you’re pretty comfortable sleeping there.” He smirked.

  “Ha.” I shot him a dirty look. “What else should I expect tomorrow?”

  “We’ll get the workshop schedules at breakfast. Some of them are split up by gender.”

  “Gross. What if you’re non-binary?”

  Paul gave me a pointed look. “I think you know the answer to that.”

  “I think I hate this place.”

  “I think it’s your fault we’re here.”

  “I think you should shut up now.” I gave him a light shove. “And I suppose I shouldn’t talk during these workshops?”

  “There’s not a lot of talking involved. It’s more like a lecture. Just keep in mind these are Christian lectures, and they might say some things you don’t agree with.”

  “That’s fine. Sounds like another opportunity to sleep.” I waved away a mosquito that buzzed past my ear. “They’d probably kick me out if they knew I lied about all my churchy knowledge on my application.”

  “They won’t kick you out for not knowing as much Scripture as they do.” Paul nudged my arm. “But they might try to baptize you.”

  “Joke’s on them. I took care of that before we came.”

  “You? Got baptized?” Paul raised his eyes to the heavens and whispered a prayer to a God he didn’t believe in. “Where did this take place?”

  “You have to promise not to laugh in my face.”

  Paul held out his pinkie. “Swear.”

  I hooked my pinkie through his. “Okay, so you know that guy who hangs out on Wilson and East? The one with the long beard who wears a THE END IS NEAR sandwich board?”

  “I think I can see where this is going.” Paul’s lips twitched, and I gave him a stern look.

  “Turns out he’s an ordained minister.”

  “You don’t say?” His dark eyes sparkled in the dim moonlight.

  “You promised.” I shook my finger at him. “Anyway, I filled up a cup of tap water at the gas station across the street and paid him five bucks to bless it and dump it on my head.”

  Paul held up his hand. “I’ll be right back.”

  He walked around to the other side of a pine tree and laughed so hard, he shook a hawk out of the branches. It took off into the night with a shriek. After a good five minutes of losing it at my expense, he sat back down, his eyes still glistening with tears.

  I crossed my arms. “You pinkie swore.”

  “I swore I wouldn’t laugh in your face.” He wiped his cheeks with the sleeve of his shirt. “On a more serious note, Gas Station Holy Water would be a great band name.”

  “This is why I didn’t tell you,” I muttered.

  “Come on.” He chuckled under his breath but, catching the look on my face, quickly straightened his features. “Do you want to know about the treasure hunt?”

  “Yes, tell me everything.” I sat up, happy to have a distraction from the ridiculous lengths I’d gone to for a religion I had no intention of actually joining.

  “The teams are split up by school year, and they assign pairs by random draw.”

  “Gasp.” I put my hand over my heart. “You mean boys and girls are actually allowed to be alone with each other? How scandalous.”

  “The whole camp participates. I wouldn’t call that ‘alone.’ Each team has to find an object related to a Bible passage. Once they find it, they share with their partner what that passage means to them. It’s supposed to help campers get to know each other.”

  “Snooze.” And here I thought I’d get to do one activity where I didn’t have to pretend to know Scripture. “Does everything have to be about the Bible?”

  “It’s Jesus camp. Were you expecting beer pong?”

  “No, but it would’ve been cool if they’d just done a regular old treasure hunt.”

  “The treasure is supposed to be finding meaning in Christ’s teachings.”

  “I’d rather have a handful of colored beads and some of those plastic gold coins.” I yawned again. “Thanks for filling me in.”

  “It’s going to be an early morning. Let’s go.” He helped me to my feet and grabbed his blanket and empty Coke cans.

  We stepped out of the clearing, and the two counselors who’d gotten distracted appeared to be back on patrol. Paul grabbed me and tucked us behind a wide tree trunk as the crackle of their walkie-talkies passed. He put his finger to his lips, then pointed toward my cabin and took off running in the opposite direction, making enough noise to send the counselors crashing through the bushes after him. Which left the way clear for me.

  As far as fake boyfriends went, I could’ve done a hell of a lot worse.

  Chapter 8

  I was the last one out of my cabin at ten to seven. It had been a weird night. I kept waking up with a start after a series of dreams that would’ve made my cabinmates blush. I couldn’t recall most of the details, but Paul was there, and the feeling stuck with me when I woke. My REM cycle must not have gotten the message that our dating was just for show.

  Outside, the rising sun burned low in the sky, casting the camp in a hazy orange glow. A robin swooped low over my head before disappearing into the woods. Morning dew clung to the grass along the trail, wetting my ankles as I made my way to the chapel.

  Paul met me outside the doors. His freshly showered hair dripped onto his shoulders. “How did you sleep?”

  “Fine.” My cheeks grew hot as the sensations from my dreams flooded into me again. “Other than not getting enough. Did you get away last night?”

  “Please. I’m offended you’d even ask.”

  We headed inside. The chapel smelled like pine cleaner and old people, and we took a seat in the back. Most of the camp had already arrived. Mandy and Ethan sat up front, where the light shone on their angelic heads like something out of a Michelangelo painting.

  I pointed to a large portrait at the front of the chapel. “Who’s that supposed to be?”

  “You’re kidding me, right?” Paul looked at me like I had a wad of spinach stuck in my teeth. “How have you never seen a picture of Jesus before?”

  “I’ve seen plenty of pictures of Jesus, thanks. That is not Jesus.” This portrait had dark blond hair and blue eyes, which was just wrong, and the kind of five-o’clock shadow that belonged in an eighties music video. “I think that guy used to do our landscaping.”

  Back when we had a garden and a lot more debt. My mom tried to keep it alive, but she got bored once she found out how much work it took to maintain.

  Paul tilted his head. “I think my mom dated him before she met Brad.”

  “Probably because she thought he looked like Jesus.”

  A younger girl in the pew three rows ahead of us turned around and gave us a dirty look. I wiped the smile off my face and tried to appear as pious as one could at seven in the morning. Paul leaned back with his hands behind his head. Somehow we’d become the burnouts at the back of the class, the kind who’d carve skulls into their desks.

  Pastor Dean took the podium to charm the true believers with all his Godly wisdom. Ten minutes in, my eyes started to droop, but I did manage to catch pieces of him trying to relate ancient passages to the life of a modern teenager. Not in a way that made sense to me. Paul told me if anyone asked my thoughts, to just pick a random sin and ponder what Jesus would do.

  Paul tapped me on the forehead. “You’re snoring.”

  “I wasn’t even sleeping, just resting my eyes,” I whispered.

  Pastor Dean mentioned Paul, which got my attention. I nudged him. “He just said your name. Are you supposed to go up there?”

  He gave me a funny look. “He’s talking about Paul the Apostle.”

  “Sorry.” I stifled a yawn. “I didn’t know there was a dude named Paul in the Bible.”

  “Where do you think my parents got my name?”

  “I don’t know. I thought your mom w
as from the Midwest or something.”

  He snorted, and I elbowed him in the ribs.

  Judging from the abundance of empty space, Pastor Dean didn’t command the head count he probably needed to keep him rolling in hair gel and strobe lights. At the end of the sermon we all shuffled out, standing around in groups while we waited to be called in for breakfast. Apparently we were supposed to chat about what we took away from the sermon. My main takeaway had been to get more sleep if I had to suffer through that every morning.

  “What did you think, CeCe?” Astrid gave me an encouraging smile. “I’m always fascinated with how new people interpret Pastor Dean’s take on backsliding.”

  “Um …” I glanced at Paul. “Like take cocaine dealers, for example. What would Jesus do about the dealers? I think he would minister them, put them on the righteous path, and without the dealers, it’s easier for the addicts not to backslide into a life of drugs and stuff.”

  The group stared at me in stunned silence. Ethan jerked his chin at Jerome, as if the two shared a joke and I was the punch line. Paul had his hand over his mouth, like he was trying to keep from laughing. Not exactly the response I’d hoped for, but I doubted any of them would’ve performed better under pressure.

  “Sure.” Astrid’s baby-doll face puckered. “That’s certainly one way to look at it.”

  “Can I talk to you for a second?” Paul took my arm and led me to the other side of the chapel, checking to make sure we were alone. “Coke dealers?”

  “You told me to pick a random sin and ponder.” I crossed my arms. “You know I can’t stand to be put on the spot.”

  “When I said pick a random sin, I had something a little tamer in mind. Rock music, R-rated movies, things like that.”

  I twirled my wrist. “Then you should’ve clarified.”

  “I swear, this little experiment of yours is going to kill me.” He ran his hands through his hair. “If you want to fix this, mention the sermon at breakfast. Say something about how the type of media we consume can influence the decisions we make on a daily basis, and you think Pastor Dean has the right idea about garbage in and garbage out.”