Have a Little Faith in Me

by Sonia Hartl

  “And what idea is that?” Might as well be fully prepared. Who knew what would be sprung on me next?

  “If you take garbage in—music with sexual messages, or violent video games—you’ll regurgitate those messages in your thoughts and speech. Garbage out.”

  “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. That’s like saying people aren’t capable of independent thought. And isn’t there a shit ton of sex and violence in the Bible?”

  A smile quirked his lips. “Why are you arguing this with me? I’m not telling you what I believe; I’m telling you what they believe.”

  “Right.” I put my hand on his arm. “When you talk like that, in this place, it’s hard for me to remember you’re not one of them.”

  “That’s not comforting.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” When Paul’s father left his family, I didn’t think it would be possible to hate him more, but every time I saw what his leaving did to Paul, the way it wrecked everything he used to believe with his whole heart, I hated the man tenfold.

  We headed into the dining hall and grabbed our trays like we had for dinner, but breakfast looked way more appealing. I got pancakes with a side of bacon, and another huge wedge of Colby cheese. It was worth it to come here for the cheese alone.

  We went back to our table, where the counselors had already dropped off a stack of schedules. The workshops we could attend had titles like “Waiting for Marriage” (what a joke), “Carrying the Message” (probably for people who knew what the message was supposed to be), and “Building an Effective Youth Group”, with Astrid leading.

  I waved the paper in front of her. “You’re teaching a workshop? That’s so cool.”

  She beamed with pride. “I’m the youngest in camp history to be invited to teach.”

  “She’s going to be the best teacher too.” Mandy gave her a side squeeze. “She built her own church’s youth group from ten kids in a basement to an entire movement in her town. She’s an example to us all.”

  “I’m so going to that one.” I turned to Paul. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know.” He rubbed his jaw. “Waiting for Marriage sounds pretty appealing.”

  “Ha. Ha.” I laid my head on his shoulder. “That’s not what you said last night.”

  Across the table, Peter’s eyes popped out as he looked between the two of us. “Did you guys, you know? When you snuck out last night?”

  Paul shook his head. “Sorry, my man. A gentleman never kisses and tells.”

  “There’s a gentleman here?” I looked around. “Where?”

  Paul put his arm around my waist and pulled me closer. “You’re looking at him, sweetie bonbon.”

  “Oh, honeycomb caramel bear, how could I have forsaken you? Of course you’re the gentleman caller I’ve dreamed of my whole life.”

  He took a spot of whipped cream from his hot chocolate and dabbed it on my nose. “It’s okay, candy cane gummy tart. I still love you.”

  I swiped the rest of the whipped cream off his drink and rubbed it into his cheek. “I don’t deserve you, peanut brittle sugar lump.”

  “There is something seriously wrong with you two,” Jerome said.

  Paul grabbed a napkin and cleaned up his cheek. “You’re going to pay for that one later.”

  I wrinkled my nose at him. “The whipped cream or the sugar lump nickname?”

  “Both.”

  Ethan cleared his throat, his face twisted in a scowl. “You two could probably use the Waiting for Marriage workshop for real.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Why don’t you lead the way?”

  Mandy giggled, but not her usual bell-like giggle. This one was more nervous and strangled. “Why don’t we all go to Astrid’s workshop? It’s a great way to support her, and we already know we should wait for marriage.”

  “I think that’s a great idea,” I said. “All in favor of supporting Astrid, raise your hand.”

  Everyone at the table, including Astrid, raised their hand. I’d expected Peter to just pick whatever workshop didn’t include Jerome, but his hero worship for Paul far outweighed his fear of his camp bullies.

  After helping the staff clean up the dining room, ticking another half hour off my community service, we followed Astrid like the Pied Piper to one of the log circles out by the lake. Ethan and Mandy shared a log, overlapping their pinkies, and it didn’t even bother me. Which I’d keep telling myself until I believed it. I had to figure out how to deal, and denial seemed like a good place to start. In another life, I could’ve even seen myself as friends with Mandy. She saw the positive in everything, and I could’ve used more positive thinking.

  I waited for Ethan to turn his gaze in our direction, then laid my head on Paul’s shoulder. Playing the part of the good fake boyfriend, Paul put his arm around my waist and let his fingers skim my side, just under the hem of my T-shirt. I gasped as little goose bumps shivered along my skin and the sensations from my dreams last night came flooding back. Paul gave me a smug smile. I’d gotten so distracted, I’d forgotten to check Ethan’s reaction. All this fake-dating was confusing my subconscious, but I was still in control and I needed to stay on task. I scooted an inch away from Paul and he put his arm back at his side.

  Astrid shared her story, how she and a couple of friends would go to the mall and look for kids hanging out by themselves. The ones who looked lost. And she’d give them a place to call home, even if they didn’t think of themselves as Christians to begin with.

  I tilted my head toward Paul. “Is she calling the people she recruited sheep?”

  “No, she’s talking about the good shepherd, how he left his flock to search for the one lost lamb, how that lamb mattered as much to him as the rest.”

  “Oh.” I knotted my fingers together. “So she is calling them sheep.”

  “It’s a parable. When Jesus took a bunch of shit from religious leaders for dining with sinners, it’s how he told them to shove it.”

  “No way.” I leaned back on my hands in the grass. “That Jesus was one cool dude.”

  “Yes, he was.”

  I raised my eyebrows at Paul.

  “Don’t give me that look. I can respect Jesus and still not buy into the whole Son of God thing. If only he could see what some have done in his name.”

  “Not Astrid, though.” I nodded to her. “She dines with sinners.”

  “Yeah. She’s pretty cool too.”

  We listened to the rest of Astrid’s workshop in silence. While I didn’t really agree with the way she picked kids off who were lonely and in need of something—it felt too much like recruiting for a cult—she invited them without demanding they call themselves Christians first. She let them find their faith or not find it. At the end of the day, she welcomed everyone.

  While the rest of the group headed off to get ready for the treasure hunt, I hung back and pulled Astrid aside. “That was really amazing.”

  “Thank you.” She blushed. “I was so nervous. Could you tell?”

  “Not at all. You’re a total pro at this.” I lowered my voice. “Between you and me, your workshop was the first thing here that didn’t put me in a coma.”

  She laughed. “You’re a trip, you know that, right?”

  “What do you mean?” I might’ve revealed a bit too much. Thoughts of being exposed made my stomach churn—Pastor Dean would make me leave, Ethan would know I hadn’t really come here to get closer to the Lord. The humiliation would be more than I could handle.

  “Look, I know you’re not as up on this stuff as the rest of us, and that’s okay. I’ve seen a lot of girls like you come through my youth group.”

  I crossed my arms. “What do you mean by girls like me?”

  “Girls who are looking for something. Girls who are wandering and haven’t found their place yet.” She put her arm around my shoulders. “Maybe you’re grappling with the idea of faith, or maybe you have something else going on, but you obviously came here for a reason. I think we have a responsib
ility to help you find what you lost.”

  I very much doubted she’d agree if she knew what I’d come to retrieve. “You’re not going to say anything to Pastor Dean, are you? About me maybe having fudged how devout I was to get a spot here this summer?”

  “That’s between you and Jesus.”

  Was that a guilt trip? It felt like one of those guilt trips Paul talked about. Not that it would work on me, but if I didn’t already think Jesus could strike me down for a million other infractions, I might’ve been miffed.

  “I’m not saying that in a backhanded way.” Her soothing tone reminded me of warm honey over biscuits. “No judgment here. Your mind may plant your steps, but the Lord will lead your way. That’s Proverbs 16:9.”

  “You sound like Paul.”

  “He’s a good egg.” She gave me the kind of smile that held all the secrets she’d take to her grave. No wonder she’d been able to build her youth group from the ground up. She had a way of gaining trust without being manipulative.

  We walked to the center of camp, where Pastor Dean stood on an outdoor stage, his helmet hair glistening in the afternoon sun. Four glass jars sat on a table before him, one for each school year, filled with the names of all the campers. The freshman and sophomore jars held a lot more scraps of paper than the junior and senior ones.

  After Pastor Dean pulled two names, he’d hand the pair a piece of paper and motion them to follow the others up to the woods. After going through the younger years, only eight of us seniors remained. He pulled Paul’s name first, and I held my breath. A quick stab of disappointment followed when he got paired up with Peter. Who was supposed to help me cheat my way through finding the meaning in Christ’s teachings now?

  Pastor Dean called Ethan’s name, and reached into the jar once more. “Francine Wells. Come on up and get your clue.”

  Chapter 9

  I’d been so preoccupied with getting paired up with Paul, I’d totally forgotten about Ethan. My entire reason for being here. He gave me a shy smile, the kind he’d given me that day I helped him up in the hall, and my heart stuttered.

  I took the clue, written on plain paper dipped in tea to make it look old, and unrolled it. We had to find a rock shaped like a heart. Great. I didn’t have a clue how to relate that to the Bible. Too bad we didn’t get a clue that required us to find two animals, because Noah’s Ark was the only story I knew enough about to fake my way through.

  We joined the others waiting, and Paul came over. “What did you get?”

  “A heart-shaped rock.” I held my paper out to him. “What am I supposed to do?”

  “That’s an easy one. Matthew 6:21: ‘For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.’” When I shook my head, he continued on. “It means if you make God your treasure, your heart will lead you to Heaven.”

  “I think I can fumble my way through that. Thanks.”

  I joined Ethan at our starting point near the edge of the woods, and Pastor Dean blew his whistle. Everyone spread out, crashing through the brush and over trails, looking for the item on their list. These kids took “finding meaning in Christ’s teachings” pretty seriously.

  Ethan led the way into the woods. Today he wore a Camp Three SixTeen T-shirt, which was sadly the best shirt in his wardrobe, but he also wore black socks with sandals. It’s like he couldn’t help but find the worst combination of clothes to string together.

  “How are you fitting in here?” he asked.

  “Fine. Astrid’s workshop was pretty amazing.”

  “I didn’t care for it.” He picked up a lumpy rock and turned it over, rejecting it for not being heart-shaped enough, I guess. “She’s a little too progressive for my taste.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” How could he not like Astrid’s workshop but stay awake through the snoozefest sermon this morning? I didn’t get how his brain was wired.

  “You probably wouldn’t understand, since you’re more the progressive type too.” He made it sound like an insult, which immediately put my back up.

  “She lets anyone join her youth group, and she doesn’t judge them or turn them away if they aren’t perfect Christians. If you think that’s too progressive, I’ve got some really bad news for you about your man Jesus.”

  “My man Jesus, but not yours?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “You know what I mean.” I dug my nails into my palm and turned away from him. I had to be a little more careful with my words.

  We walked farther into the woods, kicking over leaves and picking up various rocks, but none shaped like a heart. And Paul said this was an easy one. A bee landed on Ethan’s arm and he freaked out. Like full-on-flailing, high-pitched-scream freak-out.

  “You okay?” I tried not to let the secondhand embarrassment show on my face.

  “I hate bees.” He shuddered.

  “I got that.”

  Awkward silence.

  This was so uncomfortable. I didn’t even know how to talk to him anymore. We’d had tons of meaningful conversations when we dated. He talked about church a lot, and I nodded and showed my support in the right places. None of my friends talked with their boyfriends about big-picture stuff like religion and God and life. But now that I was trying to make his stuff my stuff too, I had no idea what to say about it all.

  “I bet Jesus loves bees,” I said. “Without them, we’d all starve.”

  “Why do you do that?” The annoyance in his tone made me look around for someone else, even though we’d wandered away from the main group.

  “Do what?”

  “You have to be sarcastic about everything. And you wonder why things didn’t work out between us.” He picked up a heart-shaped rock and slapped it into my palm. “I’ll pray for you, but I think we should stay away from each other.”

  “Hold on.” I grabbed the back of his shirt. “You don’t get to dump something like that on me and walk away. I wasn’t being sarcastic. Bees flower most of the food we eat.”

  Was I really arguing about bees?

  “That’s not the point.” He threw his hands in the air. “I don’t care about the stupid bees.”

  “It sure looked like you cared when that one landed on you.” He was making less sense than the night he’d tried to explain the born-again thing to me. “And what do you mean by ‘you wonder why things didn’t work out between us’?”

  Pity filled his eyes, and I had to look away. I wanted him to see we could work, not to make him feel sorry for me. I didn’t want his sorrys. I’d gotten enough of those the night he ended things.

  “You told me you broke up with me so Jesus could restore your virginal heart.” I handed the rock back to him. I didn’t need this stone heart when I already had one of my own.

  “I did.” The pity in his tone turned to regret, but it felt faker than my devotion to the Lord. “But you have to admit, we probably would’ve broken up anyway.”

  A black cloud of dread hovered over me. “What are you talking about?”

  “You must’ve known too.” He rested a hand on my shoulder, then quickly pulled it away as if I’d burned him. “I belong with someone like Mandy.”

  I didn’t know we’d break up. If I’d known from the start we never would’ve worked, I would’ve saved myself for someone else. Someone who gave a damn.

  “Why did you have sex with me then?” If I had more to give, I might’ve started crying, but he’d taken it all, leaving me to wring out my leftover emotions like a dry sponge.

  “I was enamored with you.” Who even talked like that? “None of the girls I wanted to date would give me the time of day, but then you came along, fun and full of life.”

  And I’d felt all those things when I’d been with him. I could’ve spent hours watching him watch me, just to see the person I didn’t believe I could be reflected back. “What changed? When did you stop seeing me that way?”

  “I still see you that way.” He smiled, but it didn’t touch his eyes. I couldn’t see myself there anymore, no matter how b
ad I wanted to. “But every time I talked about a sermon that got me really excited, I could tell you were bored.”

  “I’m here now. Doing this Jesus thing.” Though I wasn’t sure if it was for him or how he’d made me feel, or where the line between those two points existed. “Did you love me?”

  His nostrils twitched. “That’s a big question.”

  “No. It’s a simple question. Either you did”—I held out one hand—“or you didn’t.” I held out the other hand and weighed them up and down. “Which one is it?”

  “Don’t do this. Don’t make me the bad guy.”

  “How are you not the bad guy?” I shouted. “You told me you loved me, and now it’s pretty obvious you don’t want to say you lied. You took my virginity, knowing full well you had no intention of trying to make our relationship work for the long term. If you’re not the bad guy, then who are you? Because I sure as shit don’t know.”

  We had a lot of differences. Like, a lot. But I’d been willing to see past them, to be who he wanted, but he hadn’t been willing to meet me halfway. He hadn’t even been willing to stop wearing black socks with sandals.

  “I’m done here. You’re being irrational.” He turned around and walked away.

  “Fine. Go.” All my hurt transformed, became something else. Something mean and angry. “But guess what? You’re not a virgin, born-again or otherwise.”

  He glanced back at me.

  “That’s right. I said it. Jesus can’t restore your virginity, because he’s not the one who took it. I am. And I’m keeping it in a box with your dead dog Scout and your father’s approval and all those other things you’re never going to get back.”

  He shook his head, like I was the sad and desperate girl I’d tried so hard to hide. As he disappeared between a thick tangle of trees, I plopped down on a nearby log and rubbed my numb cheeks. I’d not only let the cat out of the bag, I’d flung the bag around before I opened it, releasing all the claws and teeth. This hadn’t been why I’d come here, but all my reasons made less and less sense when I couldn’t find the girl I wanted to be in Ethan. Without that, all I was left with was him, and I found that thought oddly depressing.