Have a Little Faith in Me

by Sonia Hartl

“No one is around. You don’t have to pretend to be my boyfriend.”

  “I know.” He dropped my hand. “Race you to the lake?”

  He took off before I could even get a start. “No fair—your legs are longer than mine and you’re not wearing a muumuu.”

  My flip-flops smacked against the rocky path as I fought to catch up with him. He had a good hundred yards on me before the tree line opened up and the lake stretched out before us. I hunched over, trying to catch my breath before we joined the rest of the camp.

  Paul jogged back to check on me. “That was pathetic. You used to be able to keep at least twenty yards between us.”

  I shoved him hard and he fell over in the grass. “Now you’re on.”

  Before he could get back up, I dashed toward the lake. The soft, imported sand sank between my toes, and the first rush of the lake numbed my feet. Water splashed around me as Paul picked me up from my waist and spun me around.

  “You cheater.”

  “I totally won.” I hooked my leg around his, bringing us both crashing into the water. We surfaced, half choking, half laughing. “You’re just mad because you didn’t think of it first.”

  “That’s the last freebie you get.” He splashed me again before helping me up.

  I held his arm and looked around for the first time at everyone else. Girls played chicken with boys in the deep end. A small girl went flying into the water as someone else jumped onto the opposite side of the Blob. Girls lay out on towels in the sun. All of them wearing very normal, very modern one-piece swimsuits. I was the only one who looked like the cover model for Amish Illustrated.

  “I don’t think I want to swim anymore,” I said.

  “Is everything okay?” He walked with me out of the water, stopping at the edge. “Don’t feel embarrassed. I’m sure you’re not the first who’s had to wear the swimsuit of shame.”

  “No, I’m fine. I’m going to go change and read for a little while before dinner.”

  I left Paul at the lake, waving to Sarina as I headed back to our cabin. She didn’t give my swimsuit a second look, and I had to give her credit for keeping a straight face. Or maybe she’d seen plenty of them over her years at camp.

  After hanging up both my bikini and the borrowed suit, I lay down and grabbed one of my books, but I couldn’t get into it. Too many thoughts buzzed around my mind: about Ethan and all the judgment, not knowing how to act, and second-guessing every word that came out of my mouth.

  At least my cabinmates were cool. I owed Sarina a debt of gratitude for the eye makeup tutorial alone. Astrid was pretty awesome, even with all her Jesus talk. Mandy never treated me like I didn’t belong, even though I clearly didn’t.

  And then there was Paul. God, if word got out back home we’d fake-dated, I’d be fielding questions for weeks. A lot of people assumed we’d couple up eventually, but I was the type who’d study all week for an exam, complete with color-coded index cards and a rewards system, while Paul slept with his books under his pillow and hoped for the best. He was too flippant and I was too determined once I set my mind to something. We’d be a disaster together.

  Though pushing the boundaries of our fake relationship in front of the counselor had been fun. Paul would probably make a joke of it later on.

  Maybe I’d have a clearer idea of what I wanted after the testimonial bonfire. Astrid talked about it like it was the highlight of the summer. Paul seemed a little more wary, but he was wary of everything around here. At least it promised to be entertaining. Whenever someone brought it up, they did so with a kind of buzz.

  Like a wasp’s nest waiting to be broken open.

  Chapter 11

  Paul came around the corner after his kitchen duty shift, and I sat up a little straighter. He had on an obscure band shirt rolled up to the sleeves, plaid shorts, and red Converse. The closer he got, the more my heart sped up. So weird. I wiped my damp palms on my shorts.

  “Ready for lunch?” he asked. “I’m starving, and I have it on good authority they have Muenster cheese on the block today.”

  “Seriously?” I jumped to my feet. “That’s almost as orgasmic as Brie.”

  He shook his head. “You really need to get out more.”

  We walked along the path toward the dining hall, waving to a group of juniors we recognized who were hanging out on a grassy hill while a guy who must’ve been the coolest dude at Jesus camp strummed his guitar and sang some song I’d never heard before. Another group of girls made flower crowns from Queen Anne’s lace. Everyone looked so relaxed.

  “Do you think they’re happy?” I asked. “Like, genuinely happy, not hopped-up on Pastor Dean’s Purplesaurus Rex.”

  “Maybe?” Paul walked on for a bit. “I used to think I was happy.”

  “Isn’t thinking you’re happy and being happy the same thing? Isn’t it just a feeling? If you think you are, then you must be.”

  “Slow down. Aristotle Camp is five miles down the road.”

  “There’s an Aristotle Camp?”

  “Yep. It’s right next to Camp Gullible.”

  “You are hilarious.” We entered the dining hall and grabbed our trays. “What made you think you weren’t really happy? After the fact, I mean.”

  “Because none of this is real. It’s all carefully crafted and staged for maximum emotion.” A sign above the apples said to take one. He grabbed one and put another on my tray so he could have two. “Take the testimony bonfire, for example. It’s dark, people are hearing all these wild stories, and they think it’s safe for them to expose themselves. But anything they share will be used against them.”

  “How so? Like a weapon?”

  “Peter told me he shared his testimonial last year about being addicted to pornographic images. Not even real porn, just half-naked girls. A few days later they searched his room and found that motorcycle girl picture under his bed.”

  “That’s entrapment,” I said.

  “They said it was for the well-being and safety of the other campers. And while I find his constant hogging of the bathroom to jack off annoying, who is he hurting? No one.”

  “That is way more information than I needed to know, thanks.”

  “Vanilla pudding?” the lunch helper asked, and I gagged.

  Paul took it and dipped his finger in, making a big show of licking it off.

  “You’re disgusting,” I said.

  We took our trays to the table, where only Jerome and Sarina sat. Sarina reached for the salt, bumping Jerome’s arm and then quickly pulling it away again. The two of them muttered apologies to each other and went back to eating in silence. I motioned at them as I looked at Paul, who shrugged and stuffed half his sub into his mouth.

  “So,” I said between bites of the best Muenster cheese ever, “what’s going on with you two? You’re being extra strange and polite around each other.”

  “Nothing,” Sarina said, but she wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  Jerome picked up his tray. “I’m going to eat outside. Nice day and all.”

  Once he left, I turned back to Sarina. “Okay, what’s really going on?”

  She looked at Paul and then back at me, shaking her head. He stopped mid-bite and stood with his food. “I’m, uh, going to eat outside too. Nice day.”

  She watched Paul walk out of the hall and then she leaned forward, keeping her voice to a whisper. “We snuck out last night, me and Mandy, and met up with the boys.”

  “That’s not a secret. Get to the good part.”

  “Ethan and Mandy went off on their own, like we knew they would, and I thought maybe it would be a good time to pick up where Jerome and I left off last summer.”

  I took another bite of cheese. “This is still not the good part.”

  “We start kissing and stuff, and I’m thinking that’s all we’re going to do, but then he grabs my hand and he moves it you-know-where.”

  “I don’t.” My eyes widened, the picture of innocence. “Tell me.”

  “His …” She n
odded her head toward her lap. “His you know. His penis.”

  “His what?” I held a hand to my ear. “I didn’t catch that.”

  “Penis!” she shouted, drawing the attention of the next table. As I tightened my lips to hold back the laugh, she turned to me, her face bright red. “You did that on purpose.”

  “Absolutely.” I reached my hand across the table to grab hers. “But if you can’t even say it, then you probably shouldn’t be touching it.”

  “Right?” She breathed out a deep sigh, like I’d gotten her on some fundamental level. “I’d never touched one or even seen one. I panicked.”

  Now we’d gotten to the good part. “What did you do?”

  “I pulled it. Really hard. I thought it was supposed to be like milking a cow, like that’s what you had to do to force the stuff to come out.”

  “Oh no.” Tears pricked the corners of my eyes from the force of trying to keep my face straight. “What happened after that?”

  “He doubled over, fell on his knees, and I think he was crying. I’m not sure. I got scared. So I left him in the woods, with his pants around his ankles, holding his you-know-what.”

  “Hold on. I need a minute.” I turned around so she wouldn’t see me bite down on my fist to keep from losing it. When I faced her again, I hoped I looked somewhat serious. “And he’s still talking to you? That’s a good sign, right?”

  “I guess.” She buried her face in her hands. “But every time I see him, all I can think about is the way he screamed after I pulled on his you-know-what.”

  “Do you want to try it again with him, or no?”

  “I don’t think he’d let me near that area again, but if he did, maybe? I’m not sure if I really want to touch it again, or if I just want to try it again to show him I can without hurting him. Like a do-over.”

  “Now that, I understand.” I still wondered if I’d been terrible at sex. I sort of froze up during the whole thing, and didn’t really like it, but when it was done, I still wanted to try it again to see if I could erase the previous experience.

  I’d never said any of that out loud though, not past the very brief non-details I gave Paul. People here were so honest, so open about the things they feared and when they screwed up. It was a refreshing break from normal life, where everyone tried to act like they had their shit together while hoping no one would see what a mess they were inside.

  Sarina and I finished our lunches and helped with cleanup duty before going to the next workshop. A girls-only workshop. Astrid and Mandy met us at the door, and I chatted with Astrid about how her follow-up workshops had been going. Her baby-doll face came alive as she talked about the plans other people had shared to expand their own youth groups. In her mind, she’d done good by Jesus, and maybe she had. At least she’d helped a few more Christians realize what they could accomplish if they actually practiced what they preached.

  “Settle down, girls.” The counselor with the blunt bangs who’d made me change my swimsuit stood at the front of the room. “For those who don’t know me, my name is Priscilla, and this is my fourth year as a counselor here at Camp Three SixTeen.”

  The group clapped, but I kept my hands in my lap. She hadn’t made a great impression the first time we met, and I shuddered to think of what she’d do in a girls-only workshop.

  “In this workshop, we’re going to talk about personal responsibility,” Priscilla said.

  After all the crap guys had put me through, that did not sit well with me.

  “As girls, we have a responsibility to honor God in all things we do. This includes who we date, what media we consume, and what we choose to wear.” Priscilla looked directly at me and my face flamed.

  Mandy tugged on her shorts, as if she could stretch them down to her knees. “She’s looking at me.”

  “No, she’s looking at me,” I said. “We had a run-in yesterday.”

  “Have you ever heard the phrase ‘dress for the job you want to have’?” Priscilla paused and looked around the room, giving all the girls a chance to nod along. “The same applies to dating. Dress like you want to be seduced, and you will attract the kind of guy who will only try to seduce you, who won’t value your heart or your mind.”

  Several of the girls around me got out their notebooks and jotted that down, and all the blood inside me boiled. How dare she? These girls were so open and receptive. They took everything to heart and didn’t deserve to internalize this nonsense just because Christians couldn’t bother to keep their asshole boys in line. Paul told me I shouldn’t speak up at these things, but I couldn’t just sit there and do nothing.

  “Excuse me.” I stood and every head in the room swiveled in my direction. The lights suddenly burned ten times brighter. “Hi. Hello there. Are you saying girls are to blame for the terrible way boys treat them? If this workshop is really about personal responsibility, where is the responsibility for the boys not to be douchebags?”

  Sarina gasped beside me, while Astrid gave one of her secretive smiles. I was sure she found this whole thing fascinating. Mandy tugged on my hand, trying to get me to sit back down, but it was too late.

  “The boys have their own workshop going right now.” Priscilla peered down at me, even though I had three inches on her and I was at the back of the room.

  “Pastor Dean gave a sermon about garbage in and garbage out, right? Well, I’m calling this workshop garbage.” No one met my eyes, except Astrid. “Girls aren’t seduced for what they wear. How do you explain sexual harassment? Or child molesters? Or rape?”

  One of the younger girls in the front row covered her ears. Priscilla rubbed her shoulder and glared at me. “Actually, the Bible says—”

  “Don’t even think about it.” I bared my teeth. “If you apologize for rapists or even breathe a word about what girls wear or how much they have to drink, so help me God, I will make you shut your mouth.”

  “CeCe, no.” Mandy grabbed my hand harder. “No threats.”

  “It’s fine,” Priscilla said to Mandy. “I’m not feeling threatened. I realize this is a sensitive topic and not everyone is ready for these lessons. I’ll apologize.”

  “That’s not an apology,” Astrid said. Now it was my turn to gape. “You basically said CeCe wasn’t evolved enough in the Bible’s teachings to comprehend, which is not only offensive, but your lesson is wrong. And I have Scripture to back me up.”

  “I’m well versed in Scripture.” Priscilla smirked. “Timothy 2:9—”

  “What does Timothy say about wearing pearls?” asked Astrid. I had no clue what Timothy thought about pearls, but from the look on Priscilla’s face, it couldn’t be good. Point, set, match. “I’m not saying girls should run around naked, but calling this workshop Personal Responsibility is in poor taste.”

  “Okay. This is a good conversation. One better saved for another time.” Priscilla clutched her necklace with white fingers. “I’ll apologize again. Let me change the subject. Let’s instead address flirting. How suggestive glances and unnecessary touches on the arms or shoulders of boys can lead them to think you want more. While it might feel good in the moment—”

  “This isn’t a different subject,” I said. “It’s the exact same bullshit message.”

  Priscilla wrung her hands.

  “That’s all the confirmation I need.” I picked up my notebook. “I’m out.”

  “I’m out too.” Astrid grabbed her things and followed me to the door.

  “Wait for me.” Sarina jumped up and turned around, motioning to Mandy.

  Mandy chewed on her lip as she looked between us and Priscilla. I doubted she’d ever put a foot out of line in her entire life, but I couldn’t wait all day. After a few seconds I pushed open the door and walked into the bright sunlight.

  “We just walked out of a workshop. Oh my God. Sorry, God.” Sarina fisted her hands under her chin. “We’re going to be punished. They’ll call our parents.”

  “It’s fine.” Astrid put a hand on her shoulder and le
veled her gaze. “The workshops are voluntary. If we miss devotions, that’s another story.”

  “Okay.” Sarina took several deep breaths. “I’m okay.”

  “I’m here.” Mandy burst out of the building, the sun streaming through her golden hair.

  “Took you long enough,” Astrid said.

  “It’s not that I didn’t want to go.” Mandy’s full bottom lip stuck out. “I’ve never bailed on a workshop before, even the really boring ones. CeCe, you were so brave. I knew what she said felt wrong, but wow. I had no idea how to vocalize it.”

  I blushed, something I’d been doing a lot lately. Maybe I was becoming more of a Christian girl than I thought. “The win should go to Astrid for her excellent use of Scripture to beat back the hypocrites.”

  She took a bow as we all gave her a round of classy golf clapping.

  “Looks like we have the rest of the afternoon off before dinner,” Sarina said. “What should we do? Go to the lake?”

  “No, thanks.” I wouldn’t be going back to the lake for the rest of my time here. Not if I had to wear the slut-shaming bathing suit. “Why don’t we grab some chips from the kitchen, go back to our cabin, and you can tell Astrid and Mandy about how you tried to milk Jerome?”

  Sarina moaned. “I’d rather go back to Priscilla’s awful workshop.”

  “Not a chance.” Astrid hooked her arm through Sarina’s. “I’m going to need to hear this.”

  “Me too,” said Mandy. “How does one go about milking a guy? Did you grab his nipples and squeeze them?”

  “Not his nipples,” Sarina said in a small voice.

  “Then what did you—oh.” Mandy’s face froze. “Oh no.”

  “Sarina!” Astrid laughed so loud, it echoed across the quiet camp.

  “I didn’t know what to do with it. It’s not like they come with an instruction manual.”

  I snorted until I couldn’t hold it in anymore. Beside me, Mandy laughed until she doubled over, holding her stomach, while Sarina watched us all with her hands on her hips.

  “I’m glad my misery is bringing you all so much amusement.” She sniffed before cracking a smile. “I guess it’s kind of funny.”