by RJ Martin
“Jonah!” Karen Whitten rush-walked with her tray and took the seat beside me.
“You know there’s a poll going around?”
“Another one?”
Karen laughed like I was funny, but I’m not ha-ha humorous. Wait, was she flirting with me?
“Jonah, all the girls are voting on who’s the hottest holy man,” Karen said. “You’re beating Jesus two to one and no one else is even close.”
I had no reply and for a second I think my mouth hung open about a third of the way as my eyes lost the ability to focus. Rather than fight it, I hoped maybe a partial blackout would make her disappear like one of the hags in Macbeth, except Karen was hot.
“So, you’re almost sixteen, I heard,” Karen said.
“Next week,” I rasped. My voice was suddenly dry.
“And you’ll be driving?”
“I already signed up for driver’s ed.” I don’t know why I was sharing this with her. I just liked talking about something normal again. “I have the learner’s permit forms ready to go.”
“That’s an important age.” Karen leaned in a little closer, sharing secrets, but only I really knew what they were. “Changes happen. I mean if they’re going to, they always do when you’re sixteen.”
“What kind of changes?” I spy-talked like Chad because he and Darcy were staring at me from the table where they didn’t save me a seat.
“You know, like powers and stuff.”
“You think I have powers?”
“No, I didn’t mean to offend anybody.” Karen talked to me but also the empty air around me like there was a presence, maybe a guardian angel or something.
“It’s okay.” I used my “what would Jesus do” voice.
“It’s just, you know, sixteen, that’s it. I mean in like every book that’s when it happens.” She was serious and that was scary. “Like if you’re a warlock or supposed to kill vampires.”
“You think I’m supposed to kill vampires?”
“No.” She laughed like I was being silly. And she wasn’t? “Are you?” she asked quietly, uncertain.
I didn’t laugh. Under any other circumstances this would have been a “thigh-slapper” as Grandpa Hank called them. Angie was right. It wasn’t going away. After Mémé’s funeral I wanted it to stop, but that was before Angie left and Rusty never came back. His cell phone was disconnected too. JC was still here. I could’ve set Karen straight right then and there, the perfect time.
“I can’t talk about it,” I told her rather than admit I just betrayed JC with his doppelganger and now he might be playing hardball. “Yet.” I’d let it go on a little longer, at least until I could figure out if JC was behind it or this was all just me.
“Jonah, are you going to junior prom?” Karen asked. I looked past her to Maya and Jana practically gawking at us from a few tables away. Like it was being brave for one of them to ask me out.
“I’m a sophomore.”
“You can go if a junior asks you.” Karen straightened my tie. Dwight Aaron shot me a quick glance as he passed us with his tray but didn’t stop or slow down. That was probably better anyway. He was cooler than most of the others back at the retreat, but I really didn’t know where Dwight came down on all of this hearing voices cyber-chatter and now the blasphemous hottie poll. Also, would he be pissed or relieved Karen was into me now and not him? Karen’s fingers brushed the back of my hand that was clenched around the edge of my tray. Mercy. My prayer’s answer/salvation came to me wearing a navy habit and on the move.
“Hello, Sister.” I jumped up and made it seem like I was saving Karen’s reputation with the principal and not myself. Shakespeare would be proud.
“Jonah, welcome back.” Sister Margo smiled wide so that her lips disappeared. “Is your first day going okay?”
“Yes, Sister.” I made a point of ignoring Karen, hoping she’d go. She turned away from me and pretended to be interested in the dish drop-off.
“Karen, I need to speak with Jonah.” Sister Margo was not subtle. Karen took a moment to figure out she needed to leave. Karen nodded toward me… this wasn’t over… got up and headed back to her friends.
“How is Angelique settling in?” Sister Margo asked, like I was suddenly her chosen, favorite student.
“She loves the weather.” Lying to a nun, a new low. I had no idea how my sister was. She didn’t call me, and I didn’t blame her. At least she was keeping my secret. Mom said Grandma told her Angie was adapting well. I could call too, but what would I say? Maybe once I figured out a few things.
“The boys are coming home next week?” she asked when she already knew the answer.
“We’re very excited.” We; suddenly I was royal.
Jack Marucci must not have seen Sister Margo because he sat on top of a table—a big mistake—and she cut our conversation short.
“Let me know, Jonah, if I can help with anything.”
“Thank you, Sister.”
Sister Margo went back on the move and petite Sister Matilda took her place. They really were like Russian nesting dolls.
“Is everything okay, Jonah?” Sister Matilda peered up at me and smiled more fully than I remember her ever doing.
“Yes, Sister.”
“You would tell me if something happens again?”
“Yes, Sister.” I knew what she meant. Like on retreat, if I had another vision or whatever she thought it was. With someone else I might’ve played dumb. She was old and sweet and I didn’t want to make this any harder for her.
“You knew why you were crying?” she whispered looking so hopefully into my eyes.
“I just knew I was sad.” Okay, this was the going-to-hell lie of all time, but it was for JC, so I guess it was okay.
“Yes.” She nodded and sighed a little so her whiskers swayed.
“I knew someone…”
She looked up, hopefully expectant.
“…someone was dying.”
“I see.” She squeezed my hand and I think might’ve gotten a little misty. “Who told you?” She didn’t let go. Now, both of the NC3 nuns were officially lined up in the believer camp. “Who was it, Jonah?” Old and alone, maybe she saw me as proof everything she believed was real. “Was it an angel? Our lady?” Her voice got as quiet as her breath. “The Lord?”
“Sister,” Sister Margo barked and Matilda followed. Once they were both gone, I didn’t bother to sit down again and just grabbed my tray.
I saw Karen whisper to Jana, Maya, and the whole pretty-girl posse. All had eyes on me, and it wasn’t the old snickering anymore. I was dangerous. The guy in the leather jacket that comes into the café, chooses some random girl, and tells her she’s the one for my vampire, werewolf, merman self.
I slid my pack over one shoulder as I started to walk away. Really, I needed to stop and get coordinated. I didn’t because I wanted to put some room between me and Karen, Chad, Darcy, and the rest of them. Big mistake because the bag started to slide. I couldn’t catch it and not lose the tray. Saint Rita and the garbage cans were just a few more feet. I prayed to make it, but Bart stepped in my path. I swung around to avoid him and the bag slid all the way down my arm. The tray went vertical and my half-eaten plate of macaroni and cheese landed square against Dwight Aaron’s purple sweater.
“Jonah, what the hell, dude?”
“I’m sorry.” I scrambled to stuff my books back in the bag, get my lunch cleaned up, and leave all at once. What if my clumsiness made them doubt me? Would that be a good thing? Why did Bart do that? Where did he go? My brain spun all the time. It just slowed down once in a while so I could function, sort of, like now.
“Bad things happen to me here.” Dwight smiled as he used flimsy paper napkins to scrape the glue-like cheese off his sweater. They shredded and got stuck so it started to look as if a pigeon had crashed into him and exploded. Giving up, he hoisted the sweater over his head, making his shirt ride up, and I got a glimpse of his smooth abs and fuzzy gold hair on his belly and chest.
“I can pay for your sweater,” I said and took another quick look. “You know, if it’s ruined.”
“No worries, Jonah.” Dwight tucked in his shirt and helped me with my bag. Thank JC for something today.
I HAD just got the door to my gym locker open when it swung shut again. I saw Bart move down the row, not look back, or in any way acknowledge me. I turned back to my locker and saw a note was stuck in the steel mesh of the door. Everyone busied themselves by digging out their cups because we were playing floor hockey inside today. The fairly constant rains all weekend had left Coach’s path too muddy and pitted for his moped. Otherwise I don’t think he would’ve cared if we had to slog our way through it. “Builds character.” Jerk. I uncurled the note just enough to read it while I leaned over to pull off my shoe. Stay for detention. I slipped the note into my sock. Stay late; miss the bus for Bart Tack Jr. and no idea why? It would be a real act of faith to do that. Maybe it was a test? In the whale’s guts, nothing could be dismissed.
“JONAH, YOU don’t have detention.” Mr. Strong looked mighty irritated about it too.
“I thought I did.”
“Well, you don’t.”
“I missed the bus.” I looked around and saw Bart was a solo today. He was in detention all this week and next for peeing in the woods on the hike at Our Lady of the Hills. Sister Matilda saw his junk but from a distance, and with her bad eyesight, she was not struck blind. “Hey,” I said like we were buds, badass Bart and I.
“Sup?” He played along. Good, that was a positive sign.
“Jonah, you can’t stay for detention if you don’t have it.”
“We were going to study together.” I looked to Bart. “I’ve been absent a lot.”
“Detention is not a study group.”
“Sorry, I don’t come here very often. I didn’t know.”
“Why do you think you have detention today?”
“I didn’t do my reading for Mrs. Ng.”
“Half the school would be in here every day if you could get it for that.”
“My mom is at the hospital with my brothers, and Dad is at work.”
“I can drive you home.”
“Thanks, Bart.”
“No problem.”
“Get out of here, both of you.” Mr. Strong surrendered.
BART’S TRUCK was flashy but in an accepted Lake Henry way. First, it was a truck and had a logical purpose. It could haul stuff, pull things with its winch, and plow through any kind of weather. Second, it was American made, and third, it was purchased by Big Bart Tack Sr. That meant something to a lot of people in town. Bart drove me straight home. Neither of us said a word, and he didn’t play the radio.
“This is it, right?” Bart stopped at the end of my driveway.
I nodded but waited. “I went to detention.”
“Thanks.” The rain had stopped on the way and Bart finally shut off the wipers when they started scraping across the windshield. The truck was so creepy quiet I could hear him breathing.
“You going to tell me why?”
“Is it true what everybody is saying?”
“Why do you want to know?” I used the same voice I did on Karen and the sisters too. I started imagining that would be how I talked from now on: like I knew the secret but couldn’t tell.
“Can you predict things for other people?” Bart gritted his teeth and a surge of panic coursed through me. I braced my whole body ready for him to attack me. How could I be so stupid to go anywhere with him? “Can you see what’s going to happen to me?”
“You?”
“Well, yeah, but I mean my family.” Bart gripped the steering wheel like his fingers were all that was keeping it from flying through the windshield and sending shattered glass raining down on us.
If Bart Tack Jr. thought I was important, he had the power to make sure everybody did. That cut both ways too because it meant he could also ruin my life. If I tried to come clean with him, Bart could out me as being a fraud now as well as gay. I took a deep breath. “Is this about the woman at the mall?”
Bart’s eyes widened like he’d seen a ghost, and he slid as far away from me as he could and still be in his truck. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely.
“It’s okay.” I raised a hand, palm out. Bart stayed pressed against his door, but he also bowed his head for a blessing.
“What should I do?” He sounded kind of desperate. Someone not used to trouble suddenly was drowning in it. I could relate.
“Talk to your father, Bart.” I reached for my door handle.
“Thanks, Jonah.” He used my first name for the first time ever.
“No worries.” I gave my JC smile and walked up my driveway.
“Is that Bart’s son?” Dad greeted me at the door.
“Yes.”
“So, Bart Jr. and you are friends?”
“Kind of. He just gave me a ride.”
“That’s good to see.” Dad was impressed; I knew because he never was. I wondered what he’d say if he knew what was going on or about Rusty? Thinking about Rusty, even just what telling Dad about him would mean, and I felt like one of my organs had shriveled and died—like there was a hole inside me. I wanted to talk to Rusty so badly but couldn’t. There was no way to reach him. Besides, famous Jace’s son knew where I was if he was ever planning to come back. Maybe he heard from Angie about what was going on with me and decided he’d lost me to JC. Or maybe he just thought I was some kind of closet case nut, and it was all too weird. I would understand because I agreed. Live by sword… shit.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
THE BUDS on the trees weren’t fully opened, but there was more green than gray for a change. Real sun warmed my neck as I rode my bicycle for the first time since October. Until I could get my license—my birthday was now mere hours away—it was the freest mode of transportation available to me. I could get all the way to Holy R to serve a Mass and be home again without needing a ride. NC3 was too far away from my house to be a bikeable commute and with my parents always at the hospital or getting the motel ready for summer, I didn’t get to see JC on weekdays now. We only had Sundays, but I still hoped he’d fill the holes inside me. There was one for Mémé, another for my absent sister, and no matter how hard I tried, Rusty too.
When I got to the church parking lot there were more cars than usual. I convinced myself it was just the Lent crowd that only attended in the weeks leading up to and including Easter Sunday. They’d appear again to sing carols while tipsy on eggnog at midnight Mass each Christmas. I knew from experience because Grandpa Hank was that kind of churchgoer and my dad too, unless I was serving. He wouldn’t be at Mass this morning either, despite not having to work and being home for a change. I think Mémé’s funeral was enough for a while.
THE PARISHIONERS sang the opening hymn accompanied by Mrs. Domber. As usual, she belted too loud for the rest of us to be heard. Maybe because she was trying to hear herself over the organ or she missed being almost famous. Sometimes the crowd would try to shout her down, but she had the acoustic advantage. By the end of many hymns it was just her voice and a lot of folks moving their lips.
Holding the crucifix staff in front of me, I led the procession. It all seemed normal but crowded. Lent, I reminded myself. I took a deep breath, started to calm down, and kept my eyes front as I ascended the altar.
Once the service began, I kept my head down and focused on my tasks: holding the Gospel, receiving the gifts, handing the priest his towel so he could “wash away my iniquities and cleanse me of my sins.” Then he’d be ready to turn wafers and wine into body and blood. Transubstantiation was us Catholics’ leg up on the other Christians. It was kind of like taking JC as a vitamin no one else got.
I was mostly successful at my mission but during Father Dom’s homily about the need to stick together in a difficult financial climate—give money—I started getting the head bobs. Maybe it was the rare morning exercise or just the comfort of being back up here where I belonged.
Anyway I caught myself more than once as my now shaggy hair fell into my eyes. It was a good half inch past my collar too, but there was no one to take me for a haircut. I guess I got a pass on the dress code violation at school because of the reason for it.
I whipped my head just a little to one side to try to shake a few loose strands out of my eyes, and I heard a kind of rock groupie type gasp come from Karen, Maya, and the other Jonah is a hottie crowd. Not surprising, considering I’d crushed JC in the who’s hotter contest two to one. Other girls, whose names I didn’t know but faces I did, were from Lake Henry Regional. Some, but not all of them, had been at Mémé’s funeral too. There were also kids there, girls and guys, I’d never seen before. A couple of them had sweatshirts for a school in Quebec. I’d gone international.
Angie had warned me, but I didn’t take her seriously enough. According to the latest gossip being texted, tweeted, and blogged, the pigeon that got up in my face at Mémé’s funeral was a dove and it tried to kiss not peck me. I didn’t think anyone would believe it, not enough to waste their Sunday morning on skinny, closeted me. Wrong.
Father Dom’s ears reddened, and he spun to see what had caused the commotion. I sat firmly rooted, eyes front and my hair off my face. Once the priest started again, I scanned the pews and saw older faces who weren’t part of the holy season crowd either. Just like with the kids, some of them I’d seen around town and others not. Were they all looking at me? Instantly paranoid, I glanced JC’s way once but didn’t linger. The memory of Ash Wednesday was still too fresh in my mind.
