Me, Just Different

by Stephanie Morrill

  “You really want to go tonight?”

  “Would you rather I not?”

  “No, I’m just surprised. Pleasantly, of course, but surprised.” She picked up her glass of iced tea but held it without drinking. “I can’t remember when you last expressed an interest in youth group activities.”

  I shrugged. “It’s my senior year. I don’t want to miss out on anything.”

  “Since I’m only starting my sophomore year and I have plenty of youth group events in my future, can I skip tonight?” Abbie asked as she poked at the limp green beans on her plate.

  Mom shot Abbie a silencing look and returned her attention to me. “I must say, it’s so nice to have the entire family at church these days.”

  I’d been true to my word and hadn’t missed a Sunday the last four weeks. Just getting dressed for church made me feel better about myself.

  Abbie put on a big, fake smile. “It’s delightful. Can I be excused?”

  Mom blinked at Abbie as if trying to recognize a vaguely familiar face. “Sure.”

  “We leave in fifteen,” I said.

  “Can’t wait,” Abbie called over her shoulder.

  Mom sighed as Abbie thundered up the stairs. “I don’t know what to do with her. You were never like this at her age.”

  Heck, I’d been like her a month ago.

  “She’ll grow out of it.”

  Mom sighed again and pushed away her plate. “This isn’t what I’m in the mood to eat. How about you?”

  These days, Mom served lasagna so often I sometimes gagged at the smell of it. “Well . . .”

  She went to the freezer—a stainless steel Viking delivered Wednesday, despite the other being only a few years old—and pulled out a half gallon of Rocky Road.

  I salivated. “You’re serious?”

  “Before your father and I got married, I never ate a real dinner. I always had cereal or popcorn or something.” She pulled a couple bowls from the cupboard and paused, thoughtful-like. “I miss those days.”

  “Speaking of Dad . . .” Now that I had her attention, I wasn’t sure I wanted it. Mom and I didn’t have real conversations, so why did I think I should bring up her and Dad? But I couldn’t turn back now. “How’s counseling going?”

  Mom dropped my bowl in front of me, and for a moment, I thought she might yell. Mom could be like that, totally fine one minute and furious the next. No matter her mood, you knew the opposite lingered close below the surface, like she contained two different people.

  But she didn’t get mad. “We’re not in counseling anymore,” she said, her voice taking on a weary sound.

  “Oh.” Now even ice cream didn’t sound good. “I thought it was going well.”

  She selected her words with care. “Your father isn’t sure we’re getting enough out of it to make it worth the investment. Counseling is expensive.”

  I wished I hadn’t asked. There are things you’d rather believe about your parents, like they’re happy, even if you know it’s a long shot.

  “I should get ready to go,” I said.

  Mom nodded. It looked as though she might have more to say, but she left it at, “Have a good time tonight.”

  In the car, Abbie seemed particularly moody. She answered my questions about music and air temperature with mild grunts as she stared out the window.

  “Are you still mad at me?” I finally asked.

  “No.”

  “I know what I said at Lance’s might have been hard to hear, but it’s been like four weeks now and—”

  “I don’t care,” Abbie said, loud this time. “Lance broke up with me anyway.”

  “Oh.” I wished for something smart to say, sage advice from the older sister, but I came up empty. “I’m sorry.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Abbie, you guys were together for a long time. It’s rough.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about”—she turned back to the window—“so just leave me alone, okay?”

  I intended to until I glanced at the passenger mirror and caught her restraining tears. When I gave her leg an awkward pat, she sobbed. I returned my hand to the wheel. “Breakups are hard. It’s okay to be upset.”

  “I’m not upset about Lance,” Abbie said, her words strangled with emotion. “I mean, I am, but not really.”

  “Then what’s going on?”

  She looked at me. “You can’t tell anyone.”

  “Of course.”

  “And you can’t be mad at me.”

  I stared at her for a dangerous amount of time, considering I was driving. When she trembled, I knew. “You’re not . . . ?”

  She bit her lip and nodded, then broke into fresh tears. “When I woke up this morning I felt awful. I knew even before I took the test.”

  “Is this why he broke up with you?” I asked, hands tightening on the wheel as if it were Lance’s throat.

  “No. That happened the night you picked me up,” Abbie said with a weak smile. “That’s why I looked so ragged when I came out. I’d been crying.”

  “Why did you let me lecture you? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Abbie shrugged.

  I turned into the church parking lot, my hands moving on their own because my brain contained only Abbie. When I parked, neither of us moved.

  “So. What do you want to do?”

  Abbie turned to me. “About what?”

  “The baby, Abbie,” I snapped.

  Her eyes narrowed. “It’s none of your business, okay? This is my problem and I’ll decide what to do.”

  “Are you . . .”

  “If you’re thinking what I think you are, I’m insulted. I’d never—”

  “No, not that. I meant, are you going to keep the baby or put it up for adoption?”

  “Back off, okay? I haven’t had time to think about it.”

  “I can help—”

  “I don’t want your help.” She wrestled out of her tangled seat belt. “Your job is to keep your mouth shut.” She slammed the car door.

  In the rearview mirror, I watched her stalk across the parking lot, her long, copper ponytail swinging with each angry step. My head, heavy with guilt, fell to the steering wheel. I had driven her to Lance’s knowing exactly what was going on, but as long as she ponied up for gas I hadn’t cared.

  I should pray. “God?” But I didn’t know what to say next. What could I pray for in a situation like this? The baby already existed. Should I pray for how our parents would react? For what Abbie’s life would be like after this?

  I leaned back and wiped my eyes. If only I’d gotten my act together sooner, I might have been able to prevent this. If only she hadn’t followed so closely in my footsteps when it came to partying. If only I could snap my fingers and make this all disappear.

  I spotted Eli’s Land Rover across the parking lot. I needed to head inside before he tired of waiting for me and left.

  Climbing out of my car, I heard a chipper and unwelcome, “Hey.”

  Connor. He leaned against my trunk, casual-like, as if a month of hanging out with my friends made us buddies.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “I saw you sitting in your car. I thought I’d walk in with you.”

  My teeth ground with impatience. “I meant, what are you doing here at my church?”

  “Oh, that. I go here. Didn’t you see me this morning? I waved.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “That’s good. I thought you were ignoring me. It’s nicer that you just didn’t see me.” Connor rocked onto his heels. “You heading in?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So.” He fell into step with me. “You doing okay?”

  “Why?” I asked, cutting my eyes to him. What had he seen?

  He shrugged. “It took you awhile to get out of the car. I thought something might be wrong.”

  “Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine,” I said, punching “fine.”

  “Okay.” Connor left it at that.


  When we walked in, I noticed Abbie first. She sat in a corner of the room, giggling with some friends. She looked young and silly, but I wouldn’t say innocent. She possessed a quality, a maturity, that set her apart from the other girls her age. And I wasn’t the only one who noticed. I often caught our parents watching her with wary eyes. Abbie’s smart mouth, always working faster than her brain, and her untamed rebellious streak were neon signs reading, “Watch out—I could be trouble.”

  And here we were.

  “Here you are,” Eli said, leaning to kiss me. He came out of nowhere, and I reacted by pulling away. His face darkened. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, I—I didn’t realize it was you.”

  “Oh.” He smiled. “Well, then I’m glad you pulled away.” He looked beyond me to Connor. “I didn’t know you went to church here.”

  “My family just started,” Connor said. They shared a complicated handshake the baseball team had developed over the summer. Connor gestured to a guy lurking near the door. “This is my brother Chris. He’s a sophomore.”

  Chris ducked his head, endearingly bashful, unlike his older brother.

  “You’re the same age as Skylar’s sister,” Eli said, pointing across the auditorium. “We’ll introduce you.”

  “Who’s your sister?” Connor asked, scanning the auditorium.

  “There by the stereo. With the reddish hair.”

  “That’s your sister?” Connor said, turning from Abbie to me as if he’d find a resemblance.

  This reaction—a common one—didn’t surprise me, but I never knew how to handle it. My mother was a native Hawaiian, and Dad was some confusing blend of European countries. When people as different looking as my parents had kids, you’d expect a mix of features. Not so with Abbie and me. I inherited everything of Mom’s—her mocha skin, her thick, straight hair, even her cool manner— while Abbie sported Dad’s fair skin and cinnamon eyes. The only things Abbie and I had in common were our last name and petite build.

  I offered Connor the simplest explanation I knew. “I take after our mom, who’s Hawaiian. Abbie looks like our dad.”

  “Babe, your eye makeup is runny,” Eli said out of no- where. Since when did he have pet names for me? “Have you been crying?”

  “No.” I wiped under my eyes with my fingertips. “I just had something in my contact earlier.”

  Before Connor could open his big mouth and tattle about me crying in the car, the youth coaches summoned us deeper into the auditorium. They had us compete in awful activities like playing softball with a balloon between our knees, followed by inner-tube sumo wrestling—their attempt at helping us bond. As I shimmied into the innertube, I couldn’t help questioning how these stupid games could possibly make me into a better person. That’s why I wanted to be at youth group.

  After the games, we split into small groups to share prayer requests. Eli leaned close to me. “You’re quiet tonight.”

  “Am I?” I said. “I don’t know why.”

  “Eli, how can we pray for you this week?” Heather asked before Eli could push me any further.

  Heather Silver had quickly become my favorite youth coach because she didn’t force me to play the third game of the night, mummy wrap relays. (I’d been a decent sport about softball and wrestling, I thought.) Plus she had on a totally cute shirt. When I asked where she got it, dreading that her answer would be some generic store at the mall, she surprised me by saying she’d made it. Usually I bought my clothes at boutique-type places to avoid the embarrassment of showing up to a party wearing the same dress as four other girls, but if I could learn how to make my own clothes . . .

  “Skylar?” Heather smiled at me. “Is there something we can pray about for you?” She pressed her pen to her notebook, prepared to write down whatever words fell from my mouth. Clearly, Heather knew how to pray. Maybe she would even know how to pray for Abbie, but of course I didn’t want to broadcast Abbie’s pregnancy.

  “No,” I said.

  She tipped her head, and I noticed her earrings, silver and wiry. Had she made those too? “Nothing?”

  “Nope.” I offered my most convincing smile.

  “Okay. Connor?”

  As Heather moved on, my conscience nagged at me. Was it like a double sin or something if you didn’t pray and then lied about what you needed prayer for? Or did it even matter if I prayed? If God knew everything, didn’t he know better than I did what I needed? Was it possible to insult him by asking for something wrong?

  I tried easing my mind with this idea, that it might be better if I kept my mouth shut, but after the groups dispersed, I couldn’t keep my eyes from trailing to Heather as she moved about the room helping clean up. I kept seeing her pen pressed to her notepad, waiting for me to share what I needed prayer for. Heather had expertise I needed.

  “You okay?” Eli asked. I realized he’d been talking to me, but I hadn’t heard a word.

  “I’m fine,” I said, pushing past him. “I’ll be right back.”

  I caught Heather in the midst of a conversation with another youth coach. She stopped and smiled at me. “Hey, Skylar.”

  “Could I talk to you in private?” I asked with a nervous glance at the other adult.

  “Sure,” Heather said and tossed the trash she’d collected. She took in the chaotic room. “How about back in the offices?”

  I followed her through doors I hadn’t previously noticed. Back here, with the cubicles and fake greenery, we could have been at my dad’s office rather than church.

  “What’s on your mind?” Heather asked, leaning against the copier.

  I caught myself fidgeting with the ends of my braids, and stuffed my hands into the pockets of my Bermuda shorts. “If I ask you to pray about something, it’s in confidence, right? You don’t, like, have to report it to Max or anything?”

  Heather’s forehead creased. “It depends. If it involves drugs, alcohol, abuse, or any other illegal activities, I’m obligated to pass it on. Otherwise, whatever you say to me stays between us.”

  I chewed on my lip for a moment. “Well, earlier when I said there wasn’t anything I need prayer for, I wasn’t being entirely truthful.”

  Heather nodded but didn’t say anything.

  “The thing is, there’s a lot going on in my life right now, but none of it is really stuff I’m doing. It’s family stuff.”

  “You can be as specific or vague as you’d like, Skylar.”

  I tried to work it out in my head first, general words suggesting there was “something” going on with my sister and my parents weren’t really in the “position” to cope. Finally, I blurted, “Abbie’s pregnant, and I don’t think my parents’ marriage is strong enough to handle it.”

  Heather tried hard to mask her surprise, but still it leaked through her eyes. “Oh. I . . .” She shook her head and tried again. “I’ll certainly be praying for you and your family.”

  “Should I not have told you?” I asked as her stunned expression remained. “I’m kinda new to this religious stuff.”

  “It’s fine to tell me.” She offered a nice smile. “That’s what I’m here for.”

  I released a breath of relief. “Okay, good. It just seemed like something that needed to be prayed about, but I don’t know how to yet, and you clearly know what you’re doing.”

  Heather chuckled. “I don’t know if any of us ever feels like we know what we’re doing when it comes to prayer.” She scrawled something on a scrap of copier paper. “The only way to really screw up praying is by not doing it.” She handed the paper to me. “This is my cell, and it’s on all the time. Feel free to call whenever.”

  “Really?” I wouldn’t want even my closest friends interrupting my sleep.

  “Sure. I might not be too coherent if you call at three in the morning, but you’re welcome to give it a try.”

  “I really appreciate this.” My eyes tickled with tears and I trained my gaze on the floor.

  Heather looked about to s
ay something else, but the office door swung open and Max entered, a packet of paper in one hand. He smiled. “Hello, ladies. Connor still back here?”

  My heart beat so loud, it seemed to thump in my head rather than my chest.

  “I’m right here.” Connor peeked out from one of the nearby cubicles, the one with Max’s name stuck on the wall. The pitch of his voice rose, and he avoided eye contact. He’d heard the whole thing.

  “Sorry it took me so long.” Max handed the packet to Connor with a jovial slap on the back. “Tell your dad he’s welcome to fax or email this into the office.”

  “I will.” Connor clicked his gaze to me.

  “I have to go,” I think I said. “Thanks, Heather.”

  “Skylar,” Connor said, but I ignored him and pushed through the doors into the auditorium.

  “Skylar,” he said again, this time on my heels. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what to do, I—”

  “You could have spoken up.” I whirled to face him and he bumped into me. “You shouldn’t have just sat there eavesdropping.”

  Connor took a step back. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  “I’ll ruin you if you tell anyone. I mean it.”

  “I won’t tell anyone.”

  “Not even Jodi. Swear to me,” I said, my finger in his face.

  He swallowed. “I promise.”

  “Good,” I said. “And stay away from me.”

  With that, I turned and stalked away. Wasn’t it enough Connor had somehow weaseled his way into Jodi’s heart? I’d spent these last four weeks listening to her gush about their most recent date, and as if that wasn’t enough, now he’d involved himself in my home life.

  I found Abbie camped out by the exit door, arms over her chest and face cross. “Where have you been?” She noticed my face. “You look angry.”

  “Nothing important.” Which was true, because my anger was about Connor.

  I jabbed at the door, hoping for cool, fresh air. Instead, I got a lungful of pre-thunderstorm stickiness. This wasn’t my night.

  “Who’s that?” Abbie asked, spotting a tall woman hovering around my car.

  I squinted. “I have no idea.”

  The woman smiled as Abbie and I approached. “Is this your car?”