Learning to Soar (White Dove Book 3)

by Maya William

  “Well,” my voice comes out high-pitched, “that’s not the problem. When Darcy and I discussed costume ideas in the cafeteria, uhm, a…” I take a deep breath. “A girl from the ballet class noticed our list of costume ideas and invited herself to the party.”

  I dare to glance at the group. They all still look relaxed.

  “We don’t mind an extra guest, Samantha; we can easily accommodate her,” Joy answers, smiling.

  Yeah, her smile won’t last for long.

  “The issue is…would you be able to accommodate, like…seventy, or eighty more guests?” I bite my lip and wrap my arms around my stomach.

  “What?” Kellan shouts, taking me completely by surprise. I expected that kind of reaction from Abigail, or even Zach, but not from him. “Seventy? How on earth—”

  Barb raises her hand, closing it into a fist, which immediately makes Kellan go quiet.

  “Samantha, darling…um…” For once, Barb’s lost for words. “Ten wouldn’t be a problem, but…”

  Come on, Samantha. You need to tell them the rest.

  “I worked together with Darcy, Bennedick, and Legolas. We estimate that number will rise in the following days, since word about the party got around. At first, we thought it would only be the juniors, but Potter told the freshmen, which means it would apply to the—”

  Archie’s hand flies to his forehead. “That’s what he meant! Stupid me. ‘See you on Friday.’” He shakes his head as if the meaning was obvious.

  “—it will spread to the other levels as well.” I ignore Archie’s interruption, not wanting to get sidetracked.

  Abigail’s mouth opens as if she wants to ask a question; however, no words escape.

  It seems I managed to leave Abigail speechless as well. Well, that’s never happened before.

  “The party needs to be canceled, then,” Lyra states. “We can’t accommodate so many people. They would destroy the backyard and the house. Not to mention, we’d be breaking chapters two and three of the Homeowner’s Association list of rules.”

  When my gaze falls on Joy, my heart breaks at seeing her watering eyes. She was looking forward to this party, and I ruined it.

  Is Barb biting her nails? Oh, Big Guy, I’m going straight to hell, aren’t I? I just broke Barb and Joy.

  “We could ask our neighbor, Mrs. Donahue, if we can borrow her backyard, take the fence down, and double up the garden space,” Archie suggests.

  Immediately, several heads shake.

  “She might accommodate a lot of our requests, but her flower garden is sacred,” Oliver replies. “Even if she allowed it, we wouldn’t be able to fit half the school there, and we’d still have to deal with the Homeowner’s Association.”

  For a moment, everybody remains quiet, and my stomach clenches tighter with every passing second.

  “We could change the date, spread the rumor the party got canceled, and push it one week back,” Abigail offers.

  Zach shakes his head. “Samuel would be gone already.”

  My heart falls.

  Stay focused. Right now, the problem is Joy’s party. There’s nothing I can do about Samuel leaving, even if I tried.

  After another round of ideas, my attention turns to replaying the moment Portia invited herself to the party.

  Stupid, Samantha, why didn’t I tell her she couldn’t come?

  Samuel’s voice brings me back to the present.

  “Do we know who shared the information about the party?” he asks. “Samantha didn’t purposely invite all of them,” he adds, looking at me.

  “The girls who invited themselves to the party extended the invitation to other members of their group. They invited other people, and so on.” I sigh.

  “Who’s this girl we’re talking about?” Abigail narrows her eyes.

  A part of me wants to say that I’m not naming names, but Portia’s rudeness makes me blurt hers out. “Portia. And Anya was the other one who invited herself.”

  A sinking sensation hits me, until I remember my allegiance should be to my family and my real friends, not to a “pretend friend,” as Darcy kindly put it.

  Father Gomez walks in, dressed all in black with the characteristic white collar around his neck.

  As if the rest saw the Big Guy’s Archenemy, they immediately stand, go to the middle of the living room, and get in formation, reminding me of what they did during Oliver’s strange group exercises.

  Interestingly, this time, Oliver joins the formation.

  They stand like soldiers with their hands behind their backs and their eyes forward. They’re not looking at Father Gomez, but at the staircase.

  The line opens, allowing me to join the group, which I quickly do. However, my eyes go to Father Gomez, and he meets them with a smile.

  “You don’t need to do that,” he says kindly.

  I relax my stance, but the rest keep theirs.

  Father Gomez looks at me and rolls his eyes before turning his gaze to the rest of the group. “I’m not Mr. Alcott, so please, at ease.”

  They slowly put their hands at their sides, but they still keep the formation.

  “Samantha, it smells wonderful. What did you cook for us today?” he asks casually.

  “Roast beef with mustard custard, smashed potatoes, and steamed vegetables,” I proudly reply. “Thank you for joining us for dinner, Father Gomez.”

  In my peripheral vision, I notice every head turning toward me.

  I don’t dare to acknowledge them, since I’m getting the sense they didn’t expect Father Gomez to join us for our Wednesday dinner.

  “Sounds amazing,” he answers with a happy glint in his eyes.

  “Everything is ready to be served. If you can all please go and wash your hands while I bring everything to the table.” I turn on my heel and walk to the kitchen, but no one moves.

  “Well, chop, chop. You heard the dove. Go and wash your hands.” Father Gomez claps his hands several times.

  They quickly break formation.

  The priest follows me into the kitchen. “Next time, you should give them a fair warning about me coming over for dinner.”

  His eyes move to the vegetables, his hand inching toward one of the carrots.

  “Father Gomez, a nun was my mentor in the kitchen, and she was fond of slapping little thieves with a wooden spoon,” I warn him, remembering Sister Josie while my hand slowly moves toward the so-called kitchen weapon. “Her list wasn’t limited to students, teachers, or people working for the Lord. Consider yourself warned.”

  His head turns, and he looks at my hand.

  Yeah, Father Gomez, you might be a priest, but the wooden spoon has no mercy and doesn’t recognize titles.

  He laughs loudly at my threat, backing his hand away from the vegetables. “They taught you well, Little Dove.”

  The rest quickly join us at the table, Samuel being the last to arrive. He changed out of his dance outfit, and his hair is combed back, the tips glistening with water as if he just showered.

  Everyone sits in their usual spots except Archie, who quickly asks Joy if he can change places with her. She rolls her eyes but accepts without argument.

  “You won’t be struck by lightning if you sit near me,” Father Gomez tells him, shaking his head.

  “If you can’t prove that, then I don’t want to risk it, Father. Better to take all possible precautions.” Archie pulls his chair up to the table and sits. “Although, I’m certain you’re not that heavenly.”

  Father Gomez laughs. “And you’re not that devilish, either.”

  “I’m devilishly handsome, Father. That should be proof enough.” Archie winks at me. “Wouldn’t you agree, Samantha?”

  My face warms up, and I know I’m blushing bright red, making the rest of the table laugh.

  “Father, would you be so kind as to lead grace for us today?” I ask in haste, trying to change the subject.

  “Of course, Little Dove,” he says, and immediately begins praying.

  Th
e Sheep

  After my confession to my family, my stomach is so jumpy I hardly eat dinner. Samuel constantly eyes me and passes food in my direction, but I only take a small portion from the bowl, then pass it to Father Gomez, who gladly accepts the bowl and fills his plate.

  The conversation moves to different topics, such as small renovations to the church and the adjoined building, which turns out to be a recreation center where Father Gomez plans activities and classes for the community.

  He tells us about the idea of making an Altar of Muertos, a Mexican tradition for El día de Muertos on November second, which will be displayed the following week in the center. He explains the great amount of support he received from people of different ages, from the kids creatively decorating their calaveras to add to the altar, to seniors helping to create paper flowers of Cempasuchil, which is a Mexican version of a marigold.

  “The Latin community loved your mother’s idea”—he focuses his attention on Samuel, who freezes in place—“and the locals have embraced it.”

  The excitement in his voice makes me smile.

  “And wait till you hear what I planned for Christmas.” The glint in his eyes is contagious. “A Pastorela.”

  He turns to each of us, a wide grin on his lips.

  “Uhm… Father, what’s a Pastorela?” Barb asks with genuine interest.

  “It’s a play where they usually use humor to explain the whole process from the Annunciation where the archangel Gabriel informed Mary about God’s will, up to the point where Jesus is born.

  “Usually, the shepherds and the wise men are the main characters. The story follows them traveling on their way to visit Mary, Joseph, and Baby Jesus, while the demons try to dissuade them from their purpose,” he explains, excited. “I already spoke with one of our local Catholic schools. They agreed to perform it at the recreation center.”

  “Wow! It sounds amazing. Congratulations, Father,” Zach says politely.

  “But here comes the best part.” Some faces tense at his words. “I need your help with it.” He wiggles his eyebrows at Oliver.

  The rest of the group eyes each other, as if silently trying to communicate with one another.

  “How can we help you, Father?” Oliver finally asks with a certain lack of conviction.

  “Well, I need to build scenery to use in the play, and I know how talented, goodhearted, and hard-working all of you are. With your help, we can create a fantastic stage.”

  They all look at each other again, silently consulting.

  “Count me in, Father. Whatever help you need,” I answer immediately.

  “We’ll do the work,” Archie replies with a cocky smile. “But you need to provide the tools and materials.”

  “Archibald!” Lyra glares at him. “We’d be happy to assist you. I’m sure we can find a way to earn money for supplies.”

  Father Gomez laughs. “An opportunity came up, which also requires your help.” He pushes his plate to one side and clasps his hands on top of the table. “It has come to my attention that you need a big venue for an event this Friday.”

  He then turns to Joy and raises his eyebrows.

  Everybody stays quiet.

  “I’d be thrilled if you used the recreation center for the hummingbird’s party,” he explains.

  Could this be the answer to my prayers? Big Guy, are you helping us out?

  “As the majority of you know, it can host large events and fundraisers.” One corner of his lip quirks up.

  “Father, you need to understand the kind of risk this represents.” Oliver puts his hand up to stop him from speaking. “This event will involve at least one hundred teenagers.”

  Father Gomez intertwines his fingers and nods. “That was my understanding.”

  “This isn’t a good idea.” Zach shakes his head, with a warning tone in his voice. “If I recall correctly, last time there was a big event like this, it only took eight of them to practically destroy the church. Remember, Father?”

  “According to those teenagers, it was an accident.” He eyes all of them. “And this is a different situation. This time, there’s no tree and no auction. We’d be clear of any threat to the church.”

  “Something else could happen that doesn’t involve those specific items,” Abigail points out.

  “And a tornado might come and destroy everything.” He leans back in his chair. “Look, kids, I already made sure to take preventive measures to avoid any inconveniences. To make things easier, I’ll also provide security, the cleaning team, and the cashier for the event. All right?”

  “Cashier?” Lyra and Kellan ask at the same time, eyes wide.

  “Well, yeah. The kids can crash the birthday party as long as they pay their entrance fee. Therefore, the more, the merrier.” He chuckles.

  What? He plans to earn money from this disaster? Either he’s a genius or he should’ve gone into banking.

  “Let’s call it a win-win situation. You get to celebrate Joy’s birthday; I get to provide a day’s worth of work to people who need it, and charging an entrance fee will gain me the funds and the workers to build a stage for the little kids,” he simplifies.

  Joy raises her hand, and Father Gomez motions for her to speak. “We can’t guarantee the number, Father. It might be twenty or over a hundred.”

  He shrugs. “It’s a costume party with no teachers, great music to dance to, and time to socialize outside of school. That makes it an extremely enticing gathering for teenagers. Otherwise, people wouldn’t be crashing this party,” he answers. “What the attendees don’t know is there will be chaperones, the drinks will be controlled by us to avoid the kids adding some ‘special’ ingredient, and I’ll put security in every single corner of the recreation center and obviously outside.”

  Everyone’s mouth hangs open.

  “In fact, if you don’t accept my offer, I might as well organize my own costume party.” He lifts his hands and places them behind his neck. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of that before.”

  “Aren’t you against Halloween?” Archie asks flat out.

  “Whoa!” He raises his hands, palms outward. “I never called the event a Halloween party. I’ve referred to it as a birthday party or a costume party. Do you accept my proposal?”

  “Hell, yeah!” Barb answers, earning a frown from Father Gomez.

  The rest laugh at her excitement.

  “Baby, we need to consider our budget,” Kellan immediately jumps in.

  “We can hike the price Father Gomez planned on charging by two dollars to cover the cost of drinks and the extra tables and chairs if needed. I’ll cancel the tent and the dance floor. Zach, are you still up for being the DJ?” Barb asks.

  “Of course! But we’ll need extra speakers,” he warns.

  Archie snaps his fingers. “Done! I know a guy who can help us and won’t charge a dime.”

  “We need to print some flyers and distribute them at school to inform everybody about the change of venue,” Lyra adds. “And Mrs. Donahue can babysit the house for us in case somebody shows up and redirect them to the recreation center.”

  The excitement spreads, everybody providing ideas to make the party a success while still making a profit and keeping expenses inside the budget. Lyra takes out her laptop and creates a spreadsheet so she can list everything and calculate how much this will cost.

  Abigail remains quiet the whole time, smiling at Joy and Barb as they dismiss or accept ideas. Father Gomez even jumps into the conversation, stopping them from going too crazy—or sometimes encouraging them.

  “Let me clear the table.” I stand, not wanting to interrupt them.

  “No, you cooked dinner. We’ll do that.” Oliver stacks up the dishes nearest to him.

  “All right, then I’ll go and get dessert.” I move toward the kitchen. “Those who want chocolate and vanilla ice cream, raise your hand.”

  For a moment, everyone quiets as they consider the question. Against all odds, a hand shoots up faster t
han Joy or Archie’s. I laugh at Father Gomez’s quick reflexes.

  “Perfect.” I head to the kitchen, where I analyze everything that’s happened since I came home.

  “The truth will set you free.”

  Father Gomez was right, but I’m still amazed at how my family reacted. I expected shouting, grounding, and lots of disappointment. Instead, I found a family who worries about me and a friend in Father Gomez. Deep down, I know he would have found somebody to donate the funds for the school play, but instead chose to help me.

  An unexpected friend.

  “May I help you?” Samuel asks as he places a huge stack of dishes in the sink.

  He walks over while I take the ice cream from the freezer, then pulls a set of bowls and the ice cream scooper from the cupboard.

  “Here.” He hands them to me.

  “Thanks.” I open the first ice cream container. However, the lid on the second one doesn’t budge.

  Samuel chuckles and takes it from my hand.

  “Let me help you.” He pulls the lid and finds resistance. He tries again with the same result.

  With a chuckle, I leave him to fight with the stubborn container as I scoop a ball of vanilla ice cream into each of the bowls, adding an extra one in Father Gomez’s bowl.

  By the time I finish, Samuel has the chocolate ice cream open.

  A small film of sweat covers his forehead as he hands it over. “Here you go, Señorita Melbourne.”

  “Gracias, Señor Solis.” I use my best Spanish accent, making him laugh.

  “You worried me with the emergency meeting,” he confesses, making my heart flutter.

  “Sorry, but I didn’t know how to get everyone’s attention with all the activities you’ve got on your plates.” I deposit a scoop of chocolate ice cream in the first bowl. “But I needed to tell everyone before it was too late.”

  “You should have approached us sooner, before this escalated.”

  “I didn’t know it had gotten this bad until today,” I defend myself. “But I do regret not stopping Portia before.”