Donut Days

by Lara Zielin

  “I could use some more donuts,” said Jake after Connie and her husband had disappeared inside the RV with a wave to the crowd. “Anyone else?”

  “Yeah, sure,” I said, and the three of us headed back to the spot on the blacktop where the Angelfires were. As we approached, Bear waved at us.

  “Hey, Jake!” he called. “Join us here and explain to Pastor Goiner what it was like to experience riding a Harley. I’m trying to convince him he should purchase one. ”

  Jake laughed, then walked over to join them. Nat and I looked at each other, then I quickly glanced away. “I guess I’ll go get a donut,” I mumbled, wondering how Nat and I were ever going to find a way to say more than seven words to each other.

  I sat down on the Angelfires’ blanket and, after a second, Nat sat down next to me. Both of us grabbed a donut and chewed and swallowed in silence, still not really talking. A few feet away, Jake was laughing with Bear and my dad, but he glanced my way a few times to make sure I was doing okay next to Nat.

  After taking a few more bites, I suddenly remembered my tent was still standing in the camp. RVs and cars were already pulling out of the parking lot, and the camp in the field was thinning out. “My tent,” I said, standing up. “I need to go get it.”

  Nat bolted to her feet too. “I’ll come with you.”

  I looked at her. “All right,” I said, and we started walking together across the parking lot. We were quiet as we crossed the blacktop and stepped through the field to my tent, but once we got there, she helped me pull my sleeping bag, pillow, notebook, cell phone, and granola bars out of it so we could take it down. As we were down on all fours, rolling up the nylon, she finally spoke.

  “I just want you to know that last night—the whole thing—in the beginning I thought it was just going to be a prank. You know, something funny. Molly said she was just going to put dog poop in your tent, but—”

  I interrupted. “You shouldn’t have believed her, Nat.”

  Nat nodded slowly—once, twice.

  I sat back on my heels and pulled my skirt over my knees. Nat sat back too, but she didn’t look at me, she just ran a finger along the nylon of the tent like she was waiting for it to send her a message of what to do next.

  “But you still set me up,” I said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  Nat’s head snapped up. “Because I was so pissed at you, Emma. That’s why.”

  I remembered my conversation with my dad earlier, and I tried to keep cool. “For not sticking up for you?” I asked.

  Nat looked surprised that I’d said that. “Well, yeah,” she said. “That and the fact that you really do have double standards sometimes. I wasn’t kidding about that. You get mad at me for making up my mind about something when you disagree with it. But then you expect everyone else to understand your opinions about stuff when you make up your mind. You know?”

  I swallowed. “I get that, Nat. I swear to God I get that, and I’ll try to be better about it. I just—sometimes it’s hard for me to just sit there if I think people are wrong.”

  “Well, that’s another thing,” said Nat. “I know you might ‘think I’m wrong’ about Carson Tanner, but I like him. A lot. And how I feel should count for a lot more in your book than it actually does. If I want to date him, then you have to be cool with it. Even if you don’t think he’s, like, my perfect match or whatever.”

  Just picturing Jake in my head made my nerves sizzle, and for the first time I understood that might be exactly what happened with Nat when she pictured Carson too. But there was more to it than that, and I had to come clean. “Well, maybe it wasn’t just the fact that I didn’t think you guys were a great match,” I said. “I mean, Molly and I were in a fight and Jake and I weren’t talking and it just felt like you were leaving me too.”

  Nat just kept staring at me, which made my skin start to crawl. “I can’t believe you were jealous of Carson and that’s the reason you didn’t want me to date him,” she finally said.

  I swallowed, trying not to lose it. “I’m sorry, Nat. It’s just—”

  Nat didn’t let me finish. “I mean, Little Miss Righteous was jealous? That’s, like, unbelievable!”

  I shook my head. Had I just heard her call me Little Miss Righteous? “What?”

  Nat grinned. “The pastor’s daughter was jealous! Glory hallelujah!”

  “Come on, Nat, this isn’t funny.”

  Nat wouldn’t stop smiling. “Oh, yes, it is. I mean, you’re all, I’m smart, I get mad at people who don’t think about things as much as I do, and I’m just so glad you finally have an issue that makes you human. This is the best news I’ve heard all year.”

  I wanted to tackle her and knock some sense into her. How could she think I was righteous and had never had an issue before that made me human? “What are you talking about?” I asked. “You’re the one who’s living in Perfectionville! You’re all gorgeous and faith-filled and everyone loves you. How do you think I feel standing next to you?”

  Nat’s eyes darkened. “What? You think I’m perfect? That’s just plain stupid, Emma. Everyone knows you’re the smart one. People think I’m lucky just to have you around, like the world would eat me for breakfast if I didn’t.”

  I exhaled at the revelation that Nat and I had each other all wrong. Everyone had us all wrong, in fact. “I think,” I said, gathering up my thoughts, “that maybe this is something we should have talked about a long time before now.”

  Nat nodded slowly. “Yeah. I suppose you’re right. I mean, I don’t think I would have freaked out if you’d told me you were worried about how much time I’d be spending with Carson. You could have talked to me about it.”

  “I know,” I admitted. “I still don’t think he’s right for you, but I guess it’s not really my deal. I guess that’s what my dad meant this morning when he talked about all of us needing the freedom to make our own decisions.”

  Nat nodded. “At the end of the day, this is my thing, not yours. If we’re going to be friends, then you have to start giving me space to figure stuff out for myself. You know?”

  I nodded. I did know. Or at least I was trying to know. My dad had said the richest friendships were the ones where you chose to be friends with someone even though you maybe didn’t see eye to eye about everything, and I wanted that kind of friendship with Nat. I just didn’t realize how hard it could be to put it all into practice.

  But I was willing to try. “Yeah, you’re right.” I cleared my throat, then added, “I get what you’re saying and I swear I’ll try to be better about it. For what it’s worth, I want us to be friends, even if we don’t always agree.”

  Nat stretched out one of her long arms and ran it across the top of the grass. “Really?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Really.”

  “Are you pissed? About what I did to you last night?”

  “Yeah. But I’ll get over it.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I’m sorry too. For all of it. And in case you care, I’m not sure I actually think women shouldn’t preach.”

  “Really?” I asked. “What changed your mind?”

  Nat smiled. “Well, I think I’d have double standards if I sat here and said you needed to give me freedom to choose my own path with Carson, then said your mom couldn’t have the freedom to choose her own way. I mean, I was never totally convinced women shouldn’t preach, but I think I just got extreme about it that day on Lizzie’s swing set to make my point. It probably makes me sound kind of dumb that it took me this long to admit all this, but . . . well, there it is.”

  My throat felt like it had been pinched in a vise. “I don’t think you’re dumb at all,” I said thickly.

  Nat and I were both quiet for a second until Nat said, “You know, for what it’s worth, Molly told me she didn’t give a crap about whether your mom was allowed to preach either. I’m not sure she ever even believed her dad’s prophecy was true.”


  “Well, whatever Molly thought about it, her dad’s prophecy was phony,” I said angrily. “It was a sham to knock my mom out of the way so Mr. O’Connor could use church money to clean up a mess he’d made with Mollico.”

  Nat nodded. “Yeah. My parents told me all about that on the way to church this morning. Mrs. Reinhard called them and explained the whole thing.”

  “Huh,” I said, thinking how my dad was right. Word was spreading fast about what a phony and a crook Mr. O’Connor was. Maybe telling people this sale was “God’s will” would convince the board but not a whole lot of other people.

  “But regardless of whether she knew the truth about her dad,” continued Nat, “I think Molly was just mean to you this whole time because she was jealous of us. Like maybe she saw the prophecy and all the conflict as a way to get you out of the picture so she wouldn’t always be odd man out. You know?”

  I nodded. I’d wondered about that myself.

  “Though she really was pissed about you and her brother,” Nat added. “She told me she didn’t think you were good enough, or rich enough, for him.”

  I shrugged. “Well, she’s going to have to get used to it.”

  Nat flicked a piece of dirt at me. “Yeah?”

  I felt myself grinning. “Yeah.”

  “So, there’s hope for you and Molly after all. You two could be sisters someday.”

  “Oh, please. Whatever.”

  Nat laughed like her old self. “Come on, you have to tell me what happened. You have to tell me what’s up with you and Jake!”

  And you know what? I did.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  All the Harleys were fired up, and the noise was nearly deafening. We’d hugged and said good-bye. This was it. The Angelfire Witnesses were leaving.

  It was tough to know I might never see them again, and it left me feeling a little lonely, a little empty. But Nat was beside me again and Jake was right there as well, his strong arm around me. And my parents and Lizzie were there too, and for once that gave me a safe feeling.

  Anita, Rex, Tex, and Wichita were going to ride with Bear to the rehabilitation center to get him checked in, then they were going to make their way back to New Orleans. Bear would join up with them when his time there was done.

  “Bear!” I yelled above the din. I ducked underneath Jake’s arm and trotted over to his motorcycle. I pressed a wadded-up piece of paper into his hand. “Here!”

  “What’s this?” he hollered.

  “My address! Write to me!”

  He nodded and tucked the paper into his leather jacket.

  “Send me the article at the center when it’s done!” he yelled. I nodded and he saluted me, and I saluted back. He smiled and waved to everyone there—Nat, Jake, my parents, Lizzie—and we all waved back.

  With one final roar, the Angelfire Witnesses rumbled out of the parking lot and away from the donut camp. We watched them until their black leather was no longer visible on the horizon.

  It felt somehow like the quiet after a storm when they were gone. Like so much had happened and so many things had gotten shaken up while they were here, but in the end, even though the sky clears, there’s a part of you that sort of misses the excitement of it all.

  Jake squeezed my hand as we walked down the crowded Dinkytown street. It was a gray, damp November day, but I didn’t mind the weather. I was warm in my winter coat, and being next to Jake on the coolest part of the U’s campus gave me a thrill that heated my whole body.

  Jake turned and smiled at me as kids in backpacks jostled past, as bikes whizzed by, and as cars honked on the busy streets. His nose was a little red from the November cold, “You want to get a coffee?” he asked. “Take a load off?”

  The two of us had been walking for a while now—I’d come up for the day to visit Jake at the U, and we’d been wandering around campus—and getting a cup of coffee sounded divine. “Yeah,” I said, smiling back. “Sounds perfect.”

  Jake steered us to a small, cozy café where a handful of students were studying or talking. He opened the door to let me go in first, but then reached out and grabbed my arm before I could enter.

  “What?” I asked.

  Jake just leaned down and put his warm lips on mine. I tried to stay still while my insides pitched and rolled. It wasn’t our first kiss, but it didn’t matter: every time Jake got close to me, I thought my knees might buckle. When Jake pulled away, he touched his gloved hand to my cheek. “Thought you could use that. You looked cold.”

  I nodded and, still feeling wobbly, walked inside.

  A few minutes later, Jake and I were seated at one of the tables, our hands wrapped around our mugs. “So, do you like the U, or do you still have your heart set on Carleton?” Jake asked, his brown eyes not leaving my face.

  “I think Carleton still,” I said. “After all, I applied for early admission there and that’s like a solemn promise that if I get in, I’ll go.”

  “Well, they won’t sue you if you change your mind,” Jake said, taking off his winter hat.

  “I guess not,” I said, looking out the window at the darkening sky and the glow of the city lights.

  “They ’re supposed to let you know soon, right?” asked Jake. “I mean, you had your application in weeks ago.”

  I tried to keep from pulling the envelope out of my knit bag and throwing it on the table. “Yes,” I said, swallowing. “And hey, if I don’t get in, I can always come to the U. That’s the upside. It’s closer and my parents like the idea of me coming here. I mean obviously they do, since they let me borrow their car to come see you.”

  “It could be a sign,” said Jake, winking at me. “Parental approval and your boyfriend goes here. I’d hate for you to anger the gods.”

  “Oh, I think it’s too late for that,” I said, grinning behind my coffee mug.

  Finally feeling thawed in the warmth of the coffee shop, I pulled out my knit bag. “I have a couple things to show you,” I said to Jake. I reached inside, bypassing the white envelope with Carleton’s return address on it, and pulled out a postcard from Bear instead. I handed it across the table.

  “I got it yesterday,” I said. The postcard was from Louisiana and showed an alligator sitting on the smashed-up hood of a car.

  “No way!” said Jake, who turned it over and read the text that I’d already memorized. Bear had written in tiny capital letters, cramming them onto the postcard like pennies in a jar.

  Isn’t that just like life? You think you’ve ascertained all the dangers and then out of the blue you get blindsided and you have to figure out how you’re going to get home again.

  For my part, I’m only about 300 miles from home and that feels jubilant. I’m a little “dented up” as well, but I’m clean. One day at a time. Jesus asked God to give us this day our daily bread—he never pleaded for a week or a month’s worth.

  I am deeply grateful for the article you sent, but I admit I was surprised when it turned out not to be about me. That’s fine, however. I think you are courageous indeed to write about what your experiences at the donut camp showed you about your family and friends. I’m sorry that you came in third in the contest, but I know the future is bright for you. I wish your parents all the best with their new Christian bookstore. I am excited for their new path, and I pray they are successful.

  Be prosperous and happy, Emma. It was a pleasure meeting you.

  Your friend,

  Bear

  “That’s awesome,” Jake said, handing the postcard back to me. “I’m so happy things worked out for him. Do you think you guys will stay in touch?”

  I turned the postcard over and over in my hands. My dad had asked the same thing yesterday when I’d shown the postcard to him, and I’d told him that I didn’t think meeting Bear was a coincidence. I thought maybe God had wanted our paths to cross and, if that was the case, then maybe God wanted us to stay in touch too. In the coffee shop, I said the same thing to Jake, who reached out and grabbed my hand. “I’m glad,�
� he said. “I think it would be cool to say you had a friend who looked like he ate kittens for breakfast.”

  I laughed. “Maybe that’s his secret. Maybe that’s why he’s part kitten himself.”

  We were quiet for a second while the coffee shop hummed, and then I reached into my bag again.

  “Jake,” I said, “there’s something else I have to show you.”

  Jake sat up straighter. “You look like you’re running a temperature, Emma. Are you okay?”

  “No. I mean, yes, I’m good. I just have to show you this.” Still unsure if it was really real, I pulled the Carleton envelope out of my bag and set it on the table. Every time I read the return address—Carleton College—I felt like a wave rolling up onto the sand, leaving the safety of the ocean.

  Carleton had received my application for admission next year, and they ’d made their decision about me. I just had to open the envelope to find out what it was.

  “Oh, man,” said Jake. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Yep,” I said, staring at the envelope like it was a science specimen I had to operate on. I didn’t know where to begin.

  “Are you going to open it?” Jake asked.

  “I—I guess,” I said. “It’s just—you know. It’s kind of a big deal. I didn’t think I could do it unless you were with me.”

  Jake’s face softened. “I’m here, and I support you no matter what. So does your family, and so does Nat for that matter.”

  “Yeah, I know. It’s just—Carleton’s really competitive.”

  Jake nodded. “I get it, Em. But you’re super-smart and a great journalist to boot. So whatever Carleton says about you—whether you get in or not—we’re going to celebrate. Okay?”

  I took a deep breath. Jake was right. Whatever the news was, I would be happy. Enough had happened to warrant that.