by Anne Dayton
Ben shakes his head. “She’s pretty wiped. She’s hardly gotten any sleep, and Ravi eats, like, every couple of hours.” He rolls his eyes, but I see pride in his smile. “She’ll be really excited to hear what you’re doing tonight though. I know she’ll appreciate it.”
“I still can’t believe she wants to set foot in this place again.”
Ben shrugs. “She’s a forgiving soul. Besides, she wants Ravi to grow up knowing about God’s love, and for whatever reason, she thinks he’ll get that here.”
I think about all that she’s been through—everything the people at this church have put her through. She’s either completely crazy or she has a deeper faith than I can begin to imagine.
“Riley?” I turn to see Fritz standing behind me, holding out a clipboard. “I’m about to gather everyone, so get ready to make your announcement.” He hands me the clipboard and hesitates for a second. “Thanks for doing this,” he says quickly, then turns and walks toward the front of the room.
Fritz puts his fingers in his mouth and whistles, then asks us to take a seat in the rows of chairs in the middle of the room. When everyone is settled, he turns the mic over to me. I climb up on the small plywood stage and face the rows of students in front of me.
“Hi.” My voice echoes out over the youth room. The mic squeaks, and I see Michael adjusting knobs in the back of the room. “Is this better?” My voice comes out normal this time, and a few people nod, so I continue. “I know this is supposed to be a party, so I won’t take a lot of time, but I wanted to say how cool it is to see all of these baby pictures here tonight.”
I look out over the youth group. Ben is smiling, waiting expectantly.
“It seems like just yesterday we were running around the nursery wreaking havoc.” A few people laugh, including Tommy Chu, who really was a terror in Sunday school. “It’s amazing to see how these tiny babies grew up with the love and care of this church and ended up turning into such awesome people. And I’m up here tonight because I want to make sure that every baby in this church gets that opportunity.”
Zoe is nodding, but most of the people look at me, confused.
“I wanted to announce that I’m starting a babysitting ministry for Asha Nayar. I want to make sure she feels completely welcome and able to come to youth group. She can bring Ravi to the nursery on Sunday mornings, but we’re looking for people to sign up to take care of him during youth group and other special events.”
The room is completely quiet. Cecily and Maddie look at each other, eyebrows raised.
“We’re not asking you to give up much time at all, just once a month or so.” I lift up the clipboard. “I’m going to put this sign-up sheet in the back. I hope you can all try to help.”
Everyone is watching me as I make my way off the stage. They’re quiet. I really hope they go for this. If they don’t step up and support her now, I don’t know if I can take it. I walk to the back of the room and lay the clipboard down on a folding table while Fritz makes an announcement about a pool party at Tommy Chu’s house next weekend. There’s a short break while the guys from Three Car Garage get set up to start worship, and I slip out the back door.
The courtyard is empty, and my footsteps echo on the pavement. This used to be all grass, but now the smooth concrete leads right up to the side door of the new wing. I step inside and make my way down a series of carpeted hallways—past the sanctuary, beyond the bridal parlor, behind the gym—toward the church office. I push open the heavy wooden door and look around. There’s the church secretary’s desk, and I think the pastors have their offices right over there. I walk down the open corridor and see a light on in one of the offices. That has to be it. I hurry toward it, but when I get there, I stand awkwardly in front of the open door, trying to figure out what exactly I came here to say. Jesus said that if you have an issue with someone, forget about everything else and go reconcile with them. Well, here goes.
Pastor Jandel is absorbed in something on his screen and doesn’t seem to notice me standing in the doorway. I tap on the door, and he turns toward me, his eyes wide.
“Is youth group over already?” He peeks at the corner of his screen, then looks back at me in confusion.
“No.” I step inside the office and cross my arms over my chest. “But I wanted to talk to you.”
“The budget reforecast is due this week,” he says, gesturing toward his computer on his right. On his screen is what looks like a spreadsheet. “But if you’d like to call the church secretary tomorrow and make an appointment—”
“No.” I plop myself down in one of the padded chairs in front of his desk. “I’d like to talk now.”
He looks like he’s about to argue, but then he sighs. “What is it I can help you with?” He taps a few keys and a cursor moves down his spreadsheet. “It’s always good to hear from the youth of the church—”
“Youth.” I roll my lips in and try to breathe normally. “Yeah, that’s kind of what I wanted to talk about.”
He waits, his eyebrows raised. There’s a framed picture of his two little daughters on his desk.
“I have been part of this church my whole life,” I say. “You’ve been here, what, a couple years?”
He nods and scratches at something invisible on his pant leg.
“I appreciate what you’ve been trying to do for this church,” I say, trying to get my voice under control. “I know you’ve been working hard to get new programs off the ground to reach people. I understand the importance of that. But in the meantime, you’ve been trampling on the people who have made this church what it is.”
“I have?” The quaver in his voice makes him seem younger somehow.
“I’m talking about Asha Nayar.” He nods as recognition dawns. “This year she made a mistake. It was a serious mistake, for which she needed serious help. But at the moment she needed help the most, this church turned its back on her.”
“Riley.” Pastor Jandel sits up straight. “That’s just not true. Is that how you see it?”
“Yes, I do.” My stupid eyes water like I’m a baby. “You tried to have Asha removed from the youth group.”
Pastor Jandel leans forward and rests his elbows on his desk. “Suggesting that Asha might benefit from the young parents small group was not intended to be a punishment.” He shakes his head. “Asha is facing decisions and pressures that the youth group cannot begin to touch on. She’s had to grow up fast, and we . . .” He falters for a moment and seems to consider something, “I honestly thought she could learn from other people who are going through the same thing.”
“But what about your e-mail to the prayer chain?” I take a deep breath and promise myself I will not cry. “You said you were going to ‘deal with the girl.’ ”
“Obviously you didn’t see my actual e-mail. I said nothing like that.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “I pray I will never be so careless with my words. My heart has really gone out to the Nayars and Asha this year.”
“I don’t know.” I hold my head, thinking back through all the events of the year. “After all your talk about following the rules and how everything is black-and-white . . .”
“I do believe the truth is very clearly laid out in Scripture, Riley, and—”
“But there’s a lot of room for gray too,” I say. “I mean, the Bible was written like two thousand years ago, and it really doesn’t cover everything we deal with today. And the more I look at it, the more I see that a lot of the stuff I’ve been told is true isn’t really in there anyway.”
Pastor Jandel leans back in his chair. “I don’t have all the answers.” He lets out a breath. “But I do know that God promised that the grass withers and the flowers fall, but his Word stands forever.” I wait for him to go on, but he seems to be gathering his thoughts. “More than anything, I want this church to be a body that meets people’s needs—spiritual and physical. That’s what we were trying to do with Asha.”
I sigh deeply. “I can see that your
intentions were good. You wanted to help her and stuff.” Jandel’s shoulders relax. “But in doing so, you were judging her, making her feel like she was being punished. I mean, sure, she messed up, but if all sin is the same to God, then we’re all just as guilty.”
Pastor Jandel looks like he’s trying to work out something to say but can’t find the words.
“This is the kind of stuff that drives people away from God forever. It made me question a lot of things, and I know I’m not the only one.”
Pastor Jandel still doesn’t say anything. I push myself up slowly, and for a moment, I tower over him.
“I’m sorry, Riley,” he finally says. “I appreciate your speaking up. I guess we old-timers didn’t consider how our actions might be interpreted.” He gives me his salesman’s smile, but behind it I see something new, a kindness in his eyes. “I’ll see what can be done to repair things.”
We stare at each other for a moment, and the stillness echoes in my ears. Maybe Pastor Jandel and I will never see eye to eye, but I guess this is what the body of Christ is really like. It’s made up of thousands of individuals with different notions and views on the world.
“Thank you,” I say quietly and let myself out of his office, wandering back toward the youth room in confusion.
Three Car Garage is still playing when I make it back out into the courtyard. I hurry my steps. Maybe I can catch the end of worship time. I crack the back door to the youth room and slip inside as quietly as I can. Michael waves at me from the sound booth, and then I walk quietly toward the table in the back. I squint down at the clipboard and gasp.
Every line on the sign-up sheet I made has been filled in, and several people scrawled their names on the back of the sheet once the front was used up. I scan the names. Cecily and Maddie are there, right near the top. In fact, from the looks of it, most of the people in this room volunteered to help Asha. Even Michael put his name on a line, which should make for a heck of a nursery experience for everyone. Fritz walks over to me quietly and takes a seat on the folding table.
“You did it,” Fritz whispers.
I look out at the people gathered here tonight. They’re not perfect, to be sure, but if this sign-up sheet is any indication, they’re trying. I push myself up onto the table too and swing my feet below me.
I guess I’ve always known that just because someone goes to church that doesn’t mean they’ll always do the right thing. No one ever said that having faith means you won’t mess up. Maybe authentic faith, not just following-the-rules faith, makes it harder to know what’s right in the first place. The more I see of real, true, deep faith, the more I understand that there usually are no easy answers. All we can do—all any of us can do—is take one faltering step after another, praying that God will lead us in the right direction. As I sit here in the back of the room, listening to voices of my church family, I can’t help but think we took a step down the right path tonight.
49
When Ana and I are called to the office in the middle of English, I don’t worry too much about it. We graduate next week. There’s not a whole lot they can do to us anymore, so I try to enjoy the sunshine and the unexpected break. Ana doesn’t say anything as we walk across the courtyard, and she blots her forehead and whispers something in Spanish as we pull open the office door.
“What’s going on?” I whisper, but she shakes her head.
“Whatever happens, it’s going to be okay, right?” she says quietly. Her skin is kind of green.
“Do you know what this is—”
“Welcome, girls,” Mrs. Benassi calls out as we step inside the cool office. “Right inside.” She gestures at the doorway to Ms. Lovchuck’s office. “They’re waiting for you.”
I turn to Ana, but she won’t meet my eye. She bites her lip, puts her head down, and walks toward the door. What in the world?
“Oh.” Ana stops short in Ms. Lovchuck’s doorway, and I have to jump to avoid running into her. “Ms. Moore. Hi.”
I peek around her and see Ms. Moore leaning back in a chair next to Ms. Lovchuck’s desk. What is she doing here?
“Riley. Ana.” Ms. Lovchuck smiles, like she’s genuinely glad to see us, and my stomach drops. She’s never been glad to see us in the four years we’ve been at this school. Something is horribly wrong. “Please sit down,” Ms. Lovchuck says, gesturing toward the two empty chairs in front of her desk.
Ana sits obediently, perching on the edge of her chair. I settle in next to her and remind myself to breathe.
“First of all, I hope you’ll join me in congratulating Ms. Moore. She’s just been appointed vice principal of Marina Vista. It will be announced later today.” She nods, and Ms. Moore’s cheeks turn pink.
“Congrats,” I say, holding up my hand for a high five. Ms. Moore meets my hand. Ana squeaks.
Ms. Lovchuck clears her throat. “Now, as you both know, each year the top two students in each class are given the opportunity to speak at graduation.”
I suck in my breath. They can’t mean—
We took our finals this week and don’t know yet how we did, but the results of those tests probably determine who’s at the top of the class. Ana tenses up, so I reach out and grab her hand. She squeezes mine in return.
Ana has always wanted this. Being valedictorian is her dream. She should get this. But now that I’m sitting here, I can’t deny there’s a small part of me that would like the honor too. In spite of—or maybe because of—the whole college thing, something in me still kind of hopes to be recognized for the things I did right.
Ms. Lovchuck lifts her glasses off her nose and lets them dangle down on their chain in front of her. “Ana”—she turns and narrows her eyes at Ana—“you are quite possibly the most driven student Marina Vista has ever seen.” Ana’s cheeks flush. “You’re smart, you’re engaged, you’ve shown tremendous empathy and leadership, and we couldn’t be more proud of all that you’ve accomplished.”
“And, Riley.” Ms. Lovchuck turns to me. “No one can say that you’ve always exercised the best judgment.” She coughs. “Nor have you demonstrated the most effective use of your tremendous abilities.”
I let my eyes rest on the fish tank in the corner of the room and watch the tiny silver dots dashing around the dark water.
“But no one,” Ms. Lovchuck continues, “can deny that your talents are formidable. Your test scores are off the charts, your GPA is near-perfect, and all your teachers know that you barely have to try to do well. I hope someday you appreciate the magnitude of the gifts you’ve been given.” She leans forward in her office chair. “And this year, I’ve watched as you’ve also demonstrated tremendous leadership skills, a deep and abiding sense of duty to those you love, and, ah . . . unique problem-solving skills.” She meets Ms. Moore’s eyes, and they share a laugh.
“We know you’ve chosen an unorthodox path. We know it won’t be easy, but we applaud the courage it took not to conform to others’ expectations of who you’re supposed to be. Many students in your place would have gone ahead and done what everyone was telling them was right, but you listened to that voice inside of you and made the choice that was right for you. That alone takes more faith than many of us will ever have.”
I feel like I should interrupt, explain that’s not exactly how it happened, that I freaked out; but when I open my mouth, I’m not so sure. In the end, I chose not to apply to Harvard by not getting my application in on time. By not deciding what I wanted to do, I made a decision. With the world wide open before me, I could have done anything—but I chose this. To be here. To stay close to the people I couldn’t leave behind. Sure, maybe I could have picked a better way to get there, but in the end, it was my decision.
Ana’s palm gets sweaty, but I don’t let go.
“Ms. Lovchuck and I tallied up the final results of your testing this morning,” Ms. Moore says quietly. I think I see her wink.
“And we’re pleased to announce that Riley McGee will be this year’s valedictorian. Ana, c
ongratulations on being salutatorian.”
Ana drops my hand and sucks in her breath.
“The difference between your GPAs was only two-hundredths of a percentage point. That’s the closest margin in Marina Vista’s history. Now, you’ll only have five minutes to speak. . . .” Ms. Lovchuck launches in with information about graduation that my brain cannot process right now. “So carefully think through what it is you want to say to sum up the lessons these four years have taught you. Maybe you could talk about your hopes for the future. You’ll be seated on the stage during the ceremony, but go ahead and gather with the other students beforehand. I’ll need you both—”
In the middle of Ms. Lovchuck’s monologue, Ana yanks me to my feet and throws her arms around me. Neither of us says anything; the only noise is the gurgling of the water in Ms. Lovchuck’s fish tank. As we stand here together, trying to make sense of what this news means, all I can think about is that first day in Mr. Mackey’s class when Ana accused me of cheating, and even though I hated her for getting it wrong, I kind of admired her for standing up to me. I don’t know if I’ve ever told her that. Back in those days, I thought I was this invincible force—the indomitable Riley McGee—but she never let me get away with it. Ana was always challenging me, fighting me, pushing me to work harder. I knew even then that she would make me better than I ever could be on my own. I know she’s always seen it as this big miracle that we ended up overcoming our differences and becoming friends, but the truth is, that was a choice too.
Slowly, Ana pulls back. “Congratulations,” she says, the glimmer of tears in her eyes. “You deserve this.”
And though I’m not sure I agree, I can see that she means it, and for some reason that means the world to me.
50
