Catholic, Reluctantly (The John Paul 2 High Series)

by Christian M. Frank

He walked into the classroom in a distinctly better mood. It was only 7:30, twenty minutes before the school day officially started. Everyone was there, talking animatedly.

  “How about a car wash?” Brian suggested.

  “Come on!” Liz said. “It’s not a fundraiser. It’s supposed to be fun.”

  “What is?” George asked.

  Brian turned away, but Celia said, “Dad asked us to think of a way to incarnate our faith in a celebration or an outreach.”

  “So what can we do?” Liz said.

  “I know!” said J.P. with a meaningful look at Allie, “A…Catholic…dating game! We can invite all the Catholics from miles around and…”

  “How about a chess tournament?” Brian interrupted.

  “How about a basketball tournament against St. Lucy’s?” Liz said. “And if we win, they have to let us use their gym for our own sports,” she added hopefully.

  “What about an All Saint’s Day party?”

  Everyone looked in surprise at James, who usually didn’t join in conversations except to score points with sarcasm.

  “What?” Allie said.

  “The feast of All Saints. It’s the day after Halloween,” Celia explained. “It’s a Catholic feast day.”

  “Halloween is a contraction for ‘All Hallow’s Eve,’” Brian added.

  “I thought the day after Halloween was Mischief Night!” Liz exclaimed.

  “That’s the day before,” J.P. said.

  “You would know,” George said, crumpling up a sheet of incorrect algebra problems and tossing it. He wanted to change the subject. James’ smug face still irritated him.

  Allie was looking from one person to another, with that bewildered, skeptical look on her face.

  “I think it’s a good idea,” Celia said encouragingly. “We could all dress up as saints!”

  George groaned inside. Liz groaned audibly. “But I wanted to be a pirate for Halloween.”

  James shook his head. “Curb your disappointment, Miss Simonelli. Halloween is a Satanic holiday anyhow.”

  “What?” Allie asked again.

  James nodded. “It’s the witches’ Sabbath. According to Michael Davies—”

  “Give it a rest!” George said. “You’re not evil if you dress up and go out trick-or-treating on Halloween.”

  “But you are being a material participant in evil,” said James.

  “I think it’s best not to go trick-or-treating,” Brian said thoughtfully. “My family has a ‘Defending the Faith’ night on Halloween.”

  “Come on!” Liz said. “Killing the fun for everyone!”

  J.P. pointed a finger at her. “Eeevil, eeevil, eeevil!”

  “All right!” Celia exclaimed. “Look, no one’s trying to say that you’re sinning by going out trick or treating—”

  “Except James,” Liz pointed out.

  “Except me,” James affirmed.

  “—But there’s nothing wrong with the school doing an All Saint’s Day party,” Celia said.

  “Except that it was James’ idea,” George said.

  “Yeah,” said J.P., “and James thinks we’re eeevil.”

  “Well—let’s still think about it.” Celia faltered. “So, Allie, what are you doing for Thanksgiving?”

  “Going to see my dad in Maryland,” Allie said with a sigh, stretching. “I can’t wait.”

  “Why does your dad live in Maryland?” James asked. He was looking at Allie with a strange expression on his face.

  Taken aback, Allie looked back at him distastefully. “Well…because my parents are divorced. I live with my mom and my stepdad.”

  James was still looking at her with his peculiar unblinking gaze. “Did your parents have their marriage annulled?”

  “No,” Allie said indignantly. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “She’s right,” Celia broke in. “It isn’t.”

  “So,” James said, as if Celia hadn’t spoken, “your mom is living with another guy without getting an annulment. That’s a mortal sin.”

  There was a commotion of sound as Allie got out of her seat. “That’s not true!” she said hotly. “They’re married! My parents are…my mom is a good Catholic! She sent me here, didn’t she?”

  James’ expression didn’t change in the slightest. “Actually,” he said haughtily, “if she divorced and remarried without an annulment, she’s not a good Catholic. Celia,” he added, “does your dad know about this? Isn’t it material cooperation with evil to accept money from a couple that’s living in sin?”

  Allie’s face turned red. An angry tear ran down her cheek as she stood up and stormed out of the room.

  “Allie! Wait!” Celia ran after her.

  George looked at James with angry disbelief. “Why don’t you just keep your mouth shut?” he snarled. “How could you say that to her?”

  “I was only pointing out the truth. You should know.”

  “I should know?” George said. “What are you talking about?”

  “You live with your mom.” James turned to him, that knowing smile on his face, the I-know-you’re-a-hypocrite smile. “Where’s your dad? Aren’t your parents divorced?”

  George sprang out of his chair, planted his hands on James’ desk and yelled in his face. “That…is… none of your business!”

  There was silence. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. James hadn’t moved or flinched, merely stared back at him, his eyes gray ice. Their faces were less than a foot apart; he could feel James’ breath on his face, and knew that James could feel his. Make one move and I’ll hit you.

  “What’s going on here?” A new voice broke the silence: the calm, firm voice of an adult.

  Mr. Costain was standing in the doorway. “Mr. Peterson,” he said, “please return to your seat. Everyone else, face the front of the class.”

  George took a deep breath and straightened with effort.

  Mr. Costain said, “Mr. Peterson. Tell me why you were out of your seat.”

  “James insulted Allie,” George said. “And me.”

  “Mr. Kosalinski?”

  “That’s not what happened. I did not insult anyone,” James retorted. “All I did was point out the truth. If he can’t take it, that’s his problem. Besides,” he added, “according to your silly poem, aren’t we supposed to ‘take the truth with us’? Isn’t the truth SUPPOSED to make us uncomfortable?”

  George started to reply, but Mr. Costain shot him a warning look. “Miss Simonelli, in your view, what happened here?”

  Liz hesitated. “Well…” she said. “James…James told Allie that her parents…that her mom and stepdad were living in mortal sin.”

  Mr. Costain’s eyes darted to James, but otherwise his expression remained calm. “Go on,” he said.

  “And then Allie got upset and ran out. Celia went after Allie, and George told James to shut up. Then…then James asked George if his parents were divorced, too.”

  Mr. Costain nodded gravely. “I see.”

  He folded his arms, in deep thought. “All right,” he said after a moment. “I want you to listen to me. First of all, Mr. Kosalinski, you need to learn the virtue of compassion. Put your hand down,” he said as James raised his hand indignantly. “Your words hurt Miss Weaver. Saying what you said, in the way you said it, was not an act of love. Our primary responsibility as Christians is to love one another, and you failed to do that.”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” James said, but he didn’t sound very sorry to George. “I thought that the truth was the most important thing.”

  Mr. Costain didn’t bat an eye. “Of course the truth is the most important thing. But were you really looking for it, Mr. Kosalinski?” he said. “Or were you just trying to show everyone that you knew it already?”

  For the first time, James looked confused. He frowned furiously at his desk.

  Mr. Costain continued. “You also might want to reflect on the fact that if what you said was true about Miss Weaver’s parents’ marriage
, then the best thing we can do for Miss Weaver is to be good examples of Christians. Were you a good example? Think about that.

  “And the same thing applies to you, Mr. Peterson,” he said, turning to George. “You let your emotions get the better of you.”

  George looked down and didn’t reply. His face was still burning red, and he was breathing hard.

  “George,” Mr. Costain said, and he looked up.

  “I want you to go down to the cafeteria and make sure the windows are closed. It’s getting colder every day.”

  George caught Mr. Costain’s meeting. He was saying, Go cool down for a while.

  Once he was out in the hall, George clenched his fists as he walked. He wanted to hit…something. Then as he rounded the corner to the cafeteria, George heard sound that stopped him dead in his tracks. “Moooo…”

  Oh geez. What have they done now?

  He opened the cafeteria door. There, in the center of the room, was a cow. It was large. White, with black spots. A funny smell met his nose. A smell like a barn.

  “MOOOO…”

  Another crisis in this crazy school. And, as usual, he had to take care of it. With a groan, he turned back up the hall to tell Mr. Costain.

  Allie slumped against the wall of the girls’ bathroom, her face buried in her hands.

  She felt a cold hardness in her chest. She hated this school. She had tried to make it work, and just look at what had happened.

  Divorce, annulments, mortal sin—what did she care? All she wanted to do was go to a normal school…I ought to call my mom right now, she thought. I’ll tell her what happened, and she’ll pull me out today.

  “Allie?”

  Allie didn’t look up. She heard the door creak open, and the pock, pock, pock of Celia’s shoes. Allie stiffened, wondering if she’d have to explain herself or defend her parents.

  “You don’t need to talk,” Celia said softly.

  The coldness in Allie’s chest lessened. She laughed ruefully. “Some kids you got in this school.”

  Celia laughed too. “You’re telling me.”

  “So,” Allie said, “What do you think?”

  Celia looked Allie straight in the eye. “I think James was very rude to you.”

  Allie bowed her head, immensely grateful that she didn’t have to defend herself.

  “And I understand if you want to leave,” Celia said. “Maybe I would too if I were you. But I don’t want you to leave.”

  “I know,” Allie found herself saying bitterly. “If I left there would only be six kids in the whole school again.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” Celia said softly. “Really. I don’t want you to leave because you’re my friend. And because it would be good for you to stay.”

  Allie looked up. Nikki, Celia, her mom…everyone seemed to think this school was good for her. What was the big deal about this little Catholic school? Why was it so special?

  “Celia—” Here goes, she thought. The real test. “Is James right? Is my mom…” She gulped. “Is my mom ‘living in sin’?”

  Celia took a deep breath, “Well…if you’re trying to be a good Catholic…and you can’t work things out…”

  “Celia,” Allie said wearily, “Just tell me.”

  Celia sighed. “Okay,” she said. “Are you sure your mom didn’t get an annulment?”

  “I’m sure. Dad doesn’t go to church anymore because of that. My mom only goes at Christmas and Easter.”

  “In that case… yeah, there’s something wrong there. Something…something that should be fixed.”

  Allie sat silently for a long, long moment, expecting to feel angry. But she only felt sad. Very sad. She didn’t know why, and she still didn’t understand why this lack of an annulment was such a big deal. But the way Celia had spoken about it had given her a different take on things.

  James’ voice had been a sharp finger condemning her because of choices her parents had made. But Celia was saying the same thing… but it was different. Celia spoke of something broken; she spoke of the whole thing, the whole divorce, as if it were an undeniable fact, something solid and pitiless, that they couldn’t get away from. Her face was turning red, and she had a tense, drawn expression, almost as if she were in pain.

  She’s more upset than I am, Allie thought in wonder. And then another thought came: She wishes that it wasn’t like this. She wants it to just go away, but she won’t pretend it’s not there.

  “What am I supposed to do about it?” Allie said. “Why is this my fault?”

  “It’s not your fault,” Celia said, and for the first time she looked angry. “You should never think that.”

  “But if James is right,” Allie persisted, “and my mom and stepdad are ‘living in sin,’ then…then what am I doing here, Celia? I mean, I’m not like the rest of you. I never will be!”

  Celia twisted her hands, her forehead furrowed in thought. “Darn it,” she said. “I’m not very good at this… hold on. Okay,” she said finally. “Do you know, like, in the Bible, who Jesus always got mad at?”

  “Let me guess. Divorced kids?”

  “Nooooo,” Celia said, “the Pharisees.”

  “Who were they?”

  “They were the high priests—super-religious people—who were always showing off and condemning people,” Celia said. “They were mad at Jesus because he was always hanging out with tax collectors and prostitutes.”

  “Oh yeah,” Allie said. That sounded familiar.

  “And you know what Jesus said to them?” Celia said. “He said, um, that ‘I have not called the righteous to repentance, but sinners.’”

  “Oh,” Allie said. “That doesn’t sound too good.”

  Celia chuckled a little. “I think that Jesus was being sarcastic, you know? Because, Allie…” she turned to her. “There aren’t any righteous people. We’re all sinners. You are, I am, my dad is, even Mrs. Simonelli is. So you are just like us.”

  “Oh,” Allie said. That also sounded familiar, but not familiar at the same time. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, but it was comforting, in a mysterious way.

  “And you know what?” Celia said. “I think that James was acting more like a Pharisee than like Jesus.”

  Allie laughed. “The Pharisees never combed their hair?”

  “Never,” Celia said in a perfectly serious tone. “And they always were reading really weird books, too.”

  “Really?”

  “No, of course not!” Celia said, and they both burst into giggles.

  Allie rubbed her eyes and stood up. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get out of this bathroom before we get eaten by a giant cricket or something.”

  Through the door came the sounds of shouts, running feet, and finally a loud sound: “MOOOO…!”

  Celia looked at Allie. “Did you hear that?”

  “Let’s go,” Allie said, and they rushed out of the bathroom together.

  A cow,” Mr. Costain said. He put a hand to his mouth. George, who was closest, saw that he was smiling underneath his hand, but he continued in a loud voice, “Mr. Burke, get Mrs. Flynn, please. Tell her it’s urgent.”

  He turned to the students gathered around him. “I don’t suppose any of you know how a cow got into the cafeteria?”

  “It must have been the poltergeist!” said J.P. in a strangled whisper.

  “I think we’ll investigate that later. In the meantime, George, let’s see if we can get it out of here. The rest of you, please return to class.”

  But the cow proved harder to move than they expected. Although it followed them easily out the cafeteria door, it absolutely refused to down the go outside steps. Finally, they led her back to the cafeteria.

  “How about you stay here and keep an eye on the cow, George? I’ll go ask for help at the farm next door. That’s probably where it came from.”

  George sighed and nodded.

  Cow-watching turned out to be a mildly pleasant duty. George got some of his books, sat down on one of the tables, a
nd began his homework. Every few minutes the cow looked around despondently and mooed, but otherwise it was pretty quiet.

  After a few minutes of this, George found random thoughts floating through his head, interrupting his history homework: as big as a cow…the cow jumped over the moon…content as a cow… don’t have a cow…

  “What is this? A Future Farmers of America meeting?”

  George looked up, startled. A short, thin angry-looking man with an intimidating air stood in the doorway.

  “Who are you?”

  “Herman Bickerstaff, building inspector. Why is there livestock in the building? Is this some sort of field day?”

  George stared, conscious only of a growing feeling that this couldn’t possibly be good for the school. “I…uh…” he stammered. At that moment, as if in answer to the inspector’s question, there was a plopping sound on the floor.

  “I’ll answer that, George.” To George’s relief, Mr. Costain strode into the room, accompanied by a burly man in a flannel shirt and dirty jeans who could only be from the farm next door.

  “Good Lord!” said the farmer, bursting into laughter. “Smells like a cow in here!”

  “Mr. Bickerstaff,” Mr. Costain said. “This is Doug Grierson. He owns the adjacent dairy farm and this seems to be one of his cows.”

  “She’s mine, all right,” said Mr. Grierson. “The kids in your school must be real handfuls. Still can’t figure how they got her past the barbed-wire fence, but she don’t look hurt, so I guess it’ll be all right.”

  Mr. Bickerstaff was not smiling. “Someone could have been hurt or even killed by handling that animal.”

  “I agree,” Mr. Costain said. “And I assure you I’ll be taking appropriate disciplinary action, Mr. Bickerstaff. I’m sorry it’s interfered with your building inspection. George, thank you—you can go back to class now.”

  George picked up his books and headed slowly for the door, while the men kept talking.

  “Thanks so much for coming to get her,” Mr. Costain was saying as the farmer led the cow away. “I’ll be selling the farm soon anyway—I hear land prices around here are going to jump pretty soon. Hey, I see she’s left you some cow pies.”

  Mr. Bickerstaff said nothing, and kept frowning darkly at the cow.