Chicken (24 page)

I twist my torso to face her, crush my lips against hers so hard I’m almost biting them. She pulls her head back, smiles like okay, okay, which my mind immediately translates into bacon, bacon. 

“I wonder what Brant and Lauren are doing right now.”

I frown. “You say that like they’re together.”

She cocks her head. “Um, because they are?”

I shake my head. “No way.”

She gapes at me. “He didn’t tell you he had a date? What on earth do boys do in the woods if they don’t talk about girls?”

I turn back to the TV, hopefully before she can see me blushing. “Bacon mostly.”

“You’re serious? He didn’t tell you he finally asked a girl out?”

“It never came up. And don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like there’s something wrong with him for that.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that, but it’s true. He’s a late bloomer.”

I pick at the fuzz balls in her carpet. “He’s sixteen. That’s insane.”

“Almost seventeen.” Hannah ruffles my hair. “You’re just mad because he didn’t tell you.”

Mad is not quite the right word for it. More like all the disappointment he chased away last night has come rushing back in, filling up every empty space under my skin. It’s hypocritical, I guess, I mean here I’ve been making out with Hannah on her bed. But that’s different. She’s already my girlfriend. Like I’m already Brant’s boyfriend. So if he asks someone out after me, then isn’t that cheating? He’s not fulfilling an old obligation, he’s making a whole new one. Just like I did. I want to crawl under the bed.

“But he’s not even allowed to go on dates.”

“They went for pizza with Colton and Natalie.”

My fingers curl, leaving dark slashes in the carpet where I rubbed it the wrong way. “Why didn’t they ask us?”

She tilts my head back, makes me look her in the eyes. “Why are you so jealous?”

We stare at each other for a long moment before I wrench my head back to the TV. “I don’t even know what you mean. I’m happy with you. I don’t want Lauren—”

“I know you don’t want Lauren, dummy. You hate fate people.”

“What? That has nothing to do with it. Why would you say that?”

“You do. You’re kind of mean.”

I snort. “Did your Tumblr girls tell you that?”

“No, my ears did. Anyway—”

“It’s just not fair, is it? The Bible says gluttony is a sin, and yet Mackey just keeps getting bigger and bigger. Then he gets up there and thinks he has a right to tell us what we can and can’t do with our bodies? Because of what the Bible says? How does that make sense? I don’t hate fat people, Hannah, I hate hypocrites. And this town is full of ’em.”

My heart bumps against my ribs, like a caged animal sticking it’s head between the bars, testing for a way out. Hannah wraps her arms around my neck, kisses the back of my head. I try to shrug her off, but she only holds me tighter. On screen, the Doctor and Rose are running. God, they are always running.

SUNDAY, JULY 15, 2012

His left hand holds his King James Bible and his right hand holds my face. Thumb to cheekbone. Fingers hooked over the rim of my ear. Urgent and clumsy, but not sloppy or wet. But all I can think about is if he did this with Lauren, if she got her glittery pink gloss all over his lips. My eyes pop open, and I swear that creepy devil puppet is laughing at me. 

Brant pulls back, giving me the goofiest look—nose wrinkled, eyebrows lifted, like he still can’t believe we’re doing this. “I didn’t really forget my Bible.”

I smooth the wrinkles I made in his lapels when I wadded them up in my fists. “I kind of figured that.”

When Sunday School ended, we followed Brother Tucker and the other teens down the long hall, but just before we made the turn at the T, Brant grabbed my shoulder and hauled me out of line. Hannah and Lauren looked back, but Brant waved them forward, said he forgot his Bible and we’d be right out. He led me back to our Sunday School room and retrieved his Bible from under his brown metal chair. Then he dragged me across the hall into the EQ because no one ever comes in here unless they need a puppet, though really, does anyone ever truly need a puppet?

Brant tilts his forehead to mine, pressing his palm harder against my cheek. I wish I hadn’t shaved this morning, even though I was thinking of him when I did, hoping he would do something like this. But I miss the sound his calluses made on my stubble Saturday morning, like a cat licking a tortoise shell. Now I just hear a muffled mash-up of songs blowing through the vents—“Shout to the Lord” from the grown-ups in the sanctuary and “Father Abraham” from the little kids in the fellowship hall.

“Reckon we’d better get out there.”

I run my hand up and down his forearm. “Bacon.”

Suddenly, he’s hugging me, gathering me up in his arms and holding me to his chest. I cross my arms over his back, cling to his shoulders. He pushes his face into my neck and sighs. Not like an irritated sigh or even a happy sigh. More like an old dog lying down by a fire. 

“Every time we’re apart, I’m afraid you’re gonna change your mind.”

I shake my head, swallow the word never. Too intense. Too true to be said aloud right now. So I go with something catty.

“How was your date?”

He shakes his head, so hard it hurts when his temple bumps into mine. “It was a precaution, not a date. Please tell me you know that.”

“I can’t know things you don’t tell me, Brant.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want you worried all evening.”

“Well, I was. And it sucked.”

He kisses the side of my neck. “I’m sorry. There’s just—there’s not a guidebook for this. You know?”

“Yeah, I know.” I slip my hands under his suit jacket, run my hands up his ribs. “But I figure lying to the world will be a lot easier if we’re always honest with each other.”

His arms slide off my back and he steps out of the embrace. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his navy blue pants. “Any chance your parents would let you come over this afternoon?”

“I told Hannah I’d go to lunch with her and her dad.”

“Of course.” Matter-of-fact, not sarcastic. 

I hook my thumbs in my pockets. “What should I do?”

“Chew with your mouth closed, for starters. Keep your elbows off the table. Fold a napkin in your—”

I kick him in the shin. “You know what I mean.”

“You should do what you’ve been doing. It’s better if we have beards.”

“I know, but Mama likes for me to shave.”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t you know anything about being queer? That’s what we call our girlfriends.”

I back away. “I don’t feel right cheating.”

He crosses his arms, shakes his head. “You can’t think like that.”

“I’m kissing someone who isn’t my girlfriend. And now so are you, apparently. What else can I think about that?”

“Nothing. Kissing is kissing. It’s just something we like to do.”

“Oh.” My body introduces the world to a brand new shade of red.

“We can’t afford for it to be anything other than that.”

I want to tell him he’s confusing me, but standing there in his suit and tie with that dog-eared Bible under his arm, Brant looks every bit the pastor of his father’s dreams, and the future that seemed possible this weekend in the woods looks unbearably stupid under this stained-glass light. I’m not exactly fit to be a preacher’s wife. 

A distant round of applause signals praise-and-worship has ended. I jerk my head toward the doors. “Someone’s gonna come looking for us.”

I move in that direction. He catches up at the door, grabs my hand. Stupidly holds it all the way down the hall until we’re standing at the door, listening to Brother Mackey make announcements on the other side. We don’t say anything. He leans in and kisses my cheek. If it’s supposed to feel casual, he’s doing it wrong. 

When he opens the door, every pair of eyes that isn’t clouded with cataracts flicks toward us. Both our fathers frown. Hannah squints. Lauren smirks. Tyler Mathis’ mean eyes light up clear across the church. Brant holds his Bible up as an explanation—a dumb move since half the guys in this church have probably “forgotten” their Bible back there. We creep along the side aisle to our pews. 

He slides in past the Plunketts to sit between Lauren and his mother. I go to the row where my family sits and take my place beside Laramie. She makes a silent kissy face. I make a mental note to get pee on our shared toilet seat sometime this week. She ought to be in children’s church with all the other dumb little kids so I don’t have to deal with this, but she got suspended two weeks ago for kicking her best friend.

“One last announcement, folks.” Brother Mackey holds up a folded sheet of paper featuring a loopy-lettered Bible verse printed over a random photo of some purple mountains.  “You may have noticed in your bulletin that there’s been a slight change in plans for the youth group’s summer field trip, and I’d like to take a minute to fill y’all all in. I know a lot of you were really looking forward to The Passion Play—”

Brant and Hannah exchange an exasperated glance behind Lauren’s head, having seen it a combined total of seventeen times.

“—but as you know, we didn’t quite meet our fundraising goals.”

I side-eye Daddy, watch his chin sink just a little bit. 

“But as the board and I talked it over, current events presented us with a new plan, and I think y’all are going to like it. Now, we’ll be using the funds we already raised to pay for the youth group’s participation in this, but I just want to make it known that y’all are all welcome to go. In fact, I encourage y’all all to join us. No, scratch that. Folks, I am begging you all to take part in this. Adults. Teens. Children. Seniors. I’d like to see as many of you come along as possibly can.”

The congregation buzzes. Brant and Hannah and Lauren all exchange glance, confused this time, and I’m frustrated because no one will look back and exchange a glance with me. I look over at Sister Bonnie, sitting two pews ahead right by the aisle, her mouth drawn into a line that shows the wrinkles under her make-up. Right before Mackey says it, I remember.

“Folks, Wings of Glory has officially been boycotted by members of the homosexual agenda. They are doing everything they can to ruin this beautiful business. Our former governor—can I get an Amen for that fine man?—has called for the Christians of this country to take a stand by setting aside a day to pour out love on Wings of Glory.” 

He leans forward, gripping the edges of his pulpit. “On August 1st, the body of Christ is going to put itself between the enemy and the Wings of Glory family. So I will be driving the bus to Conway, and I hope to see all of the youth group on board.” 

He pulls a white hankie from his pocket and blots his forehead. “As for the rest of y’all, I encourage you to form some car pools. Whatever it takes to get as many of us there as we can. And I know there are several other churches participating.” He ticks them off on his manicured fingers. “First Baptist. Second Methodist. Trinity Tabernacle. Powerhouse. And a few others I’m forgetting right now.” 

He pauses again, pats his stomach. “Point is, ladies and gentlemen, we are going to eat every last bit of chicken they have in stock!”

Standing ovation. The only people left sitting are Sister Bonnie, Lauren, and Hannah, who glares at Brant as he stands dutifully beside his parents, clapping even harder than my father who is going to pull a muscle if he doesn’t settle down. Mama claps politely, looking pretty bored by the whole thing. Laramie leans behind Mama’s back and looks right at me, one eyebrow arched ridiculously. 

Brother Mackey motions for us to quiet down. “Y’all don’t know how that just fills my heart. I hate that this is something we have to do in this free country, but I am so honored to be doing it with all of you fine folks. You bless me every day.” He claps his hands together. “Let’s have one more song. Brother Dean, come on, you know what I have in mind.”

The congregation buzzes with excitement and outrage as the musicians scurry back to the stage. Even Sister Cindy goes to the front row and picks up her tambourine. Sister Helen slides behind the piano and her fingers dance across the keys, drawing a chorus of hallelujahs from the crowd.

“Give me some room!” Brother Raymond hollers, flailing his arms at his nearest neighbors.

Brother Mackey whoops and claps his hands over his head. Brother Dean’s guitar chimes in, but then he pauses and leans into the mic, “Brant! Don’t be shy! Come help your old man!”

Brant cringes but does as he’s told. He runs up to the stage and takes a mic off its stand. His father starts us off, but Brant jumps right in. The song is called “Enemy’s Camp” and it’s one of those old nineties’ choruses with choreographed motions that Brother Mackey holds dear. 

First, we jog in place, on our way to the enemy’s camp.

Then, we retrieve what was stolen from us by throwing our hands forward and dragging them right back.

Finally, during the chorus, everyone jumps up and down as hard as they can to stomp on the devil’s face. 

Brant Mitchell can run in place, take it back, and crush the devil under his feet like you wouldn’t believe. He looks goofy, but considerably less so than Brother Dean whose bouncing barrel belly has made his white shirt come untucked from his black jeans. 

I do only as much as it takes to avoid a tongue-lashing from Daddy. He does as much as his bad leg will let him. Laramie is all over the place, singing wildly off-key and doing everything a beat behind the rest of us. Mama hops half-heartedly and makes that face like she’s having terrible childhood flashbacks.

Brother Raymond jogs back and forth along his aisle, waving his hands in the air until it’s time to throw them forward and bring them back in. He throws them to left and then he throws them to right, almost hitting his neighbors several times, but hey, he did warn them. 

After the third round, Sister Bonnie sits down, putting her fingers to her temples. Hannah finally turns around and holds up a single finger, which I understand to mean one more year. I muster up a grin, but it’s hard when the foundations are trembling with the force of all this hate. Because I mean, call it what they want, standing up for free speech or whatever, but we all know the truth. They just don’t like people like me.