Losing Faith (12 page)

“Hey, Dad. You’re home. You must have gotten my message, then, right?”

“Yes, I did. Are you done? Should I come and get you?” He sounds anxious.

“Um, if you don’t mind me missing dinner, I have a ton to catch up on. The school will be open until ten.” At least I hope it will. I did overhear something about an evening volleyball game.

Dad assures me he’ll be waiting out front for me at five to ten. His voice wavers and I want to try again to talk to him, for both of us. But as if he senses this, he clears his throat, tells me not to be late, and hangs up.

An hour later, when I’ve almost fallen asleep over my
Macbeth
essay, a dilapidated pickup
truck pulls into the parking lot and an older guy with scraggly gray hair hops out of the driver’s door. Two teen guys and a girl step out of the other side. If it wasn’t a
church
group I was waiting for, I’d swear it was a party mobile.

I wait a couple minutes before following them inside. A few other teens trail behind me and I hang back to see which direction they go. I’m nervous, not being comfortable in church groups to begin with, let alone one my sister might have attended. A girl with braids smiles my way. I flash her my own quick grin, but quickly break eye contact. Seconds later, she walks on ahead.

I follow the braids girl at a distance through a double set of doors, and into a cozy room with benches around the perimeter. The group from the truck sits cross-legged in the middle of the room. The girl I followed waves and says hello to everyone. I feel invisible until the old guy spots me.

“Oh, hi!” he says, standing. “Come on in and join us.” He motions to the kids on the floor to shove over.

I hesitate, and he heads across the room toward me. This guy looks way old to be a youth leader.

“Are you here for Senior Frenzy?” he asks.

I nod.

“Well, we’re happy to have you. Come meet some of the others.”

He starts to back up, but I don’t follow. The rest of the crew in the circle eye me curiously.

“Listen,” I say, “I’m actually just trying to find out if my sister ever came to your group.”

“Well, we keep an attendance board in the lobby, but what’s her name?”

“Faith Jenkins,” I say, trying to keep my voice even.

He shows immediate recognition. My heart beats faster.

“Oh, dear, I’m sorry,” he says, his face making it obvious he really is. “I didn’t know her, but we all heard.” He pauses to let out a pained sigh. “She hasn’t been here to Senior Frenzy, I’m afraid, but I know how difficult it is to lose somebody. You’re more than welcome to stay.” He steps closer. “Fellowship can be of great comfort at a time—”

“Right,” I say, backing up. “I appreciate the offer, but I have to go, actually.” I cringe inwardly at my curt reply and back a few more paces away. “Maybe another time.”

He doesn’t come after me, but reaches his hand out like he’s still willing to usher me into the group if I change my mind. I pull my arms across my chest and back the rest of the way out the door.

Almost across the lobby and out the main doors, I
remember what he said about an attendance list. It’s not that I don’t believe the guy, but somehow I just need to see it in black-and-white, to know for sure that this avenue is exhausted. I walk to the large bulletin board. Two more teens amble for the double doors and I duck my head down before they can say hi.

Once they move around the corner, I scan the board. The list is easy to find. Large, bright-orange poster board with a zillion names down one side, dates along the top, and “I ♥ Jesus” stickers marking which days different kids have been present. The words “Senior Frenzy” are scrawled across the top in thick black marker.

My eyes go first to today’s date. I scan down the empty row. They must fill out the attendance board at the end of group. The list of names on the left takes only a minute to go through. At first I just look for
F
s at the beginning, but when my eyes get to the bottom, one messy last edition catches my attention. I’d recognize that handwriting anywhere.

Celeste Schwartz. I never did e-mail her to see if her grandma’s okay.

It seems impossible to me that Celeste would have gone anywhere—especially to a youth group—without Faith, so I check the names again. But Faith’s name is definitely not on the list.

Running my finger back to Celeste’s name, I scroll sideways. How long could she have possibly been coming here without my sister? There’s only one sticker on Celeste’s line. I slide my finger up to the date. My hand flies to my mouth.

September twenty-fifth.

The night Faith died.

I check my watch. Nearly eight PM. Absorbed by the sight of the peppy sticker on that date, I stumble backward toward the exit, completely ignoring the girl who holds open the door for me.

My head spins all the way to the bus stop. If they don’t mark attendance until the end, what would that be, like ten o’clock? I was at the hospital way before ten the night Faith died. And Celeste was … at Grass Roots Community Church.

I suddenly feel like I don’t really understand anyone. I know there must be some logical explanation, but everything feels surreal again. Like it did after the night of the accident.

On the bus, I root through my bag for my cell but when I open it, it lets out the
ding
that tells me the battery is dying. Since I definitely can’t risk missing a call from Dad, I jump off the bus on Garibaldi and head for the closest pay phone. I dial information and get the three listings for Schwartz. No one answers on the first two and at the third an answering machine picks up with a digitized recording.

I leave a message after the beep. “Hi, I’m looking for Celeste, if she’s home yet. This is Brie Jenkins, and I really need to talk to her as soon as possible.” I leave my cell number and hang up.

The street I’ve gotten off on is near the local college and full of restaurants and pubs. Even though I haven’t eaten, I can’t stomach food right now. At least it’s a safe area and if I walk, maybe my head will clear.

As I’m about to round the corner by Applebee’s, a familiar head of dark hair in the window catches my attention. Amy’s hairstyle is unique, with tight loops and straightened sections alternating, so I know it’s her without having to see her face, and Applebee’s is her favorite restaurant. I wonder if she’s with Steph and the rest of the girls who don’t even say hi to me anymore. When a hand reaches out and brushes over Amy’s hair, I clue in. She’s on a date. The plant in the window obstructs my view of the guy, though. I’m glad, at least, that this may be the reason she hasn’t been in contact. A secret boyfriend is one of the better reasons to forget a friend.

Since we’re on Garibaldi, I suspect it’s a college guy. I check my watch—still an hour before I have to meet Dad—and then back up to pull open the heavy front doors of the restaurant. I scoot between tables in the direction I saw Amy.

A waitress station stands right in my path, and several
servers try to get into it at once for supplies. I have to wait, but stand on my tiptoes to see if I can find Amy. I catch a glimpse of her curls, and the top of the head of the blond guy she’s with.

I smile. Even if we haven’t talked in over a week, I know that once I catch her with this new guy, she’ll want to seem like the sweetest thing in front of him. Much easier to solve things with her that way. When the last waitress clears out of my way, I barrel around the station toward the table.

But then I stop.

Their hands are clasped on the table and Amy looks at me first. Then Dustin.

No one speaks, but my mouth drops open.

“I, um … Brie,” Dustin says.

“Holy crap,” I say, backing away. My heart triples its speed and feels like it’s going to explode all over the floor around me. I really
don’t
know anybody. Not my parents, not Faith, not Dustin. And definitely not Amy.

Dustin stands, dropping Amy’s hand. “It’s just—”

“No way.” I shake my head. “Not tonight. No flippin’ way.”

chapter
TWELVE

a
fter Dad picks me up, I bury myself under my covers in bed and cry all night long. I hear the door creak open and quiet my tears to see that it’s Mom looking in on me sometime after midnight. Part of me wants to let out a sob so she’ll come in and put her arms around me. But the other part of me won’t allow it. My insides are vibrating with anger and I don’t want to spew it on anyone except the two people who deserve it. Besides, Mom’s not ready to handle anything else.

The next morning I’ve had no sleep but I’m ready to take on life—at least the school part of it. Amy and Dustin hooked up. Whatever, they deserve each other. Tessa is my new best
friend. Great, can’t wait to get my first skull-and-crossbones tattoo. I’m taking exams that I don’t know any of the answers for. How could life get any better?

When I trek through the school entryway, I immediately spot Dustin standing at the far end of the hall near the gym. When he sees me, he drops his head and ducks through the doors. I walk in his direction, but then stop.

As angry as I am, I’m also emotionally exhausted. Between my sister dying and Amy de-socializing me … no one wants to talk to me as it is. Do I really want to make it worse by telling off a popular senior like Dustin?

Besides, I have more important things to worry about.

Plan M: Take a short cut through the Senior Wing to see if Celeste is back.

I’m not sure exactly which locker belongs to Celeste, but I know it was near Faith’s, so I head there.

When I find number 893, I stand in front of it for several minutes, staring. It’s stupid, I know. It doesn’t look any different than the rows and rows of shiny yellow lockers on either side. But it
is
different. I run my hand along the sleek yellow door, searching for some school memories of Faith. But I avoided her in school, so the only ones I can think of are of me walking the other direction. I stare down at the floor.

A group of senior girls walks past and takes my attention. I recognize the rail-thin Asian girl. She has smooth hair, like opaque glass, and I wonder if she straightens it between classes. I’m not sure if I recognize her from the hallways, or if I’ve seen her with Faith before.

Celeste doesn’t seem to be showing, so after looking back at Faith’s locker for a second, I trail them by a few feet, trying to fake some interest in the binder I’m holding.

“So she killed herself?” the tallest one asks.

“No, I heard it was an accident,” one of the other girls replies.

“Uh-uh. I know it for a fact,” the glass-haired girl announces. “I overheard a phone call. …” I’m too far back to catch the rest of her sentence.

“Are you sure he’s talking about her?”

“That’s all I know. They didn’t say a name, but I know it must be the Jenkins girl.”

The moment she says my last name, I gasp and it sounds like a trumpet in my head. I feel like I’m on display. Like the entire student body is pointing at me. And suddenly, the tallest girl stops and turns back toward me. I drop my binder and the rings clack open. I scurry to the floor to shove the papers back inside.

Right, I guess acting natural is out of the question, then. Several seconds later when
I glance up to see if they’re all staring at me, the hallway is empty and the second bell rings.

After lunch, I have History. If I go, Clancy will be as nice as ever, probably give me a C for the test I bombed, and I’ll feel like a failure all over again for not being on top of my life. Instead, I head for the guidance counselor’s office. I need to talk to somebody because I’m seriously starting to think I’ve lost it.

Ms. Lamberton is available when I get there. I sit in a chair and stare at her for a long time, trying to decide how to start up this conversation.

“Nice family,” I say, pointing to the picture of two preschool kids on her desk.

She smiles. “Oh, these aren’t mine. They’re my nieces.” She turns another picture to face me. “This one’s mine.”

It’s hard not to smile at the picture of Ms. Lamberton holding a cute, brown Chihuahua on her lap.

“I call her Appy,” she says, and rambles on about the history of the dog. Where she got her, how she named her, why that’s her only real family. I’m surprised she doesn’t have kids of her own. She’s older, in her forties maybe, but pretty.

“My sister died,” I blurt.

“Yes,” she says softly, switching gears instantaneously. “How are you?”

Ms. Lamberton reaches a hand out toward mine. I don’t reach to meet hers, but I feel like she cares.

“I’m trying to get things back to normal here at school, but it’s not easy. No one acts the same.” I wait for her to interrupt me. To step in. But she just lets me talk. “Anyway, I thought I was ready to go to all my classes and concentrate on schoolwork, but I guess I’m not.” I want her to send me home so I don’t have to see Dustin or Amy or listen to people spread horrible rumors about Faith. I plead with my eyes.

She nods. “Why don’t we work on getting you caught up first,” she says, scribbling out a permission slip, “and then we’ll worry about the classroom. Many kids, or people, really, don’t know how to deal with death.”

I’m so surprised at her understanding that I sit there for a moment without a reply. She takes that as a hint to go on.

“I’m going to give you a pass for today, Brie. Go get some work done in the library. And if you need a pass tomorrow, too, come back and see me.” She smiles warmly. “Okay?”

The library. That’s at least a good second choice. I thought I would have had to beg to get out of class. Go into the whole story about Faith and all about my feelings. Maybe even start crying.

I leave feeling strangely comforted. Ms. Lamberton is not what I would’ve expected.

chapter
THIRTEEN

Plan N: Update Facebook page.

When I get home, I head straight for the computer. Seeing some graffiti on one of the library tables at school reminded me of all the cutesy love notes about Dustin I have on my Facebook page. I need to get them off there. Now.