Point of No Return (46 page)

“Getting revenge,” Matt admitted. He looked to Jack. “Come on, you know it's true. We wanted to get back at Joe for causing us so much trouble.”

Jack nodded. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Do you see what happened? You willfully distorted Scripture so you could vent your anger and get revenge.” He sighed deeply, then smiled. “Welcome to the human race.”

Matt and Jack perked up as if they hadn't heard him correctly.

Whit continued, with deep understanding in his voice, “Boys, you did what some Christians have been doing for two thousand years. You twisted the Bible around to suit your desires. It's sad, but true. So let's learn from this mistake, all right? It's the Spirit within us that helps us to understand God's Word and lead us into the
right
action. We have to be very, very careful not to confuse our ideas of what Jesus would do with what we want to do. Do you remember what the apostle Paul wrote about the fruit of the flesh versus the fruit of the Spirit?”

They shook their heads no.

“Let's see if I can paraphrase what he said. It's in Galatians, chapter 5. The fruit of the flesh is immorality, impurity, idolatry,
hatred, quarreling
, jealousy,
anger
, dissensions, envy…well, I think you get the idea. But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. See the difference? It's a good checklist when you're trying to decide whether or not you're behaving the way Jesus wants you to. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Jack said.

“Would it be okay if we started over?” Matt asked.

“Start what over?” Whit asked in return.

“Our pledge,” he replied, then nudged Jack. “From now on, we'll honestly try to do what Jesus wants us to do. Right?”

“Right,” Jack said.

“Most of us have to ‘start over' as Christians
every day
,” Whit smiled. They fell silent for a moment. Whit looked at the two empty chairs and said, “I wonder what happened to Karen and Lucy?”

“Why didn't you tell us about this before?” Karen's father asked her.

“I thought I could deal with it myself,” she replied. Karen, her father and mother, and Lucy were in the Crosbys' living room. Somewhere a radio played soft guitar music. Karen and Lucy sat on the couch, facing Mr. and Mrs. Crosby who nestled into two easy chairs. “I'm really, really sorry,” she added.

Lucy felt awkward being there for this family meeting, but Karen wanted her nearby, if only for moral support. They had eaten dinner together, then moved to the living room to talk about Karen's troubles.

“Don't ever let things go so far before you talk to us,” Mr. Crosby said as a final reprimand.

“Is there anything we can do?” Mrs. Crosby asked her husband as she reached over and gently took his hand. Mrs. Crosby was a beautiful woman with blonde hair and large blue eyes who once was a model but left the business to get married and raise a family.

Mr. Crosby was a handsome, easygoing man with friendly eyes, a ready smile, and plenty of jokes for Lucy whenever she came around. But he was deadly earnest now. “Without any proof, there isn't anything we can do about Mr. Laker.”

“What about the missing money?” Karen asked.

“Unfortunately, they have all the proof they need for that.” He tilted his head and looked thoughtfully at the fireplace. The flames crackled and popped there. “I suppose we can refuse to pay the money, especially since Karen didn't steal it. But the school district won't sit still for that.”

Mrs. Crosby rested her chin on her fist. “What if we refuse to pay and demand some kind of inquiry? Maybe that'll shake a few apples out of Mr. Laker's tree. If the money really is missing, then he must've put it somewhere.”

“It won't be an inquiry, darling. It'll be a
battle
,” Mr. Crosby said. “Are we ready for that?”

“What would Jesus do?” Lucy asked them.

Mr. Crosby released his wife's hand to tend to the fire. He picked up a poker and jabbed at the logs a couple of times. “I get the impression from Scripture that it's better to be wronged than to fight or go to court. Jesus said it when He talked about turning the other cheek and Paul wrote about it in First Corinthians.”

“The truth is, Karen's reputation is solid,” Mrs. Crosby said. “People who know her will also know that she didn't steal the money. We can't worry about the rest.”

“Then I'm right?” Karen asked. “I should resign from the student council?”

Reluctantly, Mr. Crosby nodded. “Yes, sweetheart. You probably should. Otherwise you'll spend the rest of the year battling this incident—trying to stay credible with those who are against you. Life's too short and you're too young for that.”

“Do you mind?” Mrs. Crosby asked.

Karen considered the question. “Being president hasn't been so special, but I hate to quit like this. It's like admitting I'm guilty.”

“I know, I know,” Mr. Crosby said. “But unless you find those copies, there's nothing else you can do.”

Lucy stood up. “I'm going home and ransacking my house one more time.”

“I'll look around here again,” Karen said.

“Meanwhile, girls, I suggest we all do a lot of praying,” Mr. Crosby said. He gave the fire one last poke and it spat sparks back at him.

When Lucy got home, her mother informed her that Mrs. Stegner had called. Lucy slipped into the study and dialed the number her mother had scribbled on the pad. Somehow it felt very serious calling a teacher at home.

“Thanks for calling back,” Mrs. Stegner said after they said their hellos.

“I was over at Karen's, talking to her parents,” Lucy explained.

“No doubt they have a lot to talk about,” Mrs. Stegner said. “I phoned to tell you that Mike's been working on an article about Karen's resignation. I assume she's still going to resign tomorrow?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

The line hissed for a moment, then Mrs. Stegner said, “You're so close to this situation, Lucy, that I'm pulling rank on you. I'm making the decision to print an article about Karen's resignation and the allegations about the missing money.”

“I figured you would,” Lucy said.

“However, I want
you
to write an editorial. Make it a rebuttal, if you want. But I want to print your response to what's happened. Will you do that for me?”

Lucy thought about the opportunity to set the record straight—or, at least try to. “Yes, ma'am. Thanks for giving me the chance.”

“I need it by tomorrow morning,” Mrs. Stegner said.

“Okay,” Lucy said. “I'll do my best.”

“Thank you. And, again, I'm sorry your friend is having such a hard time.”

“So am I, Mrs. Stegner.”

They said good-bye and Lucy hung up the phone.

She glanced over at the cursor on her parents' computer as it sat indifferently on the desk. It winked at her over and over again.
I'm going to have to write the best editorial of my life
, she thought.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I
T WAS
J
UDGMENT
D
AY
—or so Jack took to calling it later.

The day began with Lucy and Karen meeting to pray together before school. They huddled outside next to a side door and asked God in hushed tones to be with them both, to give them courage to do what was right, and to allow the truth to come to light. It didn't seem like much to ask. But they both remembered Jesus' night in the Garden of Gethsemane, His betrayal at the hands of Judas, and the long road to that cross on top of the hill.

“Thy will be done,” Karen whispered, and meant it. At some point in the night, as she wrote her speech, she felt her heart release the future. Whatever happened was God's business. It always was, she knew, but now she felt it deep in her heart.

Lucy had spent the night writing and rewriting her editorial for the paper. It was harder than she expected. In one version, she told the whole story about the file and Mr. Laker's misdeeds. She threw it away, though. Without proof, it was like bad gossip and would demean the good she'd hoped to do Karen. She wrote six versions before she settled on the one she liked the most. She was desperate to get it right for reasons even Karen didn't know.

“Are you coming to the meeting?” Karen asked.

“Only one reporter from the
Owl
is allowed to go to the student council,” Lucy reminded her.

“That's silly. Whose idea was that?”

“Yours,” Lucy chuckled. “It was the first rule you got passed when you became president.”

“Oh,” Karen giggled. “Well, I'm
still
the president and I say you can come in.”

They both thought how nice it was to see the other smile. It felt like a long time since they had.

“I'll be there after I turn in my editorial to Mrs. Stegner,” Lucy promised.

With a last hug for encouragement, the two girls went their separate ways: Karen to the library for the student council meeting and Lucy to the
Odyssey Owl'
s office. Only God knew where they would go from there.

Mrs. Stegner hadn't arrived at the
Owl
yet, so Lucy took out her editorial and set it on the table. She then took out another sheet of paper, looked it over one last time, then placed it next to the editorial.

It was her resignation.

As Lucy had asked herself again and again what Jesus would do with the
Owl
, she decided that He wouldn't go along with the hairsplitting between “truth” and “facts,” between sarcastic reporting and honest news. Mrs. Stegner was a good teacher and had been more than fair to her, but Lucy felt it was wrong to teach kids that reporting was merely presenting facts without truth. Where was hope? Where was the belief that journalism could help lift people up, rather than constantly drag them into the mud? The questions made Lucy feel tired, mostly because the answers weren't easy to figure out.

Maybe one day Lucy could start her own newspaper—one in which she would try to make telling the truth fairly and positively her highest priority.

She was about to leave, when she suddenly decided that Mr. Felegy should see her editorial and resignation. Snatching them back up, Lucy went over to the storage closet to make copies. She turned the copier on and had to wait for a couple of minutes while it warmed up.
It was only a couple of days ago
, she thought,
that we were here making copies of Mr. Laker's file
.

“What did we do with those copies?” she asked herself, pressing the side of her head as if it might jog her memory.

Lucy placed the first page of her editorial on the glass, lowered the lid, and pushed the copy button. It hummed at her as the light flashed under the lid. A copy of page one slid out of the side and settled into the rack. She was about to put page two down when suddenly the machine stopped and a red symbol flashed.

“Out of paper,” she muttered. Turning to the metal shelves behind her, she looked for packages of the right kind of paper for the copier. She knew from experience that to put the wrong kind in would jam it up. “There it is,” she said and reached up for the half-opened ream. She caught the flap on the end and pulled the package toward her. It slid off the shelf and into her hands. A few pages dropped to the floor. She hated it when the kids were too lazy to close the half-opened wrappers holding the paper. They
always
lost a few sheets to the floor or under the cabinet.