Swept Away (4 page)

“I hope you girls aren’t too upset that I pulled you away from your studies and made you exercise.” Mom handed them each a bottle of water from the refrigerator.

Amber easily unscrewed the top of her water bottle—the seal had already been broken. Lovely—a used bottle that had been cleaned and refilled with tap water. She watched carefully, hoping her mom had the foresight to give Brittany a fresh bottle.

The seal on Brittany’s bottle snapped as she screwed off the top, then took a long drink of the cool water.

Amber breathed a sigh of relief and glanced at her mom with silent thanks.

Mom’s chin lifted slightly and she winked. She got it—most of the time.

“No, Mrs. Stevens.” Brittany leaned to the side with her arm over her head, her long, sleek, black ponytail swinging as she stretched. “Ididn’t mind at all. I think it was a great move—we needed it.”

“Yeah, Mom. We haven’t done that in a while, and I don’t think ever while it snowed. Cool.” Amber took a swig and leaned against the counter.

“We’ll have to do it more often, then.” Mom grinned.

“Now, it’s back to the books for us.” Amber held one arm out toward the doorway and waited for Brittany to join her.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Brittany’s face fell. “I think the break is doing us good. Let’s take the rest of the night off.”

“Really?” Amber checked the clock. It did feel nice to take some pressure off. They had studied for four hours straight before the run. And Brittany looked so hopeful. “Okay, Britt. We’ll quit for the day.”

Brittany grinned. “What do you want to do?”

“First? Sustenance. We’ll collapse and die if we don’t get food. Then we’ll talk plans.”

Brittany laughed. “Such a drama queen.”

Amber had already pulled the doors open so she could dig through the kitchen cabinets. “Aha! I knew it!” She triumphantly pulled out a half-eaten package of Oreos. “Milk!” Amber pulled the milk from the fridge while Brittany got two glasses.

Amber unscrewed her cookie and scraped the filling off with her teeth. She dunked the chocolate cookie part into her milk and held it there for a few moments.

Brittany dropped an Oreo into the milk and let it float there until it started to sink. She used a spoon to retrieve the milk-logged cookie and popped the whole thing into her mouth. It barely fit, and milk dripped out of one of the corners. She leaned forward over the counter and held up a cupped hand to catch the drip.

“Here, silly.” Amber laughed and handed her a napkin, then they polished off the cookies in the bag. “Okay, now that I’ve had enough sugar to last the whole week, we can talk plans. What do you want to do tonight?”

“I think a movie. My treat.” Brittany casually threw that last part on the end.

“Okay. I’ll treat next time.” Amber hoped she’d have money next time.

“Deal!”

“Amber, we’re leaving for church.”

She rolled over in her bed and mumbled good-bye to her parents. Barely awake, she sensed movement in the room.
Brittany!
For a moment she’d forgotten Britt had spent the night. Amber pried one eye open and peeked across the room where Brittany stood fully dressed, tying her shoes. Amber bolted up to her elbows. “You leaving?”

“Yeah, I told you my parents would be picking me up.” Brittany picked up the brush. “Your parents left already. Don’t they want you to go with them?” Brittany hesitantly asked.

“Want me to? Sure. But they don’t force the issue.” Amber lay back down and pulled the covers up around her. “They’re trying to let me find my own way.”

“Hmm.” Brittany smoothed her hair in the mirror.

Amber tilted her head. “Ah, I can hear the disapproval in your
hmm.”

“Well, I think church would be good for you. If I were your mom and dad …”

“Oh, I know. You’d be a slave driver.” Amber threw her pillow at Brittany and they both laughed.

Brittany peeked out the window. “They’re here. Gotta go!” She grabbed her things and started to leave the room. “Next week, come with me. Okay?”

“Your church is so far away,” Amber whined. Brittany laughed. “It’s downtown—thirty minutes away. You’d drive farther to go shopping. You’re coming.”

“We’ll see, Britt.”
We’ll see
.

“How can you make popcorn without a bag?”

“Are you serious?” Amber stared at her supposedly brilliant best friend. “You’ve really never seen popcorn made on a stove in a pot?”

“Nope, I’ve only had the microwave kind—oh, and the kind at the movie theater.”

“What do you think people do with the jars of popcorn kernels they sell at the grocery store?”

Brittany shrugged. “I just assumed they put them in some sort of special bag and popped them in the microwave.”

“Really? I can’t believe it.” Amber turned away briefly to face the stove, then spun back around. “Wait! I have a question. What about before microwaves? Where did popcorn come from then?”

“I guess I never really thought it through. We don’t have popcorn at home very often—it’s not really a Korean delicacy, you know.” Brittany shrugged her shoulders.

“Well, okay then. I guess you get to learn how to make
real
popcorn now.” Amber reached for a pot from the cabinet under the range. “Trust me, once you taste this stuff, you’ll never want microwave popcorn again.” She poured oil into the bottom of the tall pot on the stove. “The key is to put in enough oil so every kernel is submerged, but not so much they’ll drown in it when they pop.” She poured two pieces into her palm. “Now, the next step is important. You only put two kernels into the pot. Wait until they pop, then add the rest.”

“Why?” Brittany peered through the glass lid.

“That way you know it’s hot enough to pop the rest of the corn.”

“Yeah, but I mean, why only two? Why can’t you put it all in there? The oil would still get hot, right?”

“Um, well, yeah. I guess so.” Amber’s forehead creased as she wondered why. “But anyway, that’s how it’s done.”

“Ha! You don’t know.” Brittany grinned and crossed her arms triumphantly on herchest. “But whatever. We’ll do it your way. Two kernels.”

Pop. Pop
.

“Okay, now we’re ready for the rest.” Amber lifted the lid and poured in the popcorn. “And … now we wait.”

Brittany peered through the clear glass lid of the pot.

“A lot of people will tell you to shake it the whole time once it starts popping. But really, the trick is not to. If it’s the right temperature, it will pop fast enough that the popped kernels will rise and the unpopped ones will stay on the bottom.”

They stood at the stove, leaning over to watch the bubbling oil heat the corn kernels inside. A few early responders popped into big, white fluffy clouds while the rest simmered longer.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” Brittany hesitated.

“What’s up?”

“My church is having a Christmas concert next Thursday, and I wondered if you’d like to come—”

“Aw, Britt. You know I don’t really like to go to church. Don’t make me … pleeeease?” Amber stuck her bottom lip out in a pretend pout.

“It’s not church, though—it just happens to be
at
a church.” Brittany stood over the steam coming out of the sides of the pot lid. “What could be wrong with a concert?”

Amber opened her mouth to explain the vast numbers of things that could be wrong with it, but closed it when Brittany held up her hand.

“It’s White Horse.” Brittany’s eyes gleamed.

Ooh. She got me
. “Why didn’t you say that in the first place? I’d love to see them! You should have said: ‘Hey, Amber, let’s go see White Horse!’ It wouldn’t have mattered where they were playing—I’d have agreed to go without all the begging.”

“Oh, I know,” Brittany admitted, her eyes twinkling. “But that wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun for me.”

Amber snapped the dish towel at Brittany’s leg. “Oops! We’re about to burn this popcorn.” The lid rose as the popped kernels pushed it up from its secure spot atop the pot and started to spill over. She poured as much as she could fit into the extra-large red plastic bowl Brittany held.

“Um, I think we’re going to need a bucket. That’s a lot of popcorn.” Brittany reached her hand into the bowl.

“Wait! Not yet.” Amber grabbed the salt. “We need to put the finishing touches on it.” She sprinkled the salt over the top and then jiggled the bowl to mix it up, careful not to spill any, and then stuck a kernel in her mouth. She repeated those actions several times until her taste tests confirmed perfection.

“What about butter?”

“Never butter. It’s much better like this. Just the right amount of oil, plenty of salt. You’ll see.” Amber tasted another kernel and grinned. “Go for it.” She held the bowl out.

Brittany stuck a few pieces into her mouth and chewed for a moment—her eyes growing wider and wider. She grinned and nodded, reaching for the bowl again. “That’s so much better than at the movie theater or out of a microwave. Wow.” She took a handful. “I could be ruined for the other stuff forever.”

Grinning, Amber reached for a couple of Cokes. Oh, right. Make that generic cola. They headed to the basement where two movie rentals waited.

Amber and Brittany stood side-by-side, swaying in rhythm to the White Horse ballad. The rich harmonies swelled through the auditorium as the instruments trailed off leaving the most beautiful a cappella sound Amber could have imagined. After the first half of the concert had pelted the audience with high-powered rock music, the sweet ballad comforted her ringing eardrums.

As the song came to an end, Pete Starr, the lead singer, stood at the microphone and waited until the room grew silent as the audience took their seats. He kept his eyes closed until the shuffling ceased. His gaze roved the large room, skillfully appearing to look at each of the five thousand people right in the eye. “Many of you are here tonight because you like our music.”

He held his hand up to quell the thunderous applause. When it died down, he continued. “We appreciate that so much. Many of you, though, don’t really know why we do what we do. So, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to tell you.” He leaned his electric guitar on its stand and picked up his acoustic guitar. Then he reached for a stool that had been placed by his side. “Do you mind if I get comfortable while I tell you a little story?”

The crowd roared its approval as the lights dimmed and the rest of the band sat on thefloor on the darkened stage.

Spotlight shining only on him, Pete Starr sat on the stool and placed his guitar on his lap. He closed his eyes and began to strum a familiar tune.

He changed keys and continued, blending the tunes into one fluid song.

Amber couldn’t take her eyes off the singer. The simple songs and simple messages she’d heard many times before somehow made sense to her for the first time. Maybe the atmosphere and mood of the crowd had softened her, but she’d never felt so connected to God as she did right in that moment. She wanted to—tried to—shake her head to break the pull she felt, but the pounding in her heart remained.

She sensed only stillness around her—no movement, no whispering, no one making their way to the restroom. Many people cried real tears as the age-old songs touched them.

Pete jumped to his feet, the stage lights came on and the brightest lights drenched the band—light shone right up from the midst of them and down on them from above. The drummer gave a loud crash of the cymbals and the rest of the band joined in to sing: