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T
he next day in the cafeteria, I’m picking pepperonis off my pizza. I love pizza. It’s hard for even the school cafeteria to mess it up, but the pepperonis have suspicious pools of grease floating in them.

“You don’t want those?” Emma asks.

“No.” I grimace.

“I’ll take ’em.”

I shrug and start moving them one by one with the tips of my thumb and pointer finger onto Emma’s tray.

“Hey, Lindsey.” The voice is so deep and familiar, but I can’t place it. I look up. Towering above me is Noah.

“Hi,” I manage to say.

He grabs a chair and turns it around backward. His long legs straddle the back of the chair as he thankfully lowers himself to eye level.

“Hi, Raven,” he adds.

“Hey, Noah. You ready for Saturday’s game?”

“I hope so. Wexley’s a tough team.”

“Y’all can do it.”

“I’ll do my best.” He ruffles his hair.

“So, Lindsey.” He turns back to me. His long-sleeved, gray T-shirt looks so soft, I want to feel it for myself. He looks me
directly in the eyes. I can’t remember anyone speaking to me with such focus, ever. “I was wondering if you were going to youth group on Sunday.”

I look to Emma and back at Noah. “I don’t know for sure. I mean, I don’t go to church there or anything. I just usually tag along with Emma. I really like Pastor Ed. I think he’s — ” I twist my lips looking for the right word. “Real, you know, not over the top or anything.”

“Yeah, he’s cool.” Noah unfolds his body from the chair. “Well, if you go, I’ll see you there.” He places his enormous hand on my shoulder and kind of uses me to push himself to standing. He turns and winks — that same secretive wink from the day in the hallway — and then lumbers away like a giant through a field.

My entire body goes cold like when I first step out of a hot shower into an air-conditioned bathroom. I’m freezing except my shoulder, which is fiery hot.

My friends are silent for about two minutes, which never happens but it’s perfectly fine by me. I am frozen like a mannequin. I don’t dare watch where he went.

Eventually, it’s Emma who breaks the silence. “I guess Randy didn’t keep it to himself?”

“He’s never been good at keeping secrets,” Raven tries to say seriously, but a snicker sneaks from her lips.

We all burst out laughing — so uncontrollably, the whole cafeteria seems to notice. Warm tears trickle down my cheeks. I try to catch them with my fingertips and wipe them upward from where they came, so my mascara doesn’t smear.

When the giggles finally work their way out, I turn to Emma. “So, how about youth group?”

She starts to open her mouth, but instead of words a cackle
swirls out like a puff of smoke from a chimney. And the laughter erupts all over again.

I spend days planning my outfit for Sunday night. I pull clothes out of drawers and lay them on my white dresser top, complete with shoes, belts, scarves, jewelry, headbands, everything to get the full effect. If after a few minutes or hours or even a day I still don’t absolutely love the ensemble, I carefully put each item back in its proper place and start from scratch.

I finally decide on my darkest pair of designer jeans and a beige cashmere cardigan with a Michael Kors white tee underneath. My sand-colored UGGs and brown paisley scarf set it off. I’ll look comfortable, pretty, and soft. I’ll also be conservative enough for church group, but not frumpy.

“Are you ready, sweetie?” Mom calls from downstairs as I brush the final stroke of mascara on my lashes.

“Sure, here I come.”

“I forget — am I taking you to Emma’s house or to her church?”

“Emma’s first and then her church.” I kiss Mom on the cheek. “We’re picking her up and giving her a ride.”

“Right.” Mom grabs her black purse that I covet and digs for her keys. “I’m so glad Emma’s church has a dynamic youth group. I love our church, but we’re just not big enough to have that kind of program.”

I nod. Mom brings this same topic up about every six weeks. It’s like she’s apologizing or something. I don’t mind. I like our church, and I like Emma’s youth group. I don’t mind going to both. I think it actually gives me a broader view, listening to
the different ways both churches approach the same thing. They always end up with Jesus’ love, which is all that matters to me.

“Remember what happened when Mike Alcott’s son — isn’t his name Mike too? — tried to pull something together?”

I remember. “It was awful.” I laugh as Mom and I climb into the Prius. “I think maybe four of us showed up for the meeting. We were all too embarrassed to sing because everyone would hear our voices. No one would talk except for Amelia Sorgaf. And she just talked and talked and talked and Mike — that is his name — finally had to cut her off to say the closing prayer.”

“Like I said,” Mom laughs, starting the car, “I’m glad Emma’s church has somewhere you can go. And, Lindsey . . .” She lays her French-manicured hand on top of mine. “I’m so glad you girls want to go and that you have each other as friends.”

“Yeah, Em’s great.” I start pushing buttons on the radio. Mom always changes it to her oldies station, which grates on me.

“You know things are going to be tough in school. Goodness knows with Kristine . . .” Mom’s voice trails off like the red taillights of the car in front of us.

I forget about the music for now and look at Mom’s silhouette, gray in the dimly lit car. I can tell she’s fighting back tears. Mom’s a family counselor, which is ironic, considering the state of things with Kristine these days. I guess the doctor can never operate on her own family, or a prophet is never recognized in their hometown — something like that.

Sometimes I’m furious at Kristine. I am both mesmerized and terrified by my sister. She is the epitome of cool. She has that whole cheerleader thing going for her, and her boyfriend makes the entire female population of our school swoon. Of course, she’s sleeping with him. As she told me one time, “Safe sex is better than no sex.” Whatever that means.

Kristine claims she stays so thin by smoking, and she drinks. “Just a little now and then,” she tells me. “It’s not like I get loaded or anything.” There isn’t a party she isn’t invited to or a student at school who doesn’t know her name.

I see how popular Kristine is, but I also see the post-party Kristine. The one who makes Mom cry with fear and worry when Kristine comes home in the wee hours of the night. The one who gets escorted home by the police when the party she’s at gets busted. On the nights that Dad travels out of town for his sales job, I hear Mom sobbing into her pillow long after Kristine passes out on top of her covers. On the nights Dad is home, I hear my parents’ strained voices arguing in the dark about what they should do to end Kristine’s “path of self-destruction.”

I see the morning-after Kristine. The one with puffy eyes and a green face who is snippy and selfish and not-at-all pretty. She smells like an ashtray and goes out to our back porch to puff a nicstick — as she likes to call them — before she’ll even speak to anyone. Mom and Dad have thrown away her cigarettes and grounded her for smoking, but she just buys more and doesn’t heed their restrictions. I know they’re at their wit’s end, but she’s legal to smoke, which she reminds them of constantly. Mom said something about “picking your battles” and finally agreed she could smoke on the porch, but not in the house.

Odd as it sounds, part of me wants Kristine’s life — for people to know me and be envious of my boyfriend and to invite me to all of their parties. But then I remember that’s not what it’s all about. Jesus has offered me so much more. He already likes me — no,
loves
me. He made me. I hear that, and I know that, but sometimes it’s hard to remember.

I pull out my lip gloss and apply a fresh coat in the rearview mirror. We’re almost to Emma’s. Mom and I have been silent.
We both know what Mom means.

“Mom, I have my faith. I really think Jesus makes me strong. I’ve seen what’s happened to Kristine, and I don’t want to smoke or drink.” I squeeze her cold, bony fingers, still lying on top of mine. “You know that, right?”

“I know, sweetie.” She returns the squeeze. “I’m so proud of you and your decisions. But, if you ever have any questions about anything, promise me you’ll come to me first?”

“Sure, Mom.”

“Hi, guys!” Emma bounds into the backseat like a spark from a match. “Thanks for picking me up, Mom Number Two!” She squeezes Mom’s shoulder and the serious conversation is over. We giggle and listen to music the short drive to Emma’s church.

“My mom’s picking up,” Emma announces as we unbuckle.

“See ya later, Mom. Thanks.” I make sure I look Mom in the eye. I want her to know I’m not like Kristine — that she doesn’t have to worry. I take one backward glance at my reflection in the window, smooth out my hair (I’ve decided I like it straight), and rub my lips together, evenly distributing my lip gloss.

Emma opens the door of the building that looks like a white barn. Inside old couches donated by church members form a giant semicircle on the cold white linoleum floor. Since the couches look pretty full, Emma heads for a stack of giant homemade pillows made from scrap fabric in the corner. She grabs a lime green and turquoise circle pillow and plops it on the floor right in front of the brown shag-carpeted stage. On the stage a few band members warm up their instruments. The drum beat pulses through my veins. There’s so much energy here, it’s like I could reach out and catch God’s power in my hands. There are all these kids from different high schools and the music and Jesus, and it’s so amazing to me that everyone comes here to get closer to Him.

I have these, what I call, out of body moments every once in a while. When I’m not thinking actual thoughts, not anything that can be formulated into words, but I feel electric and alive, like all my senses have been turned on to God’s presence. I am overwhelmed by His power and love and tears actually fill the corners of my eyes. Nothing else matters — not what song the band’s playing or if I know anybody here or even what clothes I’m wearing.

“Hey,” says a girl with dark curls who’s just dropped a pillow next to Emma. I’m sucked back into reality. I recognize her from school. I think she’s a sophomore, like us, and maybe in drama, but I don’t know her name.

“Hey, Ashley.” Emma cracks her gum.

“Hey.” I smile. “The band is gonna jam tonight.”

Emma taps me on the shoulder.

“What?”

“He’s here.”

Now my skin is really tingly. It’s like that feeling when your foot falls asleep, except my whole body feels like that. I look around at the door, and there’s Noah, pulling a ski hat off, revealing disheveled chunks of dark hair. He’s with two other guys I recognize from the hockey rink. His cheeks are pink from the cold. He sees me and gives a lopsided grin. He motions to his friends to follow him, and before I can breathe he and his buddies are on a navy blue and maroon striped pillow directly beside me.

“Hey, Linds.” He smiles and nods at Emma.

“This is my best friend, Emma,” I say, tilting my head on her shoulder. She smells like the green apple hair serum she swears by.

“Hey,” Noah answers, then turns to the guy with the brown hair and freckles and the pale-skinned blond. “Wally and Peter.”

“Hi,” I say, and elbow Emma to say hi too, but she’s become
engrossed in a conversation with Ashley.

Everyone crowds in, and I feel Noah’s knee press against mine. He is warm and solid and touching me! I look straight ahead, pretending not to notice. It’s not a big deal, I tell myself. It’s just because we’re all squished. A tall, skinny guy with a small silver stud in his nose and a navy and light blue horizontal-striped, fitted T-shirt takes the microphone.

“We’re gonna get started, folks.” He looks over his shoulder at the band, and I steal a glance at Noah. He smiles with his teeth all in a neat row and winks.

“Ah one, ah two, ah one, two, three, four . . .”

Noah places his large hand on my knee. I swear my jeans are on fire where his fingers rest.

O
kay, so fill me in.” Raven sounds out of breath as she catches up to us by the glass elevator at the mall.

“Raven!” We all squeal in unison. Emma, Melissa, Gracie, and I take turns hugging her.

“What do you want to know?” Emma asks coyly, tossing her fiery curls.

“Puh-llleeease!” she says in her rolling voice. She has on a neon orange fuzzy V-neck sweatshirt under her North Face jacket. “Everything I missed while we were traveling the country looking at colleges for Randy!”

“First of all, we missed you.” Gracie smiles. “How was the trip?”

“Okay, I guess.” Raven shrugs. “Some of those schools are really cool. I think college will be awesome, but all that time in the car was a
d-r-a-g
.”

“At least you got out of school for a week.” Emma smiles.

“I still had to do all the work, but at least I got back in time for Friday night at the mall.” Raven shimmies her shoulders. “That is
good
timing!”

“I absolutely positively have to go into Vicky’s,” I interrupt as we pass the pink storefront with capital gold letters. On cue, my friends all turn in with me in a giant clump. It’s kind of like one
of our dance team formations, only without the music and boots.

“What are you getting in here?” Melissa’s green eyes remind me of Sam-I-Am’s eggs, they’re so wide.

“You know, bras, panties. I am so in need of new stuff.” I start browsing through the PINK section.

“These are too cute!” Raven squeals holding up a pair of cotton lavender boy shorts with white vertical stripes.

“So cute!” I nod. “You should get them. Looks they have a matching tank bra.”

“I didn’t even know this stuff existed.” Melissa shakes her head. “My mom just buys me white, beige, and black, you know?”

Tall, gorgeous models with angel wings attached to their shoulders flash from TV monitors in every corner. Music pulsates almost too loudly to think.

“Oh come on, Mel.” I pick up a black, lacy nightie and toss it at her. “Live a little.”

“Ahhh!” she screams and tosses it back to me like a hot potato.

“Kristine has all kinds of stuff.” I raise my eyebrows. “I guess I learned from her — and tamed it down a bit — that your underwear can be pretty, too, not just your clothes.”

I decide on three cotton bra-and-panty sets in cute pastel patterns. Not that I even need bras. I’m so tiny, I buy the AAs with a little padding. I don’t buy anything remotely racy. That stuff makes me nervous, but I do like my underwear to match my outfits. There’s something satisfying about having everything coordinate.

“And then there’s Lindsey and Noah,” Emma says to Raven.

I turn from the counter and smile.

“What happened?” Raven asks.

“Nothing.” I roll my eyes and smile. “He was at youth group and sat next to us and put his hand on my knee.” I feel all bouncy
just thinking about it. I recreate it in my head: the song the band was playing, the warmth of his hand, his soft voice as he leaned over after the final prayer, his lips tickling my ear. All he said was “See ya,” but I felt like I was going to explode.

“And?” Raven asks.

“And . . .” I sign my name to Dad’s credit card. He gives me carte blanche. I think he feels guilty for traveling all the time, so he lets Mom, Kristine, and me shop whenever we want to make up for his absence. I grab my bag by the handles. “And we’ve chatted a few times in the halls and the cafeteria this week. Nothing major, but he always smiles like we’re in on some big secret together, and it makes me feel all crazy! Stay tuned.”

“Where to next?” Melissa asks as we amble out of the store.

“All that underwear made me hungry.” Emma announces. “How about the food court?”

“I could go for one of those pretzels.” Raven nods.

I’m in the back of our pack, my mind still reliving Sunday night. We head toward the escalators.

“Hello, ladies . . .” It’s Noah and his best friend, Peter! I feel like I’ve swallowed a watermelon. I’m sure my friends have answered in some way, but I’ve become deaf and mute. He is sooo cute! His eyelashes are really long and dark and frame those round eyes to always give him the expression of a little boy who’s just gotten away with something.

“Meet us down there,” Gracie calls and ushers Emma and the others down the escalator. Peter, a blond with an army buzz and silver wire-rimmed glasses, follows them, making kissy faces at us as he rides backward.

“Where have we been shopping?” Noah asks, flicking my bag.

My cheeks must be as pink as my bag. “Umm, you know, we’re headed to the food court. Do you want to join us?” I dodge
the subject of underwear.

“I just want to know what’s in the bag.” He cranes his tall head to peek inside, which of course is hopeless, because everything is wrapped in tissue paper.

“You’re ornery.” I slap him on the arm.

“You’re hot.” He grins and leans down and kisses me for one split second smack on the cheek as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do. He smells like fabric softener and wintergreen gum. I blush all over. His mouth felt so warm and perfect on my skin. This is nothing like when those creepy boys groped me. I’m not grossed out, and I don’t want to push him away. I’m actually wondering how I got so lucky for him to kiss me, and how I can make him do it again.

“You might not think so if you really saw what’s in the bag,” I say. My heart must sound like rapid fire from a machine gun.

“Let me see then.” He pries open the bag, and I let him.

What am I doing? I’m letting Noah look through my underwear! It’s not like I have it on, and it’s not like it’s see-through or lacy. I think I want to show him I’m not that kind of girl. Pink polka dots and turquoise stripes always seemed innocent to me before now.

“Cute.” He looks me up and down, contemplating.

Oh, please don’t let him be wondering what underwear I’m wearing right now, which happens to be white Scottie dogs on hot pink to match my hot pink sweater and denim skirt.

“So, Lindsey . . .” He hooks his arm in mine like a waiter in a fancy restaurant escorting me to my seat. It feels so natural to be walking arm in arm with him like this. This must be the difference between a guy liking me, like those others, and me actually liking him back —
really
liking him back.

“Yeah?” I strain my neck and look way up into his face.

“When are you and I going to go out on a date?”

A puff of air escapes my lips.
Stay calm
, I tell myself.
Stay calm.

“I guess you would have to ask me first.” I look down at the gray and white marble floor, anxious for his answer.

“Hmmm, that sounds reasonable.” His gym shoes are untied, laces clicking on the floor step after step. We hop on the escalator heading toward the food court and our friends. My stomach feels like it’s twisted into a pretzel shape. “So, how about it?”

“How about what?” I ask, unable to look at him. I feel a bit faint, like the moving stairs might fall out from under me at any second.

“How about you go out with me?” He leans in a little closer.

“I can’t go on car dates,” I blurt out, ruining the perfect moment.

“It doesn’t have to be in a car,” he whispers, thankfully helping me off the silver stairs before I trip.

I am elated. It’s like the feeling when I made the dance team, only more intense. Unfortunately, I can’t savor the moment. From the left side of the food court Emma frantically waves her arm to get our attention.

“Then, what should it be?” I ask, knowing it doesn’t matter what he says. I want to go.

“How about . . .” He takes his arm out of mine and strokes his chin where it looks like there’s actually razor stubble. He shaves! “How about I come over to your house tomorrow night, and I’ll bring a movie?”

“Really?” I ask, wanting to pinch myself.

“Really.” He grins again as we reach the group. He grabs a handful of Peter’s french fries.

My insides feel like melting butter, but I can’t scream or dance
or hug my friends. Not yet. I just sit down in the empty chair between Gracie and Raven and Noah flops in the empty chair next to Peter. Everyone else is already munching on their food, which is fine, because I don’t think I could eat a single bite.

Apparently, Noah does not feel the same way. After some chatting and goofing around, he scavenges his way through everyone’s leftovers, and then Peter announces they better get to practice.

“Practice on a Friday night?” I ask.

“Gotta skate when there’s ice time.” Noah shrugs.

“See ya ladies. It was a pleasure running into you.” Peter bows, Noah waves, and they’re gone — just like that.

“Ahhhh!” I scream, when they’re out of earshot.

“How did he know you were going to be here?” Gracie asks.

“I have no idea!” I reach in my purse for lip gloss. It calms me to reapply it.

“I do.” Raven raises her left eyebrow. “I had Randy bring me here.”

Still seated, I tap my feet on the floor like I’m dancing. “He kissed my cheek!” I lay my hand where his soft lips must have left an imprint. “And he asked me out!”

“Congrats!” Gracie pats me on the back.

“Welcome to the wonderful world of hockey.” Raven smiles.

“He asked me out.” I shake my head.