breaks away from the girls she’s talking with.
I feel more nervous than I expected I would, both being here and seeing her. She’s got her hair pulled up and she’s wearing this blue lacy-looking dress, and she looks perfect,
basically, like if you were to stick her on a magazine cover, there wouldn’t be a single thing to Photoshop. All of a sudden, I worry it’s weird I came over this way to talk to her,
that it looks like I’m all into her and I think we have something going on when really she’s just a friendly person. I shove my hands in my pockets and say, “Hey.”
“Hey,” she says. “We were just talking about you.”
“Oh yeah?” I glance back toward the door and pretend not to see everyone watching us. A guy and a girl talking one-on-one is a bigger deal at youth group than probably anywhere else
in America. “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not.”
“Joy was asking if I knew how you were doing, and I was telling her I can’t believe how well you’ve been taking everything. I’d be a total wreck.”
“Eh, I doubt that. I mean, that’s just something people say. It’s not like you really get much of a choice.”
“Well, you aren’t—I don’t know—doing drugs or cutting class or streaking through the hallways or anything.”
My face prickles with warmth at the idea of her thinking about me naked, in any sense. “Uh—yeah. Not yet. Keep watching, though.” Dear God, that came out wrong. “Ah…not like that.”
She laughs. “Should we all stop watching for it, then? Too bad. It sounded a little exciting.” The warmth from my face spreads down to my neck and chest. Maddie twists her ring
around her finger—I think it’s a purity ring; we guys get copies of
Every Young Man’s Battle
and accountability groups, and a lot of girls at church wear the
rings—and says, “Seriously, though, how’ve you been holding up?”
“You excited to sing tonight?”
“Are you changing the subject?”
“Yes.”
She spends a few seconds deciding whether or not she’ll let me get away with it, I think, seconds I spend wondering what exactly a purity ring means you can’t do. “No,”
she says finally. “I’m nervous. I regret saying yes.”
“Really? Why?”
“I hate singing in front of people.”
I laugh, and then realize she isn’t joking. “You’re serious?”
“I’ve always been that way.”
“Really? I wouldn’t have guessed.”
“That’s probably just because you don’t mind getting up in front of people.”
“No, it’s not that. I mean, you sent me that song, right? That’s almost the same thing.”
“Oh. Right.” I think her cheeks flush a little, but it could just be the lighting. “Yeah, I never do things like that. I’m kind of having a panic attack right
now.”
“How come?”
She hesitates. “You’ll think it’s stupid.”
“Try me.”
“All right.” She looks around like she wants to make sure no one else can hear. “It’s just…sometimes I kind of get scared I’ll mess up enough that it’ll
change the way everyone sees me. Like if I play and it’s bad, my friends will see who I really am and decide I’m not worth it.”
I can feel a slow grin spreading across my face. I grasp my hand over my chin to hide it. “How would that work, exactly? They’d all have, like, a meeting without you? Everyone gets
five minutes to offer pros and cons?”
“Braden, shut
up
. I’m never telling you anything again.”
“No, hey, I mean it. Messing up a song is pretty unforgivable. As a friend.”
“I hate you,” she says, but she’s smiling. “Okay, fine, I hear how crazy it sounds. So now I feel terrified
and
crazy, thank you. This was good. Good
talk.”
Before I can tell her that I’m just messing with her and that in truth I kind of get it, or that she has nothing to worry about and she’s got a great voice, Micah Clementi and Jon
Nessbaum get up on the makeshift stage with their guitar and drums, and
I feel more nervous than I expected I would, both being here and seeing her. She’s got her hair pulled up and she’s wearing this blue lacy-looking dress, and she looks perfect,
basically, like if you were to stick her on a magazine cover, there wouldn’t be a single thing to Photoshop. All of a sudden, I worry it’s weird I came over this way to talk to her,
that it looks like I’m all into her and I think we have something going on when really she’s just a friendly person. I shove my hands in my pockets and say, “Hey.”
“Hey,” she says. “We were just talking about you.”
“Oh yeah?” I glance back toward the door and pretend not to see everyone watching us. A guy and a girl talking one-on-one is a bigger deal at youth group than probably anywhere else
in America. “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not.”
“Joy was asking if I knew how you were doing, and I was telling her I can’t believe how well you’ve been taking everything. I’d be a total wreck.”
“Eh, I doubt that. I mean, that’s just something people say. It’s not like you really get much of a choice.”
“Well, you aren’t—I don’t know—doing drugs or cutting class or streaking through the hallways or anything.”
My face prickles with warmth at the idea of her thinking about me naked, in any sense. “Uh—yeah. Not yet. Keep watching, though.” Dear God, that came out wrong. “Ah…not like that.”
She laughs. “Should we all stop watching for it, then? Too bad. It sounded a little exciting.” The warmth from my face spreads down to my neck and chest. Maddie twists her ring
around her finger—I think it’s a purity ring; we guys get copies of
Every Young Man’s Battle
and accountability groups, and a lot of girls at church wear the
rings—and says, “Seriously, though, how’ve you been holding up?”
“You excited to sing tonight?”
“Are you changing the subject?”
“Yes.”
She spends a few seconds deciding whether or not she’ll let me get away with it, I think, seconds I spend wondering what exactly a purity ring means you can’t do. “No,”
she says finally. “I’m nervous. I regret saying yes.”
“Really? Why?”
“I hate singing in front of people.”
I laugh, and then realize she isn’t joking. “You’re serious?”
“I’ve always been that way.”
“Really? I wouldn’t have guessed.”
“That’s probably just because you don’t mind getting up in front of people.”
“No, it’s not that. I mean, you sent me that song, right? That’s almost the same thing.”
“Oh. Right.” I think her cheeks flush a little, but it could just be the lighting. “Yeah, I never do things like that. I’m kind of having a panic attack right
now.”
“How come?”
She hesitates. “You’ll think it’s stupid.”
“Try me.”
“All right.” She looks around like she wants to make sure no one else can hear. “It’s just…sometimes I kind of get scared I’ll mess up enough that it’ll
change the way everyone sees me. Like if I play and it’s bad, my friends will see who I really am and decide I’m not worth it.”
I can feel a slow grin spreading across my face. I grasp my hand over my chin to hide it. “How would that work, exactly? They’d all have, like, a meeting without you? Everyone gets
five minutes to offer pros and cons?”
“Braden, shut
up
. I’m never telling you anything again.”
“No, hey, I mean it. Messing up a song is pretty unforgivable. As a friend.”
“I hate you,” she says, but she’s smiling. “Okay, fine, I hear how crazy it sounds. So now I feel terrified
and
crazy, thank you. This was good. Good
talk.”
Before I can tell her that I’m just messing with her and that in truth I kind of get it, or that she has nothing to worry about and she’s got a great voice, Micah Clementi and Jon
Nessbaum get up on the makeshift stage with their guitar and drums, and
Similar Books
