pretty sure she wouldn’t take the job, anyway, so it didn’t matter. “Talk about tonight. Are you scared?”
“No.” Bailey looked like she was struggling to transition from her disapproval to the play they were about to star in. She
busied herself with her gloves and then stopped and found the beginning of a smile. “You’ll be great, Andi. You don’t have
to be afraid.”
“So you’re really not?”
“Not at all.” Gradually Bailey softened, and the smile returned to her eyes. “There’s nothing like opening night. The packed
house, the buzz of anticipation backstage, the orchestra warming up for the first performance.”
Andi felt her stomach tighten again. “What if I get out there and forget my lines?”
“You won’t.” Bailey laughed. “The adrenaline rush actually makes you think more clearly. Remember your audition?”
The two of them and Tim Reed had auditioned in a group, each performing in front of the creative team separately. “I was scared
then too.”
“And you were brilliant.” Bailey shrugged. “You’ll be brilliant tonight too.”
Bailey’s confidence was contagious. By the time they left the cafeteria, two things had happened. First, Andi’s nervousness
had faded to nothing more than excited energy. And second, Bailey had forgotten about Taz and his offer. At least it seemed
that way. But after classes when Andi reached the dorm, Bailey was already there, sitting cross-legged on her bed reading
her Bible.
“Hey.” Andi tossed her backpack on the floor near her dresser. It was snowing again, and she dusted off the shoulders of her
coat as she peeled it off and threw it on the end of her bed.
“Hey.” Bailey looked up, but only briefly.
“What’re you reading?”
“Romans 12. ‘Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.’”
She closed the Bible and anchored her elbows on her knees. “That section.”
Andi knew it well. “Why that?”
“I don’t know.” Bailey sighed. “Just thinking about that Taz guy and his crazy offer. It’s weird how people think they can
do anything as long as they label it ‘art.’ Anything at all.”
The sentiment was something Andi’s father had said in the weeks leading up to his decision to leave the mission field for
a career as a producer. He wanted to redefine art, take things way above the line from where they were. Andi wasn’t so sure.
She could see merit in some of the movies her parents disliked. She was pretty sure she and Bailey wouldn’t see eye to eye
on this, so she said nothing. Instead she busied herself with removing her gloves and scarf and setting them on the edge of
her desk.
Bailey watched her. After this long as roommates and friends, they kept few secrets from each other. “You’re thinking about
it, aren’t you?”
“About what?” Andi forced herself to look innocent.
“You know what.” Bailey hugged her knees. “The film. The one with the nudity.”
“Partial nudity.” Andi had run out of busy work. She dropped to the edge of her bed, her shoulders a notch lower than before.
“I think maybe I disagree a little.”
“Disagree?”
“About the whole ‘art’ thing.” Andi had been honest about her unconventional feelings before. She couldn’t stop now if she
wanted to stay close with Bailey. “Sometimes partial nudity might be valid for the sake of art, don’t you think?”
“Not at all.” There was no anger in Bailey’s voice. The intensity from earlier in the day was gone, and in its place was a
peace, a glow that seemed to come from deep inside her soul. But there was no hesitation, either. “Our bodies are sacred to
God, the temple of the Holy Spirit. We’re supposed to treat them with respect.”
The truth came straight from the Bible. Andi knew that much. She pushed her fingers through her hair and tried to find an
explanation that would make sense. “The body is
“No.” Bailey looked like she was struggling to transition from her disapproval to the play they were about to star in. She
busied herself with her gloves and then stopped and found the beginning of a smile. “You’ll be great, Andi. You don’t have
to be afraid.”
“So you’re really not?”
“Not at all.” Gradually Bailey softened, and the smile returned to her eyes. “There’s nothing like opening night. The packed
house, the buzz of anticipation backstage, the orchestra warming up for the first performance.”
Andi felt her stomach tighten again. “What if I get out there and forget my lines?”
“You won’t.” Bailey laughed. “The adrenaline rush actually makes you think more clearly. Remember your audition?”
The two of them and Tim Reed had auditioned in a group, each performing in front of the creative team separately. “I was scared
then too.”
“And you were brilliant.” Bailey shrugged. “You’ll be brilliant tonight too.”
Bailey’s confidence was contagious. By the time they left the cafeteria, two things had happened. First, Andi’s nervousness
had faded to nothing more than excited energy. And second, Bailey had forgotten about Taz and his offer. At least it seemed
that way. But after classes when Andi reached the dorm, Bailey was already there, sitting cross-legged on her bed reading
her Bible.
“Hey.” Andi tossed her backpack on the floor near her dresser. It was snowing again, and she dusted off the shoulders of her
coat as she peeled it off and threw it on the end of her bed.
“Hey.” Bailey looked up, but only briefly.
“What’re you reading?”
“Romans 12. ‘Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.’”
She closed the Bible and anchored her elbows on her knees. “That section.”
Andi knew it well. “Why that?”
“I don’t know.” Bailey sighed. “Just thinking about that Taz guy and his crazy offer. It’s weird how people think they can
do anything as long as they label it ‘art.’ Anything at all.”
The sentiment was something Andi’s father had said in the weeks leading up to his decision to leave the mission field for
a career as a producer. He wanted to redefine art, take things way above the line from where they were. Andi wasn’t so sure.
She could see merit in some of the movies her parents disliked. She was pretty sure she and Bailey wouldn’t see eye to eye
on this, so she said nothing. Instead she busied herself with removing her gloves and scarf and setting them on the edge of
her desk.
Bailey watched her. After this long as roommates and friends, they kept few secrets from each other. “You’re thinking about
it, aren’t you?”
“About what?” Andi forced herself to look innocent.
“You know what.” Bailey hugged her knees. “The film. The one with the nudity.”
“Partial nudity.” Andi had run out of busy work. She dropped to the edge of her bed, her shoulders a notch lower than before.
“I think maybe I disagree a little.”
“Disagree?”
“About the whole ‘art’ thing.” Andi had been honest about her unconventional feelings before. She couldn’t stop now if she
wanted to stay close with Bailey. “Sometimes partial nudity might be valid for the sake of art, don’t you think?”
“Not at all.” There was no anger in Bailey’s voice. The intensity from earlier in the day was gone, and in its place was a
peace, a glow that seemed to come from deep inside her soul. But there was no hesitation, either. “Our bodies are sacred to
God, the temple of the Holy Spirit. We’re supposed to treat them with respect.”
The truth came straight from the Bible. Andi knew that much. She pushed her fingers through her hair and tried to find an
explanation that would make sense. “The body is
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