The Society of S by Susan Hubbard Page A

perhaps. We spent Friday night watching television and eating pizza with the family. Michael sat apart, not saying much, watching me, and I allowed myself to relish his attention.
    On Saturday Kathleen and I slept late and then went to the mall, where we wandered for hours, trying on clothes and watching people.
    It was an ordinary weekend until Saturday night. Mrs. McG insisted that we all go to Mass. Kathleen said we had other plans. Her mother said those could wait.
    Without much more protest, Kathleen gave in, and I sensed that this fight was part of their weekend ritual.
    “I’ve never been inside a church,” I said.
    The McGarritts stared at me as if I were a space alien.
    Kathleen muttered, “Lucky you.”

    The church was rectangular, built of dingy bricks — not at all the imposing structure I’d expected. It smelled musty inside, like old paper and stale cologne. Behind the altar, several stained-glass windows depicted Jesus and his disciples, and I kept my eyes on them through most of the service. Stained glass always makes me daydream.
    Among the congregation sitting in the pews, I saw three of Kathleen’s friends from the vampire game, including the boy who had wanted to “sire” me. He saw me, too, but pretended he didn’t. All of the role-players were wearing black, and it struck me as a little strange to see them mouthing the words of hymns and prayers.
    Next to me, Kathleen kept crossing and uncrossing her legs and sighing. Later tonight the role-players would be meeting at Ryan’s house for another session, and she’d promised me a real part to play. I wasn’t much looking forward to it.
    At the altar, the priest was quoting the Bible. He was an old man with a singsong voice, easy to ignore — until suddenly his words broke through my reverie.
    “Except ye eat the flesh of the Son of Man, and drink his blood, ye have no life in you. Whoso eateth my flesh and drinketh my blood, hath eternal life.” He raised a silver goblet in both hands.
    And he went on about eating flesh and drinking blood, and people began filing down the aisle toward the altar. All of the McGarritts stood up and moved out of the pew, but Kathleen whispered to me, “Wait here. You can’t take Communion.”
    And so I waited and watched as the others ate the flesh and drank the blood and were consecrated. The priest murmured, “Memento homo quia pulvis es et in pulverem reverteris” ( Remember, man, that thou art dust, and to dust thou shalt return ).
    A strange buzzing began in my head. Was someone watching me? As the McGarritts filed back into the pew, the buzzing grew to a drone. Mrs. McGarritt’s face looked refreshed, and she smiled with contentment. You shouldn’t be here , a voice inside me said. You don’t belong .
    Michael had outpaced Bridget to sit next to me. While the others sang and prayed, he pressed his hand into mine, and the buzzing began to fade.

    “Look at this garbage.” Kathleen tossed a book onto my lap.
    I read aloud the title: “A Guide for Catholic Teens . Is it better than On Becoming a Woman?”
    We were in her room, and she was putting on her vampire makeup before we headed over to Ryan’s house. I sat cross-legged on the bed. Wally the dog curled up next to me.
    “It’s exactly the same stuff.” Kathleen had teased her hair into small mounds, to which she now applied gel, then twisted the mounds into spikes. The procedure fascinated me. “It’s all this crap about saving your virginity until your honeymoon, and taking Jesus with you wherever you go.”
    I thumbed through the book. “‘A woman’s body is a beautiful garden,’” I read aloud. “‘But this garden must be kept locked, and the key given only to her husband.’”
    “Do you believe that crap?” Kathleen threw down the hair gel, then picked up a mascara wand.
    I was still thinking about the image. “Well, in some ways our bodies are like gardens,” I said. “Look at you — shaving your legs and plucking your