Jesus Freak

JESUS FREAK

A CELL PHONE IN the wrong hands is more dangerous than a knife. Your reputation can be shredded with a picture and a few clicks. I knew Penny Volocek had put her status in danger as soon as she stepped out of the crowd lining the hallway at Charleston middle-school.

“Get off him,” Penny said in a quiet, firm voice. I was mortified to be in her presence. “Get off Danny,” she said again with more conviction.

Everyone in the hallway stopped. Phones came out of every purse and pocket as people quickly started to record the event. I shrank into the background, looking for teachers. Mike was large for an eighth grader and had Danny Caliburton pinned to the floor.

“Who gave you permission to speak, freako?” Mike said, choking on his laughter.

“Jesus, give me strength. Get off him, Mike,” Penny said in a louder but still calm voice.

This was the most I had ever heard her speak outside of the youth choir. I could see people covering their mouths and laughing as they continued to record. I hoped nobody remembered I went to the same church as Penny. Pastor said you find out who you are in Christ when confronted by challenges. Well, I am Michelle Stansfield, and this challenge made me want to blend into the lockers.

“Okay,” Mike said, and in one quick movement, he stood up.

Mike was the captain of the junior high football and wrestling teams, and with his blond crew cut, he looked more like an infantryman than a middle schooler. Penny looked at him intently. She was homeschooled for most of her classes but walked to Charleston Middle School to sing with the choir and do the mandatory vocal lessons. She wore homemade dresses, had straight strawberry-blonde hair, wore no makeup, had no jeans, and (worst of all) owned no smartphone. Half prudish, half Amish looking, she stood out.

Danny Caliburton, who had been struggling to escape from Mike’s grasp moments before, had rolled to his hip and put his hand under his head like he was watching TV on the floor of his house. Danny smirked and seemed entertained by Penny’s misguided attempt to save him. Also a wrestler, he was wiry and tall with shaggy brown hair. He and Mike were doing what boys do: make fun of each other, posture, and mess around.

I stepped back even farther.

“What is your damage, Jesus Freak?” Danny said, like the words were too delicious to let go.

Penny quickly looked around with wounded eyes, realizing she had grossly misinterpreted the situation. One could see she thought that she was helping Danny, who also attended our church, but the reality was Danny needed no social savior. He was in, and she was not. Because Penny attended school for an hour a day, she had no idea that Mike and Danny were on the wrestling team together nor did she know that they often tried to one up each other with hallway pranks. She scanned the crowd in quiet desperation.

“In the name of Jesus Christ, go to your class,” Mike declared as he made a grand gesture, pointing from Penny toward the choir room.

The hallway erupted with laughter. Penny gripped her choir folder tightly, pulled it up to her chest, and walked down the hall. Nicky, a popular eighth grader, was already showing two other girls the video and laughing. Penny’s social life was over before it ever had a chance to begin. “Jesus Freak” would be on everybody’s phone before we sang our first warm-up in Mrs. Potts’s choir class.

“There is definitely something wrong with Penny,” Marcia said as she walked with me toward class.

“Yeah, she is definitely a strange one,” I said as I pushed open the heavy swinging door to the choir room.

Mrs. Potts was chatting with students as we found our places. She was a contagiously warm teacher. Her gray hair, infectious laugh, and love for music always made her my favorite.

“Ahh, ahh, ahh,” we sang, stretching our vocal chords.

“One, two, three, four,” Mrs. Potts chanted.

“One, two, three, four,” we chanted back. We knew the drill. “C, D, E, F, G, A, B,” we sang in unison with the piano. We were now warmed up and ready to practice our songs for the concert, but Mrs. Potts turned to the back of the room, grabbed a stack of papers, and deftly set it on the podium.

“We have a new project this year,” Mrs. Potts said. “You will be doing duets and working on two-part harmony. Thus, I will be pairing you with one other person in class. You will choose a piece of music to sing together and will sing for the class at the end of the trimester. Each person must sing both lead and harmony in this piece, and yes, I have some options for you sitting on the podium. You can also choose an alternate piece of music, but it will need to be approved by me before next Friday. That is the good news. The bad news is this project is to be worked on outside of class and in your individual lessons.”

The class let out a collective groan.

“Please also make sure that you and your partner can explain why you chose the song. Any questions?”

“Are we gonna sing for the whole school at concert time?” Matthew, a boy who shared my locker bay, said. He had turned pale and was looking concerned at the thought of singing in front of that many people.

“No, no,” Mrs. Potts said. “You will be singing for this choir class.”

“I get to sing with Michelle,” my bestie, Vickie, interjected.

I love that girl.

“Actually, I have chosen your partner for this project and posted the pairings on our Google page. Another list of possible songs is also on this web page,” said Mrs. Potts.

The rest of the class flew by as streams of our voices singing “Carlos Dominguez” blended with thoughts that my bestie and I were probably going to be paired together and kill this project. People would see how wonderful we were. Oh, and how well we sang. (Just kidding.)

“What are you searching for, Carlos Dominguez? Why do you cry every day? What are you searching for, Carlos Dominguez? Why are you running away?” we sang.

I couldn’t wait until I got home to know whether I was paired with Vickie. Mrs. Potts would surely see how well we would harmonize. I couldn’t take it. I pulled out my phone, clicked on Mrs. Pott’s Google classroom, pulled up her web page, and … Penny Volocek. My partner was Penny Volocek.

Now I knew why Carlos was running away. My life was soon to be over at this school.