Adapt

As she lay awake for another night, she formulated a plan. She couldn’t feel lost if she didn’t have time to stop moving.

The church could always use cleaning, and she was sure she could figure out how to fix the leaky pipe over the closet backstage. Kelly’s soccer team still needed a coach; the parents who were interested didn’t have time to stay for every practice. The other parents didn’t care to. Michael was having more trouble with summer math than he had with anything else in the world. She could set aside a specific time to tutor him.

Chris and Noah and been trying for years to get her to play basketball with them rather than only keep score. If she listened just a little, she could read or write and they would shout out the baskets for her. Reading and writing would both give her too much time to think. Maybe she should go ahead and pick up the ball.

The homeless shelter where Tiffany worked was always in need of more help. She could cook and clean, set up and tear down for them.

A part of her thought this was ridiculous. She would never be able to do all these things consistently or long-term, much less both. To say nothing of doing them all well.

Another part, though, knew she could.

She could bury her mother, move, skip two grades, maintain a perfect 4.0 average, run the household, pay the bills, and keep her father away from Chris, Kelly and Michael. She could force herself to eat and act normal, though she still wanted nothing more than to die.

Thirteen or not, she could do anything she decided to. Scared or not, she had enough raw determination to keep going. Hurt or not, she wouldn’t cry any more. Sick or not, she would appear healthy.

Nobody – especially Mike – was going to stop her. He and the pastors might refuse to give her help, but they couldn’t force her to need it.

*

“God is like a glove. Protection from the cold, the dirt, the thorns of the world.” Dan stopped talking to look around his group of bored teenagers, and then smiled humorlessly. “Jessi. I’m sure you have an opinion. Care to share it?” He didn’t like her and no longer made any attempt to disguise it, but she was always good for discussion. If nothing else, she raised questions the others never came up with, and got them to think.

He didn’t generally view that favorably, as far too often they seemed to take her side instead of his. But the kids were malleable. A couple weeks would have them back in line.

The kids all sat up straighter in their seats, anticipating her response. Jessi shook her head. “Aw, come on,” he prodded. She said no, quietly, not wanting to go down this road again. “I insist.”

She cocked her head slightly to the left and asked haughtily, “Do you really think that’s a good idea, Dan?” A couple of the other kids snickered. Dan nodded, which Jessi thought was a shame.

The look on Chris’s face said he thought so, too.

“Gloves are also very good at smothering the hands. In keeping out the thorns, they keep out the air. The dirt from outside may not make it in, but the sweat and dead cells from inside can’t get out, either. Too much ‘protection’ makes it impossible to keep from stagnating.”

Silence met her quiet, calm assertion.

Finally, Dan asked incredulously, “Is that what you think of God?”

She shrugged. “It was your illustration.”

Gabe muttered, “Dang, Jessi.” She ignored him, as usual in the past couple months. He had once been just another of the boys; now he kept looking at her, sizing her up, as if she wasn’t just another girl any more. She despised the scrutiny.

Dan didn’t let it go. “Forget my illustration. Do you really think God is smothering you? Not letting you have any fun? Ruling with an iron fist? Waiting for you to mess up?”

“What fun might I be having?” she asked innocently, eyebrows raised in mock curiosity. He worked his jaw but couldn’t find any words. “And why wouldn’t God be waiting for me to mess up? His representatives certainly are.”

Jessi offered him several seconds in which to comment, but he couldn’t argue that they weren’t. All of the kids knew perfectly well that he had to win, and he didn’t care who was trampled in the process. Nor did he care if she was actually right – he wasn’t going to admit it, and he was going to do his best to humiliate her for bothering to think.

“If he cares a whit about me it’s only because one has to care a little in order to hate,” Jessi chewed out. “That’s what I think of God.”

Chris, Tiffany and Noah looked like they hurt more on her behalf than God’s. Emily, Sam and Nikki looked near tears. Dan looked annoyed with her frankness. Gabe was staring at her, obviously horrified.

He’d felt that way on occasion, but she was so seamlessly good that it didn’t make sense.

After missing several beats, Dan managed to speak. “You need help, Jessi.” His tone was disapproving, though he made an attempt to cover that with mockery.

Her tone matched perfectly when she said, “You would know.”

“Shut up,” he growled. She got up and darted out of the room. She could hear Dan telling the others not to go after her.

Chris retorted, “Go to Cuba, Dan.”

Noah demanded, “What does she mean? When didn’t you help her?” Jessi didn’t wait to hear what Dan would make up to save face.

Chris was only five or six seconds behind her. “Biscuit, wait,” he entreated, once in the hall. Trembling with anger and frustration, Jessi stopped to let him catch up. She still couldn’t bring herself to be mean to him.

“He was baiting you, Jess.” Chris sounded even more wounded than he had looked in the classroom. “And you walked right into it. He’s a jerk – just don’t talk to him. Remember that plan?”

She nodded. Her chin started to quiver. “I tried, Chris. I don’t want to argue with him. I just – he said – it’s so hard not to act smarter than him.”

Chris pulled her into a hug. “I know, honey. He’s just one of those adults Mom warned us about – the idiotic ones. He’s afraid of your mind.”

She suggested, “Don’t try to make me go back in there.” Chris shook his head fiercely.

“I think he lost Noah and Emily, too. If’s too desperate for approval to leave, but a few of us are never going back to class.”

She smiled faintly, glad that he was still firmly planted on her side. After a couple minutes of silent thought, she asked, “Chris, do you trust me?”

He nodded vehemently. “Of course.” He trusted her with his hopes and dreams and English papers. Even with his daily existence. That she would take care of everything had never been in question, and she hadn’t yet managed to disappoint him.

“With what?”

“My life.”

He considered that for several seconds before nodding again. She grinned, thinking of the day they had promised to never give each other pat answers to rhetorical questions. Obviously he thought overconfidence was tacky. And obviously he had just remembered their agreement.

“Do you think God does?”

He hesitated. “All I’m sure about is that God isn’t what they say he is. Can’t be.” She nodded acceptance. He had a point. None of their cozy illustrations or tidy explanations stood up to scrutiny. God had to be more, or he had to be fake. Neither was ready to say that.