Chapter 1

A New Life

i Rebecca!” says the young lady at the check in desk. Her hands are folded neatly on the table in front of her. “It’s good to see you back!”

“Hi,” I say with my face turned down. Her bright smile is visible from the corner of my eye but I focus on the sticker sheet instead. I find the tag with my name on it, unpeel it from the sheet, and stick it to my shirt. The same ruffled yellow t-shirt I wear to church every week. A piece of my hair gets stuck under the tag and tugs at my scalp. I yank it free. The double doors leading into the small auditorium appear freshly painted in a dull shade of tan. I push through them and concentrate on the speckles in the carpet as I cling to the back wall leading to the far end of the room. Glancing up through my hair, I see that the last few rows of chairs stand starkly vacant compared to the rows in front, which are packed with kids talking and playing finger games and girls fluffing their hair and boys pushing each other. Swerving into the far end of the last aisle, I fall into my usual last seat. A book on the floor slides two rows forward after I give it a swift kick. Despite being alone in the lonely last row, I feel restless for more space. I wish I could climb into the shadows of the back wall.

Looking forward toward the stage, I see in the spaces between the kids’ heads and flailing arms, guitars being slung and microphones being adjusted and singers taking positions. With the tap of the drum sticks, the music bellows forth. On cue, the crowd of irreverent kids stand in unison to join the singing. I stand too, but instead of singing the lyrics glowing on the big screen above the musicians’ heads, I sing my own little song. I mockingly snap my fingers to the beat, “I’d rather be fishing with my dad. Oh yea. I’d rather be hooking slimy worms. Oh yea.” After a few more rounds of slimy fish lyrics, I grunt and ditch the effort to entertain myself. I drop my head and kick at the chair leg in front of me. Figuring the time difference between North Carolina and Utah, I figure me and my dad would just be putting the boat out right now. But noooo. I’m here at church. I give the chair leg a final sharp kick. Why is my mom so church crazy since Dad moved out? And why did he have to move so far away? Utah. Seriously?? This divorce stinks! I shift on my hip and flop my head backward. Spotlights on the ceiling in white, blue, and green flicker unpredictably toward the stage. I drop my head again to stare at the seat bottom in front of me; the dull tan stripes of its cushion match the dull tan paint on the door. I missed the whole summer with my friends because I had to be in Utah. I should have been here fishing with my dad! I wallow over other things that have changed, like our new house and new neighborhood. At least it’s close to our old neighborhood so I can still go to the same school. Last year, Carly had to move all the way across town after her parents got divorced.

Kids’ church goes on despite my grumblings and I wearily go through the motions. I play a bible game. I watch a video. I sing a song. During the final prayer, I drop my head to look at my flowered church skirt. My hair falls off my shoulders and covers my face to hide that I’m not praying. As our jovial leader announces that class is over, a screaming barrage of kids scramble to the doors. Heading in the same direction, I’m engulfed by the crowd attempting to squeeze out. As we leave, the teachers hand out little plastic cards with this week’s bible verse on it:

“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” Romans 8:28.

“Whatever,” I say to myself and shove the card in my pocket. I head down the hall to the first grade room. Inside, smashed Cheerios litter the floor, petite sweaters teeter off of chair backs, and children scream for their parents. I pluck my little sister Lizzy from the bedlam and lead her to the lobby. Across its expanse of gray carpeting and ivory walls, I spot my mom through the assembly of church-goers. She’s laughing with some lady who seems too friendly. The lady’s smile reaches ear to ear with her cheeks appearing to keep her blond curls from smothering her face. I maneuver through the crowd to an opening in the reception seating area for a clearer view. A girl standing next to the smiling lady comes into view. Her smooth pink skirt perfectly matches the pink ribbon in her hair. Her bouncy blond curls mimic her mother’s coiffure. I recognize her from kids’ church. She’s the girl who sits in the front row flailing her arm and jumping out of her seat to answer all the questions. Apparently she has church clothes like me, but somehow I don’t think she minds like I do. She gives me a smile. Not a big fake one like her mom’s, but I dodge it anyway. The last thing I want is to get stuck sitting in the front row with her. I pretend to gaze at the artwork covering the wall behind their little gathering in an attempt to catch my mom’s eye. When I do, I flare my, “Let’s go!” eyes at her. She slants her eyes back at me and turns back to the lady.