Leaving Fishers (3 page)

“Got a lot of homework?” Mom asked.

“Uh-huh,” Dorry said. “I’ll start on it now.”

“Come watch Oprah with me when you need a break,” Mom said, reaching for the TV.

Dorry stepped into the kitchen and took the last piece of chocolate cake off the cake plate. It really would have been big enough for two people. She poured a glass of milk and took the food and her books back to her room. It was even more cramped than the living room because she’d refused to leave behind anything from her room back home. Every inch of the walls, ceiling to floor, was covered with posters and pictures. Dorry’s eighth-grade graduation photo, with her and Marissa grinning together in matching white gowns, covered the words on the poster of a kitten hanging from a branch by one claw. The
ballerina poster she’d gotten in fifth grade leaned into her tacked-up collection of postcards from Florida, Texas, Hawaii, and, now, Bryden, Ohio.

Dorry maneuvered around several teddy bears and flopped across the bed. She took a bite of cake and opened her Algebra II book. From the living room, she could hear the crowd applauding Oprah. She opened her notebook to a fresh sheet of paper, but couldn’t concentrate long enough to write the number of the first problem.

She began doodling. The pencil spun out circles, and, on top of the circles, the outline of a car. A sports car. What if it had been Angela in the blue car? What if she’d ducked because she didn’t want Dorry to see her?

Chapter

Three

DORRY WAS STILL TRYING TO FORGET the blue car when Brad waved her over to a table near the wall at lunch the next day. “We saved you a seat,” he told her. “It’s just like heaven—your place is reserved if you but ask for it.”

Dorry felt a thrill of relief that they’d remembered her. But what did heaven have to do with anything? Angela was frowning at Brad again. Did he just like to joke about religion? Dorry told herself it didn’t matter, either way. Back in Bryden, her family had gone to the Bryden Methodist Church sometimes—Christmas and Easter, mainly. As soon as they got in the car afterward, Dorry’s mom always pulled her feet out of her tight heels and rubbed her bunions, while Dorry’s dad shucked off his tie and said, “That’s enough religion for me for a while. They pay that guy just to talk one hour a week—wouldn’t you think he’d have something more interesting to say?”

Now Angela smiled at Dorry and asked, “Are you having a good day?”

“Not too bad,” Dorry said, even though it
had been. “I had a really hard pop quiz in American Lit.”

“Let me guess—Mrs. Crenshaw and
The Scarlet Letter?”
Brad said.

“Yeah.” Dorry hesitated, too ashamed to say she thought she might have flunked the quiz. Back in Bryden, she’d never gotten anything but A’s and B’s, and her counselor had called her “definite college material.” No one here seemed to think that.

“I could help you if you’re having trouble,” Lara said.

Dorry turned eagerly to Lara. “Really?”

“Lara did really well in that class,” Angela said. “You should let her help. She likes explaining things.”

“Is after school Friday soon enough?” Lara asked. “Mrs. Crenshaw usually only gives quizzes once a week.”

“That’s great,” Dorry said. “Except—I can’t miss my bus.”

“I can drive you home,” Lara said.

Dorry saw her opportunity. “I live at Northview Apartments,” she said almost defiantly. She looked over at Angela, wanting her to say, “Oh, so do I!” or, “I was just there yesterday . . .” Angela’s expression didn’t change. She brought a forkful of salad to her mouth. Then she
bent over to get a sip of milk. Her hair fell forward, hiding her face.

“I’m not sure I know how to get there,” Lara said. “But it doesn’t matter. You can show me.”

“Okay,” Dorry said, embarrassed. She bit into her sandwich. If it hadn’t been Angela in the blue car yesterday, Dorry was on the verge of making a fool of herself. How could she have thought Angela might live at Northview? Angela had on an expensive-looking sweater and earrings that were probably real diamonds. And she wanted to be Dorry’s friend. Dorry shouldn’t screw that up.

Dorry ate with her new friends every day after that. It wasn’t always the same people—Brad and Angela were always there, but Lara, Kim, Michael, and Jay rotated in and out. Dorry started running into her friends in the halls between classes, too. Angela’s psychology class met around the corner from Dorry’s history class, and she began waiting outside the door afterward for Dorry. Brad popped up at the oddest moments, usually yelling through the halls, “Are we still on for lunch?”

Dorry always hoped everyone in the crowded hall overheard. Sometimes other girls gave her odd looks, and Dorry had to stop herself from laughing out loud. Could these city girls be jealous?

By Friday, Dorry had practically forgotten that she’d felt lonely and friendless only four days earlier. It was that afternoon that Lara helped her study
The Scarlet Letter.
Lara drove her to Burger King, treated her to fries and a milkshake, and patiently went through the book chapter by chapter until Dorry could discuss Hester Prynne’s sin and redemption almost as nimbly as Lara did.

“Thanks to you, maybe I’ll be able to get a good enough grade to go to college after all,” Dorry said, only half joking, as they finished. “You’ve saved my life.”

Lara didn’t smile back. She leaned forward, forehead wrinkled. “Speaking of salvation. . . . You’re using the right words, but do you really believe any of this?” she asked.

Dorry took the straw out of her almost-empty milkshake cup and began playing with it. “What do you mean? Do I believe the book? It’s fiction, right?”

Lara’s steady gaze made Dorry uncomfortable. She pretended to look for another French fry, though she knew they were all gone.

“No, no. Forget The
Scarlet Letter.
I mean, do you believe in God? Do you believe that sin separates us from God?” Lara leaned in closer with each word.

Dorry looked around. A group of teenaged
boys was only three tables away. “I guess,” Dorry answered. “I mean, I haven’t really thought about it much, but I guess I believe in God.”

“I didn’t used to.” Lara sat back, suddenly acting almost relaxed. “It’s strange, but last year when I was writing all those right answers on Mrs. Crenshaw’s tests, I was an atheist.”

“Really?” Dorry was fascinated. She’d never known an atheist before. “Why? Didn’t your parents and everybody tell you what you were supposed to believe?”

“Oh, they didn’t care. It’s not like
they
really believe in anything. But they didn’t like the other things I was doing.”

Dorry waited, torn between wanting to know the rest of Lara’s story and fearing Lara would tell it. What if it was really awful?

“My parents got divorced when I was twelve,” Lara said. “I’m not proud of this, but after that I was really promiscuous. I slept with anyone who wanted me, and lots of guys did because, you know, I
would.”

“At twelve?” Dorry said. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she was still playing with dolls then.

“Twelve, thirteen, fourteen, yeah. I thought I was so grown up. A lot of the guys treated me badly, and I figured, that’s life. I thought, what’s it matter? It didn’t make any sense to me that there
would be a God, because everything was so bad.”

“But—” Dorry wanted to argue, but she didn’t know what to say.

Lara held up her hand. “That was then, not now. I was
so
screwed up.”

“So what happened?”

Lara bit her lip. “Has anyone told you about Pastor Jim and the Fishers of Men?”

Dorry shook her head. She was about to joke that it sounded like one of those old pop groups her parents talked about—Bill Haley and the Comets, Pastor Jim and the Fishers of Men. But Lara looked so intense Dorry didn’t dare say anything. She leaned her milkshake cup back and let the last drops run down her throat.

“It’s, well, Fishers of Men is a religious group, of course, and Pastor Jim is the leader,” Lara said. “But he’s not like other ministers, and Fishers isn’t like any church I’ve ever heard of. All our friends are Fishers.”

The milkshake went down the wrong way and Dorry began coughing. “Brad? Angela? Jay?” she said as soon as she could.

“Yeah. Yeah.” Lara nodded rapidly. “Everyone.”

Dorry began flipping the straw between her fingers again. She remembered Brad’s religious comments and jokes. So that was it. He was some sort of religious fanatic. But she remembered him
making fun of fanatics that first day, Monday. And no one had tried to convert her or anything. Wasn’t that what a fanatic would do?

“I can tell what you’re thinking,” Lara said quietly. “You mention religion nowadays, and people think about cults. But Fishers isn’t like that. It’s the answer to everything.”

Dorry kept quiet. They’re not going to like me anymore, she thought. As soon as they find out I’m just a plain old Methodist, and I can’t be a Fisher, they’re not going to like me.

“Do you mind if I tell you about Fishers?” Lara asked.

Dorry shrugged, curious in spite of herself.

“Believe me, you couldn’t find anyone more skeptical than I was about religion,” Lara said. “But then one day last spring, I was walking out of school and I bumped into this guy. I hit him so hard we both almost fell down. It was Pastor Jim, though I didn’t know it then. He was really nice about everything. I told him I was sorry, and he said, ‘That’s okay. God can forgive all your sins.’”

“And that made you stop being an atheist?” Dorry couldn’t believe it.

“Not just like that. But it got me thinking. I had felt so ashamed of myself for so long, I couldn’t even remember what it was like not to feel guilty. But then, to have Pastor Jim say that to
me, in that big, sonorous voice he has—you’ll hear him. You’ll see. I started wondering if I could start over, not have that guilt following me around. But I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know who Pastor Jim was, or where to find him. So I started hanging around out front at school, looking for him before and after school. I started telling guys no, because I was too busy looking for Pastor Jim. Then one day, there he was, talking to someone over by the parking lot. 1 ran the length of the sidewalk to get to him and tugged on his coat—kind of like Mary Magdalene with Jesus in the Bible. I said, ‘You don’t remember me, but you told me my sins could be forgiven. Now I want to know. How?’”

“What did he say?” Dorry asked.

“He told me that Jesus died for me, that He took the punishment for my sins so I could go free.”

“You’d never heard of Jesus before?” Dorry was a little disappointed. She’d expected something more dramatic than the same old stuff she’d heard at church.

“Of course I’d heard of Jesus,” Lara said. “But I thought He was just a legend. A fairy tale that weak, stupid people made up to justify being narrow-minded.”

“And just like that, Pastor Jim made you
change your mind?” Dorry tried not to sound too skeptical. Back in Bryden, just about everybody went to church, but the only people who went around talking about sin and Jesus and salvation were the Holy Rollers, the ones who went to the Church of the Savior’s Blood. Everyone knew they were weird. Dorry had heard that they spoke in tongues and ran up and down the aisles in the middle of the service if they felt like it.

Dorry knew she was looking at Lara the way she might look at one of the Holy Rollers. But Lara didn’t seem to mind. She looked happier than Dorry had probably looked in her entire life. She practically glowed. It reminded Dorry of hokey science-fiction movies where people started glowing and then aliens beamed them up into space.

“It wasn’t so much what Pastor Jim said, as the way he said it,” Lara said. “He seemed so . . . calm, so at peace with himself and his beliefs. He touched my hand and said, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ and I felt a power jolting through me, and it was like, for the first time in my life, I could see the truth. I felt the Holy Spirit.”

“Oh,” Dorry said.

Lara laughed. “You’re not exactly thrilled by my story, are you?”

“It’s not that,” Dorry protested. “I mean, I
guess I’m happy for you that you have your, uh, beliefs—”