Rapture Practice (17 page)

“I dunno,” I say. “She’s friends with Erica Norton.”

“Oh, yeah.” Bradley nods. “I heard about that. You guys know each other from camp or something, right?”

“Yeah. And I took her to the Valentine’s banquet at Blue Ridge in ninth grade.”

“How was that?” he asks.

“I don’t think Erica and I are… a match.”

“No kidding,” he says, laughing. “She’s as buttoned up as they come.”

“She’s really sweet and my parents love her, but I don’t think she’d ever sneak out to a movie with me.”

“Wait,” Bradley says. “You have to sneak out to
movies
? Like, you’re not
allowed
to go to movies?”

“Yeah, movies are right up there with P.M. Dawn.”

“What do you do for
fun
?” he asks.

“Hopefully, hang out with you.”

“Done,” he says.

Bradley parks next to my car. “Well, congrats.” He sticks out his hand.

I shake it. “For what?”

“You survived your first day at Tri-City,” he says.

I smile, and nod. “Praise the Lord.”

Bradley laughs as I climb out of his car and close the door.

“Do Bradley and his parents go to church at Tri-City?” Mom asks. She’s all smiles this afternoon, very excited that I’m making friends so soon.

“I don’t think so,” I say, biting into one of Mom’s first-day-of-school chocolate chip cookies at the kitchen table. Mom is a diabetic and a label reader. She believes in healthy after-school snacks like carrot sticks and apple slices, except for the first day of school: homemade chocolate chip cookies, fresh from the oven.

“Did you hear Bradley say where they go to church in discipleship group?” I ask Josh as Dad walks into the kitchen loosening his tie, and kissing Mom.

“No,” he says. “I didn’t.”

I am dangling the discipleship group in front of Dad in hopes of distracting him from where Bradley goes to church. Here’s the deal: I know Mom and Dad will never let me go to Bradley’s house if they hear that his parents are divorced and living together, or that rock music is on the agenda. I’m sure
Bradley’s mom and dad don’t go to church anywhere, and I’m sure if my mom and dad know all of this, Bradley and I will not get to hang out. There will be no TV, no movies, and no music.

I hate lying to my parents, but if I want to hang out with Bradley, I don’t have a choice. I try to make the lies as small as possible. I try not to actually lie, but I don’t go into extended detail about the whole story. I try to mix as much truth as I can with some things that are
probably
true and only a few things that are probably
not
true, in order to get the answer I want from Mom and Dad. My goal is to keep the actual lie-to-truth ratio as low as possible.

It’s my first day at a new school, and I’m already back to my old tricks.

“Bradley is in your discipleship group?” Dad takes the bait.

“He’s actually the leader of the group.”

“It’s so great that he’s reaching out to you guys already,” Dad says. “He’s in the play with you, isn’t he?”

I nod. “Bradley wanted me to spend the night on Friday so we can run lines before rehearsal on Saturday.”

“Are his parents going to be there?” Mom asks.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Where did you say they go to church?” asks Dad.

“I’m not sure. I’ll ask him tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Dad says.

I can tell he wants to say yes. He wants to know that I don’t hate him anymore. He wants me to have friends. This
is the tricky part—the part where I have to make it seem certain that they can trust me, that I’ve had a fresh start at this new school—a spiritual awakening. I have to make it appear as authentic as possible, because the truth is, I don’t care what Mom and Dad think about Bradley. I just want them to let me go.

I can feel the nervousness inching up at the back of my throat. This is delicate work, like defusing a bomb. I can’t go too fast, or it’ll get sloppy. I’ve seen Dad deal with people I know he thinks are a little wacky at churches or at the Bible college, and he has this way of speaking to them so sincerely. It’s not an act. It’s an incredible skill he has that makes every person he comes into contact with feel cared for, seen, and heard. I try to affect his people skills now as I try to persuade him that Bradley is the kind of friend he’d want me to have.

“How long has Bradley attended Tri-City?” Dad asks.

Bingo.
This is my “in.”

“He actually came over from Lee’s Summit last year.” (The true part.) “He didn’t have very many Christian friends, and they were teaching lots of evolution in his science classes.” (The might-be-true part.) Bradley probably
didn’t
have a lot of Christian friends at his public school, and they probably
did
teach evolution in his science classes. He hadn’t actually told me that, but it was very probable, and it was exactly what I needed.

Dad nods thoughtfully. “That’s quite a sacrifice for parents to make. Tuition is expensive at Tri-City. The only reason we can afford to have you kids there is because they give
me a discount for being employed in a full-time Christian ministry.”

“Bradley really likes Tri-City,” I tell Dad. “He says it’s a lot easier without all of the peer pressure.” (The not-true-at-all part.) I cringe a little on the inside, but I know I’m speaking Dad’s language. I know what he wants to hear.

“Sounds like Bradley really has a heart for the Lord. I think it’d be okay.” Dad turns to Mom. “Honey, what do you think?”

Mom is starting dinner. “I think it sounds fine,” she says. “Can you bring your brothers home from play practice on Saturday if I drop them off?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m really glad you’ve made a friend already,” Dad says, and smiles.

Relief floods over me, followed by a torrent of guilt. I got what I wanted: the buy-in on Bradley. Something else hits me: Mom and Dad don’t know
anyone
at this new school. They don’t know who the “good” kids are—the ones my dad would say “have a heart for the Lord.” They don’t know which families go to church where. They have to trust me to tell them the truth.

But they shouldn’t.

After dinner, I practice the piano for an hour and then call Daphne.

“You survived,” she says. “How was it?”

“Weird. I missed you.”

“Likewise. I’m not sure who is going to plan the junior/
senior banquet now that you’re gone. When the committee met today to select themes for the evening, Dan Krantz suggested ‘A Night at the Bean Dip Ballroom.’ Any new-friend prospects?” she asks.

“Well, Erica was there, of course.”

“From the Valentine’s Day banquet two years ago?”

“That’s the one.” I sigh. We’d double-dated with Daphne that night. It was weird. Daphne’s date was the son of her mother’s friend, and he didn’t speak to her the entire night. “The night of Silent Joe.”

“Eighteen months, and I still wake up screaming,” says Daphne.

“The only thing more strange was Erica’s dress.”

Daphne laughs. “Well, it matched your cummerbund perfectly.”

“Yes,” I say, and sigh again. “All seventy yards of fabric.”

“It was certainly a full-coverage banquet gown,” Daphne agrees. “Where do you think she bought it?”

“Her mom made it.”

“I remember I was glad you didn’t get her a wrist corsage,” says Daphne.

“Yeah, because you couldn’t see her wrists.”

“Or her ankles.”

“I’m surprised it didn’t come with a hood.”

“Still, Erica was very sweet,” she says.

“Yes, at least she could talk,” I agree.

“Her mouth was the only thing on her body the dress didn’t cover.”

Daphne and I have to stop talking for a minute because we are laughing so hard. Finally, she takes a deep breath. “Okay. Other potential friends?”

“There’s this senior named Bradley. He asked me to come over and hang out this weekend.”

“See? I knew it’d be no problem for you.”

“Well, the jury is still out. We’ll see if Dad and Mom let me go.”

“How are they doing with all of this?”

“Happy as clams,” I say. “It’s weird. I realized today that they don’t know who the good kids are, so they sort of have to…”

“Trust you?” Daphne asks. I can hear her smile over the phone.

“Yeah.”

“I smell trouble.” Daphne knows me better than anyone.

“I will not stand for these wild allegations.”

Daphne sighs. “I have to start reading
Silas Marner
.”

“I have to start reading
A Tale of Two Cities
.”

“Keep me posted,” she says.

“I will. I have some ideas for the Bean Dip Ballroom.”

She laughs and tells me good-bye.

“The person with the dirtiest towel wins.”

Coach Hauser is speaking in our Friday chapel service. Between second and third period each week we all walk
down the hall to the giant church auditorium, sing a few hymns, and listen to a sermon. It’s like a mini church service, in addition to our daily Bible class. Coach Hauser is the PE teacher and basketball coach. He’s been speaking about John 13, where Jesus washes his disciples’ feet at the Last Supper.

“I want to see the most popular kids in our school being the biggest servants to others. That’s what Jesus taught us by his example: Humility is not weakness. It’s using your power to serve others. Jesus was the Son of God, the creator of heaven and earth. But the night before he died, he grabbed a cloth and a basin and washed the dirty feet of the men who followed him. As we start a new school year, let’s see who can be the biggest servant among us. How dirty is your towel? Whose feet will you wash today?”

Walking out of the church auditorium, I head back toward my locker to grab my chemistry notes. Bradley intercepts me and pulls me over toward the bulletin board outside the office. The list is tacked directly in the center:

SENIOR HIGH SELECT VOCAL ENSEMBLE

Twelve names are listed, including Erica’s, Bradley’s, and mine.

“So glad you’ll be there,” Bradley says. “See you eighth period.”

When we meet back up in the choir room that afternoon, Erica is about to explode. “I
knew
you’d make the ensemble. This is
so great
!”

“Yeah, wait’ll you see the outfits Mrs. Friesen picked out.” Bradley sighs.

“Outfits?” I ask.

“Just saw her squealing over them in the office. This year it’s mauve polyester blazers to match the flowers on the girls’ dresses.”

“Mauve?” I whisper, blinking, horrified.

“We’re going to look like a country craft.”

Mr. Green, the music teacher, walks in and starts class as the bell rings. “Welcome to senior high ensemble,” he says, adjusting his glasses. “I hold auditions for this group so we can sing music more challenging than ‘Mr. Whole Note Takes a Walk.’ ” He tells us to start thinking now about duets, trios, and quartets. “We’ll need some song selections of your own for the tour in the spring, and anyone who plays an instrument should be working on a solo of some kind as well,” he says.

I nudge Erica. “Hey,” I whisper. “Maybe we can do that song we sang at camp this summer?”

Erica frowns. “I don’t know about that,” she says slowly.

“What song is it?” Tyler Gullem, a senior, pipes up from behind us as Mr. Green passes out sheet music and folders.

“It’s this great song that—”

“That you’ll have to wait to hear until next week!” Erica cuts me off.

“You sang it at camp last summer?” Tyler presses.

I open my mouth to say something, but Erica leaps in
again. “Yep. We did—right before Aaron’s dad preached at the evening service.”

She turns to me with a grin even larger than her standard smile, and her eyes go a little bit wider than usual. Without moving her mouth, she whispers through her teeth at me, “We’ll talk about it later.”

After singing for an hour, the bell rings, and Erica follows me to my locker.

“Aaron, you have to be careful,” she says earnestly.

“About what?” I ask, loading up my backpack. I’m headed to Bradley’s tonight, and I want to get out of here.

“Nobody can know that song we sang at camp was a Sandi Patty song, or else they won’t let us sing it in chapel,” she whispers conspiratorially.

Sandi Patty is a contemporary Christian singer whose recordings are sometimes a little jazzy even for my parents, but as long as I sang them accompanied by a piano, there wasn’t a problem. “Sandi Patty is off-limits… completely?” I ask in disbelief. “That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s just the way they are here,” she says.

“Fine. I’ll Wite-Out her name on the music and photocopy it before I bring it in.”

“I don’t know,” Erica says. “Isn’t that… lying?”

I heave a sigh as I stuff books into my backpack. “My parents are the most conservative people I know, and if
they
like this song, why is it a problem?”

“Okay,” she says. “I don’t want to be deceitful.”

I shake my head. “So tell them the truth.”

“They’ll never let us do the song, then.”

I sigh. “Feels like a lot of hassle to sing a song. Let’s just pick something else, then.”