“If you still plan to be a stage magician, I’m all for it.”
I laugh. “I’m going to be just like my uncle.”
His forehead scrunches up in confusion. “A priest?”
I nod.
“Why? I mean, Luke is cool and all, but a priest? Like, you’ll never get married or have a girlfriend or . . . oh my God. You’ll die a virgin because you’ll never have sex. I hear that’s some mind-blowing stuff right there.” He scratches his head. “Dude. I’m so confused. You’re thirteen.”
I shrug. “I know that, you dork. It doesn’t mean I’m not capable of deciding what I want to be, you know. I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.”
“But what about pulling rabbits out of hats or whatever?”
“I can still do that and be a priest.”
He studies me thoughtfully. Then slowly, a big smile takes over his face. “This means more ladies for me, eh?”
I shrug his hand off my shoulder. “Could you be a little bit more supportive?”
“Could you be a little bit less goody two shoes?”
I sigh. He laughs. Then he glances around the room and says, “Wait. You blindsided me with your news. I forgot about him.”
He points his chin to the door. I follow his gaze to where a boy stands in the doorway. He must be three years younger than me at most. His guarded eyes scan the room before cutting in our direction.
I glance at Ivan. “Who’s he?”
“Seth. I found him in the hallway. I told him we serve cookies. You better dish them out.”
I laugh again. “I can’t even with you.” I start to walk toward Seth to welcome him to the group but freeze when Grace Miller appears at the doorway. She mumbles something to Seth, and he steps aside to let her pass without saying a word.
My breath hitches when her eyes meet mine. She looks away first, tucking stray curls of hair behind her ear, and then sits on the chair nearest to the door.
Ivan groans. “Come on, Callan. Pick up your jaw from the floor and go talk to the girl.”
I snap my gaze from Grace and face Ivan. “Uh . . .” I close my mouth, my cheeks burning at being caught staring.
He rolls his eyes. “She’s only a girl, you know. Girls don’t bite. Besides, it’s not like you want to go out with her, right? Not when you want to become a priest.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I shove my hand inside my jeans pocket and scowl. Where the heck is Eric? “Let’s talk to Set—” The boy at the door is already shuffling away.
Ivan follows my gaze and yells, “Seth! Wait up!” and takes off after him.
My eyes drift to where Grace is sitting. She’s watching me again. We look away at the same time. My mouth tips in a smile. I risk a glance at her from under my lashes, and I see the corner of her mouth pulled up in a smile, as well.
My knees feel a little weird, as if they can’t hold me up. I sit down on one of the free seats and stare at the floor. Grace and I don’t go to the same school. The only time I get to see her is at Sunday Mass or youth group. Yet I feel this sensation in my stomach whenever I do see her. I wish I were brave enough to talk to her. I wish she could talk to me like she did the first time we met.
My fingers fumble with the rosary in my pocket, rolling the smooth beads with my fingertips.
When someone claps their hands twice, I lift my head and see Eric stroll into the room. He’s carrying a white folder tucked under one arm, and the room falls silent at his presence.
After the usual prayer, Eric sets the folder on his lap and flips to the first page. We listen as he highlights the points of the upcoming fundraiser to help the local orphanage headed by Sisters of Mercy.
At some point, I notice Grace is no longer in the room. The more I sit here, the more I want to leave and look for her. Usually, she waits until the session is over. She’s always the first person out of the room. I have a feeling that’s the reason she sits close to the door.
I excuse myself and leave the room. My steps falter when I turn the corner to the hallway that leads to the washrooms and see her sitting on the floor. Her body is half-turned to a younger girl with curly blond hair sitting across from Grace.
I’ve seen the girl in church with her mother. She must be around eight or nine years old. They’re both talking in low tones. It’s rude to listen in on conversations, so I backtrack, but stop when I hear Grace say, “My mother always says we’re all stronger than we think. All we need to do is believe, and we can do anything.”
“You think I can do it? Those kids at school are . . . they’re awful.”
Grace reaches forward and hugs her. “Of course! The kids in my school are monkey poop. And you know what? I try not to let them get to me.”
The girl giggles and pulls away from Grace. I press my lips together, fighting a smile.
Feet shuffle on the floor, followed by the sound of the swish of fabric. The last thing I hear before fleeing back to the recreational room is Grace saying something about a Beautiful Memories Jar her mom gave her for her birthday. I sit in my spot, my heart beating fast and eyes on the floor, waiting to hear the sound of her feet the second she walks back into the room.
Seconds turn to minutes, and she doesn’t appear. And one hour later, I leave the room with disappointment hanging like a dark cloak around me.
Thirteen years old
Grace didn’t show up to youth group last Saturday, and today is the last weekend of the month. The fundraiser is planned for next week, and so far, everything is going according to plan.
I leave my uncle’s office and head to the recreational room. It’s empty save for Seth, who’s staring blankly out the window. After he showed up here two weeks ago, he too disappeared. Until today.
“Hey,” I greet, setting my Bible down on one of the chairs and stepping in his direction.
He blinks and looks at me. His eyebrows furrow in a scowl. He looks out the window again without saying anything.
“Whatever,” I mutter before I can stop myself, turn, and head to my seat.
“So, Father Foster, is he your dad or something?”
I spin around to face him, surprised by his words and that he decided to talk to me. He’s still facing the window. “He’s my uncle.”
He grunts something under his breath.
I sigh and grab my Bible and sit down.
“Seth Kruger,” he mumbles without turning to face me.
“Solomon Callan.”
We fall silent. I tug the ribbon attached to the Bible and open to the last page I read last night so I can catch up with my reading, in case Luke decides to spring Bible verse trivia on me during dinner. He has a habit of catching me off guard, but I love a good challenge.
The sound of feet shuffling causes me to lift my head. I watch as Seth takes a seat across from me, then stares at the ceiling.
“Dude, is everything okay?”
He sighs and drops his chin to his chest. “I don’t really want to be here.”
“I kind of figured that out.”
His head snaps up, his gaze sharp and angry on mine.
I clear my throat and think of something to say.
“You have to want to attend youth group, you know. Otherwise, it doesn’t really make sense to force yourself to be here.”