Ryan strode in from the side door near the choir’s steps to the stage, a smile on his face for his students. Like the last time I’d been here, the boys jostled for his attention, and he clasped several on the shoulder. More kids filed in as the pianist banged out a lively song.
Emma stood, and I followed her lead. Words filled the screen, and a music director said we could also find the words in the hymn book. I moved my mouth, but I didn’t really sing. I noticed something interesting. As stealthily as I could, I edged a little closer to Emma.
Wow. Girl had a good voice. I strained my ear toward her, trying to hear her softly sung words. A little more confidence, and she could be on stage. Though I had the distinct feeling she’d object to standing in the choir.
The service went the same as before, and I once again found myself leaning into the preacher’s words. He had a way of taking Bible verses and making them apply to real life. This week, he talked about the fishermen Jesus called to follow Him. Not the priests. Not the educated and had-everything-together people everyone probably expected. He gathered the plain, regular, and unwanted.
The words lingered with me as the service ended. As soon as the final notes of the last song ended, the students erupted into jokes and animated talking. Ryan’s eyes found mine over their heads, and he smiled. I offered a nod but then turned my attention back to Emma.
“You’ve got a pretty singing voice.”
She fell into stride next to me as we headed out. “Uh, thanks.”
The youth room brimmed with activity and boisterous teens. I lingered in the doorway, not sure where I should go. Emma headed toward one of the pub-style tables. She looked over her shoulder and lifted her eyebrows.
Taking that as an invitation, I followed and sat across from her. She regarded me with interest. “So, out-of-work waitress from Atlanta, what are you doing in Maryville? No one comes here on purpose.”
The kids picked up games of flipping cups and grabbed sodas out of the small fridge in the corner. The room soon filled with the smell of too much cologne, the twitter of girlish giggles, and the whoops of boys trying to best one another.
“My grandmother lived here.” I traced a finger along the imitation wood grain on the top of the table. “I met her right before she died.”
Emma brushed her long bangs out of her eyes. “You hadn’t met her before that?” She had a knowing quality to her question that gave her more depth than a sixteen-year-old should have.
“She was my birth dad’s mom. Never met her son.”
A thoughtful expression crinkled the corners of her eyes, and she gave me a solemn nod. “Never knew my real dad, either.”
I tried probing a little as the other kids crowded around a guy bringing in several boxes of pizza. “So the man you came in with. Stepdad?”
Her shoulders tightened. “Foster parents.” She watched me intently, as though my reaction would determine everything.
I simply nodded.
She relaxed and stuffed her phone back in her pocket. “Want to get some pizza?”
Ryan caught my eye and lifted his eyebrows when I took my place in the pizza line. Not sure how to respond to that, I stretched my lips into an awkward smile. Emma stacked three pieces of pizza on her plate. I took one slice of pepperoni. Oh, to eat like a teenager with a Speedy Gonzales metabolism.
We took our places at the table again, and Emma chewed thoughtfully. Her eyebrows flicked up, she gave a small shake of her head, and dropped her gaze back to the table. Curious, I turned to look over my shoulder.
Mira Ann. Interesting. Why had Emma reacted that way? I watched Mira Ann from the corner of my eye as she joined the same girls she’d sat with last week. They immediately started laughing and twittering over something.
The girls seemed to like her. Emma, though…maybe not. I put my elbows onto the table and leaned over my pizza. “You know Mira?”
Emma shrugged. “She comes back here sometimes. I’ve never really talked to her.”
We sat alone while the other kids gathered in clusters around the tables or lounged on the couch. I scanned their faces, remembering something. “Where’s that girl you sat with last week?”
“Don’t know.”
Right. Not overly forthcoming with information. “What’s her name?”
“Sarah.”
“Y’all friends?”
Another shrug. Okay. We ate in silence. I couldn’t think of anything else to talk about. After throwing away our plates, we settled back at the table for Ryan’s lesson. I turned in my seat so I could face him.
I’d planned on paying attention, but I kept thinking about the girl behind me. What was her story? How had she ended up in foster care? Did she like it better there, or did she miss her real parents?
My gaze drifted over to the popular table, headed by Mira Ann. She sat with a straight spine and perfect posture. I attempted to iron out my rounded shoulders. The girls at her table all had shiny hair and perfect makeup. Would they turn out just like her?
Yikes. What was wrong with me? Why did this woman irk me when she’d been so nice?
You don’t like her because she dated Ryan. Might still be dating him.
I wrinkled my nose at the voice in my head. But what was the point of arguing with myself? I knew the facts. Ryan was a good guy. I wasn’t planning on messing up his reputation. Mira Ann didn’t have anything to worry about from me. Ryan and I were just friends.
Friends. The word felt good. Not neighbors, not acquaintances. We’d passed that. Through the storm and the possum fiasco, and with our ties to Ida, we’d become fast friends. I smiled to myself. It was nice having a friend. Someone whom I could be comfortable with. Be real with. Someone I didn’t have to worry about impressing or maintaining impossible standards for.
Nope. She had nothing at all to worry about from me. I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize having my first real friend since…what? Middle school?
If that counted. I thought I’d had a best friend back then. We were inseparable all sixth grade. Told each other everything. Until she made cheerleader, and I wasn’t worth her time. Or good enough to be seen with, wearing my Goodwill clothes. A short skirt and some pom-poms, and my friend entered a new social circle I couldn’t breach. When seventh grade started, all of a sudden I didn’t exist anymore.
Movement around the room jarred me out of my thoughts. Had I missed the prayer and sat there staring into space while everyone else bowed their heads? Heat clawed up my neck. Mira Ann had been right. I was totally spacy.
The meeting ended, and kids filed out of the room, all erratic movements and pent-up energy. They ranged from gangly freshmen to seniors about to take on the world for themselves. As I watched them mingle and interact, I was struck by the diversity of the group. Several different races and different social groups were represented among the thirty or so kids. I hadn’t really noticed it before, but I found it interesting. Maybe I’d expected backwoods Mississippi to be a little more…segregated.
Wow. And there I went being all judgy again. Something twisted in my chest. I should really get a hold on that. Especially if I wanted to keep accusing others of doing the same.
“So, I’ll see you again next week?” Emma’s voice at my shoulder surprised me.
Seemed like I’d done a decent job connecting with her. “Yeah. I’ll be here.”