Not So Pure and Simple

by Lamar Giles

  Kiera rededicated herself to her prize matron role, sorting swag and sweeping popcorn crumbs from her side of the table.

  “Should I count the tickets?” I wanted to sound helpful. I crouched near the cardboard box housing the tangled ticket strips.

  “That’s not necessary. We don’t really keep track. It’s just a way for the littles to learn something about value.”

  “Oh.” I stood again. We were inches apart. We hadn’t been this close since the day I delivered the news about Taylor’s IG rant.

  Say something, Del! “What are you? I mean your costume. I been trying to figure it out all night.”

  “Dorothy. From The Wiz. The new version. Mama showed me the old one a long time ago, but we DVR’d the new one, and I liked it better.”

  The answer stunned me. Kindergarten was my first time seeing her as Dorothy; it was the moment I felt our bond cement. This had to be a sign, right? God was trying to tell me something!

  “You look great,” I said, meaning it and regretting it at the same time. Was it corny?

  “Thank you.”

  There was a lull, and I felt weird about pushing it, so I got back to sorting prizes.

  Then she said, “What are you?”

  “Oh. Um, a preacher.”

  She sucked her teeth. “What are you really?”

  I lowered my voice. “Agent J from Men in Black.”

  Her smile lit with recognition. “I looove that movie. Me and my brother used to watch it all the time when we were little. He thought the aliens would scare me, but they didn’t. I thought the one that looked like a pug was cute.”

  “How is your brother?”

  “Stationed in Guam and loving it.”

  Bring it back, Del. Keep the conversation here and now. “Do you like science fiction movies? Other than Men in Black, I mean?”

  A shrug. “They’re fine. I mostly watched them with Wes.”

  Now, Del. Say it! Maybe we can watch one sometime. Or talk about Purity Pledge over a pizza.

  I cleared my throat. “Kiera, maybe—”

  “Excuse me, young man,” Pastor Newsome interrupted.

  No!

  He stood at the top of the church steps, the same approximate height of the pulpit. Looking down on us. “Might I have a word?”

  It sounded like a request, something optional. Then, he descended the stairs, grasped my shoulder, and adjusted my clip-on tie. “We can talk in my office.”

  He climbed the steps, made it to the third one when he stopped and stared at me.

  A child dressed in a blue-gold Stephen Curry warm-up padded to the table and tossed a disorderly ticket bundle in Kiera’s general direction. “What can I buy?”

  Her gaze shifted between him and me.

  “You okay?” I hoped she’d give me a reason to stay.

  “I’m fine. See you later.”

  Trailing Newsome, I entered the sanctuary, where most pews had been pushed along the walls, clearing space for the gaming floor. One had been dragged back out, evident by its canted angle. The Burton boys were on it, their baseball uniforms visible between a circle of parishioners still praying for Bobby’s health. The way Ralph looked, he might’ve fired a flare gun to signal a rescue, if he could. Sorry, guys.

  Newsome paid the prayer circle no mind. We took the corridor past the Purity Pledge classroom, toward his office. The air got thick with a spicy incense that made my head swimmy. He entered the open door at the very end of the hall, breaking through a thin streamer of white smoke.

  “Sit.” Newsome took the brown leather chair on the working side of his L-shaped desk. He had a huge monitor positioned on the short side of the L, which butted the wall. His screen saver was a single 3-D word floating to the monitor’s border then bouncing off in another direction like an unbreakable soap bubble. The word was “Blessed.”

  A single incense stick burned next to a fancy gold pen set. A heat ring had eaten it to its slim midpoint. A broken ash snake settled beneath it, and I found it hard to look at anything else when I sat.

  “Mr. Rainey!” he said, forcing my attention to him.

  I didn’t like when grown-ups called me “mister.” It felt like they were telling toddlers that they’re “big boys.” Still, I said, “Yes, sir.”

  “You’re probably wondering what this is about.”

  My costume? Maybe someone overheard what I was really supposed to be. Was this the “let me tell you how we do things here, son” lecture Jameer warned me about?

  Silently, I awaited my reaming.

  Newsome said, “I hear you’re taking that sex class over at the high school. I’m going to need to know more about that.”

  Chapter 12

  SILENCE STRETCHED BETWEEN US WHILE I processed what I’d heard. “Healthy Living? You want to talk about that?”

  “Yes, I believe that’s how they’re referring to it.” He reached beneath his desk and brought out a legal pad and a pencil. “Tell me a bit about what they’re exposing you to.”

  Why did he want to talk about Healthy Living?

  He said, “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, son.”

  “I’m not uncomfortable.” Lie.

  “You and your mother only been coming to service for a couple of months now? It’s so nice that you’ve joined us. We don’t get a lot of new blood, and we’re always happy to see wholesome families grace our pews. Is your father in the home?”

  What? “Yes. My dad lives with us.”

  “Awesome. I know good stock when I see it.”

  I had a hard time figuring how any of this stuff fit together. My dad living with me making me good stock. Healthy Living. New blood in the church. I didn’t really want to talk to Pastor Newsome, in his office, alone, but we were chatting it up just the same.

  “Do you like it here at First Missionary, Mr. Rainey?”

  “It’s okay.”

  “You never had the good fortune to meet our First Lady, Odessa.” He motioned to a framed photo on his desk, turned outward. It was a portrait of a thin, wrinkled brown lady in a bright silver wig. “My wife loved the young people. The Lord never saw fit to bless us with children of our own, so she became exceptionally protective of the youth in our charge—and I don’t just mean my niece Vanessa. In a way, every child at First Missionary became our child.”

  Another ashy stub fell off his incense; the glowing red heat ring crawled toward the stem.

  “Odessa got sick a long time ago, and fought hard. Saw a lot of good come to fruition from her direct efforts. Our Thanksgiving program where we provide entire meal kits to needy households. Our Christmas Toy Store where the poorer children from here and surrounding communities come in and pick gifts they couldn’t otherwise afford. She made sure to leave her mark.”

  I couldn’t zone out like I did in his sermons. This was one-on-one, couldn’t fake my way through this. His stare never wavered.

  “I’m sad to say she saw some ugly things in her final days. Shadows descending on our community. All those young ladies at the high school throwing their lives away over momentary temptation. Just about tore Odessa’s heart in half.” He broke eye contact, staring down at hands he was wringing hard enough to cause a potential friction burn. “I’m sure you know two of the young ladies who made that devil’s pact were members here.”

  I did not. Why would I? Also, the pact wasn’t a real thing.

  This didn’t feel like the right time to bring that up.

  Newsome’s voice became edged. “On her deathbed, Odessa told me, ‘Eldridge, you have to intervene for the Green Creek youth. That’s what God’s called you to do. And I won’t be with you, so you’ll have to look for like-minded saints to help.’ She said those exact words to me, and that’s why I’m talking to you, Mr. Rainey. Do you understand?”

  A slow head shake was my only answer.

  “I want you to help me save the youth in this town. That starts with you telling me what’s been going on in that sex class.” He got into a com
fortable note-taking position. Wrote the number one in the top left margin of his pad. Waited.

  “I’m not sure what to tell you. It’s boring stuff mostly. Statistics. Telling us how to avoid places where we might get tempted.”

  He didn’t write anything down. “You said ‘mostly.’ You don’t find it boring all the time.”

  “That’s because of MJ.” Then I caught myself, feeling I’d made a misstep. Said too much.

  “The English teacher. I know the man.” He scribbled something quick and hard on his pad. “He was quite eager to take on this particular task. A man possessed, you might say. How’s he handling the mandated curriculum?”

  “MJ’s good.”

  “Is he now? He lets you call him that? Just his initials?”

  “I—yes. I mean, he’s cool.” Every answer felt like the wrong answer. Twisting in my chair, I motioned toward the corridor. “Kiera’s probably going to need some help.”

  Newsome scrutinized me while twirling his pen between his index and middle finger like a drumstick. “I met my Odessa at church when I was about your age. It’s a special bond that forms when two young people connect over holy pursuits. I can tell you that. I can also tell you that two people pursuing a relationship should be equally yoked. Do you know what that means?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Kiera Westing is a shining star here at First Missionary. Whatever boy is going to live up to her Holy Father’s standard, her earthly father’s standard”—he patted his chest by his heart—“her pastor’s standard, will need to be a shining star, too.”

  Slow anger bled into my discomfort.

  “Mr. Rainey, I’ve been very clear with my congregation about the evils of that class. It’s been the exact wrong reaction to the pregnancy pact.”

  “There wasn’t a pact.”

  “Excuse me?” His smile slipped. Neither one of us was doing very good by our Harvest Fest masks at that point.

  “Nothing.”

  “As I was saying, I’m not completely comfortable with you participating in both the Purity Pledge and that sex class. I’ve overlooked it because my niece says you’ve been doing well, but I’m on the fence about how far I should let you go. There’s no telling what sort of corruption they’re infecting you with. I simply need more information to evaluate. Understand?”

  “It sounds like you’re saying if I don’t tell you about Healthy Living, you’re going to kick me out of Purity Pledge.”

  He pressed his pen to his pad. “Shall we continue our talk?”

  It wasn’t our talk. It was my talk. About all we’d covered in Healthy Living. Babies. Diseases. Contraception.

  Newsome interrupted me. “Mister Jay is encouraging you to seek contraceptives?”

  “MJ’s not saying go out and buy a bunch of condoms. Just that you should have them if you’re going to do something where you’d need condoms.”

  He wrote down way more than what I’d said.

  “Does Mister Jay stick strictly to the approved curriculum?”

  “Yes.”

  “You said it isn’t boring all the time.”

  “That’s not exactly what I—”

  “How does Mister Jay liven up the curriculum? Consider your response carefully, because I’ll have much to think about once we’re done.”

  Get up. Walk out. What could he do to stop you, Del?

  All the work I’d done to win Purity Pledge, though. A word from him, and I was done. My best connection to Kiera severed.

  And, it wasn’t like there was any real dirt on MJ. “He lets us ask questions. Like, if something was confusing, or wasn’t covered, he’ll talk to us about it.”

  “Wasn’t covered? Like what?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Yes, you do. Don’t lie to me in my house, Mr. Rainey.”

  I thought it was the Lord’s House. I should’ve said it. I didn’t. “I mean, like, he’s got a kid, and we asked him about how that was. If it was hard like the lessons say it would be.”

  “He discusses his personal life with you children?”

  “He answers our questions.”

  Newsome rocked back in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin. Then, he rotated his chair toward his monitor, awaking his computer, and typing into a blank document. “I look forward to speaking with you again soon. Close the door on the way out, and have a blessed night.”

  That was it?

  A good forty-five minutes had passed. Bobby and Ralph were no longer in the sanctuary. Remaining were adult volunteers who tipped tables onto their sides, folding the legs flat beneath, stacked gray aluminum chairs on a rolling cart, or swept the limp remains of ruptured balloons into dustpans. Upbeat gospel music cranked through the sound system.

  I crossed the floor fast, needing to be outside, away from there.

  “Del.” Sister Vanessa angled toward me.

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Fine.”

  She glanced toward her uncle’s office. “Are you sure?”

  “I—” What was she even asking me? “Yeah. I’m sure.”

  Nudging past Sister Vanessa, I escaped into the night air. The Harvest Fest now had a deserted feel. Half-deflated, the angular peak of the bouncy house flopped sideways like the tip of a wizard’s hat. Most of the Trunk or Treat cars were gone, leaving wide gaps in the previously full lines. All the Purity Pledgers performed cleanup tasks at their assigned stations.

  Jameer shoveled cotton candy clouds into a large plastic bag Helena held wide for him. His attention was on me, not the task. They’d all seen Newsome walk me off.

  I shook my head in his direction. Later, bro. I wanted to pick up where I left off at the prize table. I stopped cold when I saw the new customer handing an absolutely jubilant Kiera a short string of carnival game tickets.

  Welcome to the Annual First Missionary House of the Lord Harvest Fest, Mason Miles.

  Chapter 13

  HOW? HOW WAS HE HERE?

  I reclaimed my previous position behind the table, coming into the middle of Kiera and Mason’s conversation. They didn’t even notice.

  Mason, motioning at his outfit, a black trench coat with a dark turtleneck underneath, said, “—he wore in book five of the series, when he was off the grid in New York City and acting as an urban mercenary.”

  Kiera’s grin was wide. “Wow! That sounds cool.”

  “Hey.” I cleared my throat. “What are we doing here?” I kind of waved at the table, like that’s what I meant.

  Mason, oblivious to the deep-sea pressure from tension squeezing us on all sides, said, “What up, Del!”

  I nodded.

  Kiera said, “Mason was telling me about his costume.”

  “Jack Jake,” I said. Monotone.

  Mason’s goofy, idiot face lit up. “You like the JJ series, too?”

  “No, Mason. I don’t. It’s just, whenever you do book reports—”

  Kiera said to him, “I didn’t think you were going to come by.”

  He said, “When you told me about it Sunday, I didn’t know if I’d have to help my sisters with their homework. Our mom works night shifts, so if the twins are having a hard time with math or science, that’s on me. But we wrapped up early, so I figured I’d at least get them out the house and see if you were still here.”

  “We are,” I said.

  We all bobbed aimlessly. Kiera crossed her arms, bounced on her toes. I stood my ground. Mason made awkward glances over his shoulder at the two tall, gangly girls tossing bean bags at a cornhole board.

  He broke first, and said, “I oughta get my sisters so that cornhole guy can go home.”

  “You should’ve come earlier,” Kiera said.

  No. He shouldn’t have.

  Mason stepped backward, moving toward his sisters while never breaking eye contact with Kiera. He tapped his temple. “Noted. I will always listen to Kiera Westing’s advice on events and timeliness going forward.”


  She said, “You better.”

  “See you in school tomorrow.” Then he spun on his heels, jogged to his sisters. No bye for me, huh, Mason?

  The twin girls, maybe nine or ten years old, in costumes that seemed like Disney princesses, though I couldn’t tell from which movies, squealed their disappointment when he told them it was time to go. He was stern, not mean, and Kiera watched the interaction the way an animal lover watched sloth videos on YouTube.

  Enough.

  I said, “Pastor wants us to get together.”

  Her chin whipped my way with ample speed to cause a neck injury. “What?”

  “To discuss ideas for our final Purity Pledge presentation. The week-eight assignment.” I didn’t know where it was coming from. It was like my tongue belonged to someone else, something else.

  Was this divine intervention?

  “You’re thinking about the week-eight assignment already?”

  “Pastor said we should.”

  “That’s what he wanted to talk to you about?”

  “Yes.” Smooth. No hesitation. “Since we’re sort of the elders, he suggested we start brainstorming. I’m kind of busy with my new tutoring gig, but I was thinking Friday night. Mama Marian’s downtown.”

  She blinked rapidly, as if I’d shined a bright light in her face. “Umm, okay.”

  I whipped my phone out, held it to her. “Let me get your number.”

  “If Pastor says so.” Spooked, blindsided, and stunned, she still did exactly what I said, punching in the seven digits. I immediately hit the Call button, and she jumped, startled by her phone buzzing in her back pocket.

  I said, “Now you’ve got my number, too. We’ll be talking much more.” I raised my hand for the customary Purity Pledge high five.

  She slapped my palm sheepishly. “First Missionary Crew!”

  Damn right.

  Me and Kiera didn’t speak much the rest of that night. Actually, I didn’t speak much to anybody the rest of that night. Not Jameer. Not Mom and Dad. Not Qwan when he sent his texts asking me how it went. Despite that absolutely genius chess move I pulled from thin air to finally get a date with Kiera, Harvest Fest felt more like a fail than anything. It wasn’t because of Mason—who was definitely a problem, but one that could be solved. Weirdly enough, the thoughts that made me toss and turn that night were about Healthy Living, and MJ.