On the Loose (A Katie Parker Production)

by Jenny B. Jones

  Jeremy nods, his eyes fixed on the pastor. “Yeah.”

  “It’s that easy, guys. It’s trusting that God is big enough to carry all you’ve got to throw on him. It’s believing Jesus died on a cross for you. Nobody understands pain more than him.”

  My heart speeds up watching Jeremy stand there with my pastor. Do I have it in me to do that—just accept it all and surrender? Can I do this? Should I do this?

  “Preacher, I’d like to testify, if I could.”

  I frown in confusion as Mrs. Dobbs stands up. Testify? Like what you do before Judge Judy yells at you?

  “Go ahead, Miss Sarah.”

  “Just as sure as I know the Lord was in my living room that night, I know He’s here.” As Mrs. Dobbs casts her eyes over every single person, the band resumes their quiet chorus without the words.

  “The living room was as far as we could go. And that’s where He met us.” Mrs. Dobbs pauses and watches us all. A pressure builds in my chest as I feel the weight of her stare on me. “No matter where you are when you cry out to him—that’s where you’ll find him.”

  “Amen,” Elmer shouts from his chair.

  “And if a tornado tore apart our home for no other reason than to see someone come to the Lord, then I say . . . you bring on another twister.”

  I once was lost, but now I’m found.

  Was blind, but now I see.

  With tears streaming down my face, I grab Frances’s hand. “I think I’m supposed to go up there.”

  She leans in close. “What?”

  “I think Mrs. Dobbs is talking about me.” I can hardly hear myself over the blood rushing to my head. The pressure to do what I need to do battles with the dread over laying myself open in front of all these people.

  OK, God, you can have me. I don’t know what’s coming for me, but I want to be in a safe place when it does.

  “Katie, what are you trying to tell me?”

  I rub my hand over my nose. “I get it, Frances.” I meet her dark eyes and nod. “I get it.”

  My best friend—the only one I’ve ever had—squeezes my hand, her own eyes pooling. “Are you ready to do this?”

  My throat stings with tears, and all I can do is nod. Nod and sniff. I close my eyes, battling the voice that tells me to stay seated, and I stand to my feet.

  Frances grabs my arm and tugs. “No, Katie.”

  I stop.

  “Your days of doing things alone are over.” She puts her thin arm around me much like Millie has a hundred times before. And we step across legs and purses until we reach the end of the row and walk the aisle towards an awaiting Pastor Mike.

  “Hold up.”

  Ten feet away from the front, Charlie Benson stands at the end of his row and waits.

  For me. He steps to my other side, places his hand at my back and grins.

  And together, the three of us take the longest walk of my life. Stepping in time to the words of grace, I walk toward the music, toward Pastor Mike.

  And you know who was waiting there for me?

  God.

  Chapter 35

  “Surprise!”

  “Congratulations!”

  “Finally, you’re saved! I bet Myrtle May Higgins, and she owes me five bucks.”

  I walk into the house on Friday night to streamers, confetti, party horns, and a sign hanging over the entryway that says Katie+God 4EVS.

  Maxine lays a hand on her chest. “I made the sign.”

  I laugh and give her a big hug. “Never would’ve guessed.”

  “We’re so proud of you.” Millie’s blue eyes glisten. “We’ve been praying for this since day one.”

  “Oh, I remember that first day.” James sets my bag down and shuts the door. “You told us you had a boyfriend named Snake, and your favorite class was shop because you liked to play with sharp objects.”

  We all laugh. That seems like a hundred years ago when Mrs. Smartly dropped me off. I’m so far from that girl who stood in the Scott’s driveway, totally alone, utterly scared.

  “Guess what I’ve got for dinner?” Millie claps her hands like a cheerleader. “Pizza!”

  “Oh, wow, Millie, it’s only been five days since we had your tofu pizza. I want to savor the memory a little longer.” Plus I need to call the Food Network and report my foster mother’s crime against the basic food groups.

  “No, I’m talking pepperoni, gooey mozzarella cheese, crispy crust—”

  I smash Millie in a fierce hug. “Who are you and what have you done with my foster mom?”

  With three slices of artery-clogging heaven sitting on my plate, I sit at the table surrounded by my family—James, Millie, Maxine. Oh, and that stupid dog, of course. In between bites, I toss out all the random questions about God swimming in my head. Though the pieces are starting to fit, there’s still so much I don’t know. And James says that’s just fine.

  “So you wouldn’t tell me over the phone about your conversation with the principal. How did that go?” I grab the packet of fake Parmesan cheese and sprinkle until my pizza is totally blanketed in unnatural goodness. Millie frowns her disapproval, but doesn’t say a word.

  James pushes up his glasses. “Saw your principal Saturday afternoon. Invited him to a round of golf, then pulled out my phone and sprung the video on him.” He nods and grins. “Best game of golf I ever played. Mr. Wayman couldn’t seem to keep his mind on the game. Not only will he and Mrs. Whipple be apologizing to you in person, but they will also make a public apology to you Monday.”

  “Cool.” Though it pains me, I set my third piece of pizza down, half eaten. Perhaps I should wrap it up and keep it so I can remember what the real stuff looks like. “Thanks for doing that, James. I really appreciate it.”

  “Kid, I’d go to bat for you any day.”

  I raise my lips in a smile, but my conscience tugs it right back down. I have yet to tell them about going to Trevor’s party. About deceiving them. And about the alcohol. I get that all my sins are forgiven, but it doesn’t seem right to hold on to this one.

  After dinner I heave my tired, overworked body upstairs. I cannot wait to kick off my shoes, flop on my bed and—

  “Maaaaxiiiiine!” I stand in horror at the sight before me. Leopard print. Everywhere I look. My white rug—gone. Lying under my feet a fake bear rug—complete with fake bear head. A giant tiger poster hangs over my bed. An enormous stuffed lion sits in the place where my cushy bean bag chair once was.

  “What are you yelling . . . Oh.”

  I swivel and face my roommate. “‘Oh? Oh is all you have to say for yourself?”

  “Well, I was going to ask you how you like our matching cheetah comforters, but you didn’t give me a chance.”

  I march over to my bed and rip off the insult to bedding. “Where is my hot pink quilt? My retro pillows? My bean bag? My white rug?”

  She backs up a few steps. “Now, Sweet Pea, calm down.”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down. My room is . . . is a jungle!”

  Maxine sniffs. “I would think anyone would find this beautiful.”

  “Yeah, if you’re a chimpanzee.”

  “Now, just a minute—”

  “I leave for five days and you do all this?” I pace the room, finding new wildlife in every nook.

  Maxine plants herself in my path and halts me with her hand. “Let me push rewind for you, little girl. I distinctly remember us having a little deal. Am I correct?”

  Still furious, I nod.

  “And in exchange for my silence on your certain misdeed, you agreed to a list of items in return. Still with me here?”

  My nostrils flare with my every breath.

  “And you said I could add a few personal belongings to this room.”

  “I never said—”

  “Ah-ah-ah.” She holds up a finger. “Don’t interrupt me, my little apple dumpling. Per our agreement, basically anything I say goes.” She walks to the door and pulls it open. “By the way, I have a friend coming next week t
o paint a mural on the walls. I came up with the design myself. I call it ‘Maxine Runs With the Tigers.’”

  I catch up with my foster grandmother on the fifth step down, nudge her out of my way, and skid to a halt in the kitchen.

  Millie looks up from her place at the sink. “Is something wrong?” She hands James a dish to dry.

  Here goes nothing. “I need to tell you something.”

  Maxine appears behind me and pokes me in the back. “You really should think this through,” she hisses.

  I shake my head. “No, I really need to talk to you guys.”

  “Silly child is obviously exhausted from her mission work.” Maxine puts her hands on my shoulders and pushes. “I’ll get her to bed.”

  I dig in my feet. “Two weeks ago I—”

  “Fell and bumped her head.” Maxine clucks her tongue. “Poor dear.”

  I shoot her a look hot enough to sizzle bacon. “You two were at the hospital. It was your last night. And I went—”

  “And played hide-and-seek with the chickens.”

  “No! Would you be quiet?” I step back, my foot landing not so accidentally on Maxine’s toe. “I was mad. At you, at your daughter, at myself because—”

  “The darn chickens found her every time and—”

  “I went to a party! There was alcohol! It was at Trevor’s, and his parents weren’t home.” My voice rattles the cabinets.

  Millie hands James another glass. He swabs it out with a tea towel, inspects it, then passes it back. “You missed a spot.”

  She smiles and nods. “Thank you, dear. I believe you’re right.” Millie returns the glass to the sudsy water.

  I move in closer. “Did you hear what I said?”

  “Here you go. All clean now.” Millie reaches for a salad bowl. “Yes, I heard you. Did you hear her, James?”

  My foster dad picks up a fork and rinses. “I think all of Dallas, Houston, and San Antonio heard what she said.”

  They clearly are not comprehending. “I went to a party. I took a drink of beer. And Maxine caught me and hauled me back home.”

  Millie rests her rag on the counter. “We know.”

  “I know you know. I just told you.”

  “Nah,” James says. “We’ve actually known a little bit before tonight.”

  From my peripheral vision I see Maxine slowly backing out of the kitchen. “If you value the Justin Timberlake scrapbook collection you keep under your bed, you will stop right there.”

  Maxine freezes. She turns back around, her face glowing with innocence.

  I return my attention to Scotts. “Exactly how long have you known?”

  “Would you say ten minutes after Mom brought her home or closer to fifteen?”

  James purses his lips and stares at the ceiling, his brow wrinkled in concentration. “I . . . believe I would say ten minutes. Yes, I’m gonna have to go with ten.”

  I pounce on Maxine. “You,” I growl. “You have totally taken advantage of me. I washed your unmentionables. I brought you breakfast in bed. I picked all the seeds out of your oranges. I fluffed your pillow every single night.” My hands clench and unclench at my sides. “For you I fluffed!”

  “Now, Katie, dear. There’s no need to get upset.” She pats my head. “Grandma loves you!”

  James barks with laughter. “Katie, you brought all this on yourself.”

  “I have to admit, it’s been a fun two weeks waiting for you to come clean. Especially that day I saw you ironing mom’s pantyhose.”

  James snaps his fingers. “Or the time she had to stand outside the bathroom and read Shakespearean sonnets to Maxine while she soaked in bubbles.”

  Soon everyone dissolves into chuckles.

  Everyone but me.

  “I’m glad you guys think this is so funny. So glad I could entertain you.”

  Millie swipes at her mascara and levels her gaze on me. “You could’ve ended it any time.”

  I glare at Maxine. “Believe me, lesson learned.” I pull out a seat at the bar and rest my cheek on my fist. “How long were you gonna let this go on?”

  James pats me on the back. “We knew we wouldn’t have to wait long.”

  “What made you think I would tell on myself?”

  He sits down next to me. “Because it was the right thing to do.”

  “And we trusted you to make the responsible decision,” Millie says.

  “You’re saying you trusted me?”

  James nods. “Yes.”

  “And you trusted me to be honest?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you knew I would tell you the truth, despite how hard it would be?”

  “Yes.”

  “And since I clearly have passed this moral test, you have decided not to ground me?”

  James hops off his stool. “Not on your life.”

  My hands fumble with the wet tea towel James used to dry the dishes. “I’m really sorry I let you down. It was a miserable night.”

  Millie pushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “Despite the fun we’ve had at your expense, Katie, you know the reality of what you did isn’t humorous at all. We have rules, and they are to be followed. We expect more from you.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Through you’ve suffered enough at the hands of Mom, you are grounded. And James and I have decided that includes the spring dance.”

  I open my mouth to protest. It takes all my inner strength to shut it once again and bite my tongue. No spring dance. No Trevor picking me up in his Hummer. No flowers at the door. (What? A girl can dream.) No discovering “our song” as we swayed on the dance floor, gazing into one another’s eyes. No opportunity for Trevor to say, “Katie, I’m just a shell of a guy. Make me complete and wear my class ring.” Not that the Scotts would let me within ten miles of him anyway.

  Hours later I roll over in bed for what must be the millionth time. I plump my pillow and jam it back under my head.

  God, where is my hope in this? I want to be positive and accept my punishment with some maturity. Give me some encouragement. Something to hold on to.

  I sigh and stare at the ceiling.

  “Would you please go to sleep?” A drowsy voice calls from the other side of the room. “If I have bags under my eyes tomorrow morning, grounding will be the least of your punishment.”

  And then it hits me.

  I toss my covers off my legs and bound out of bed.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  I feel my way across the room, find the door, and scoot my hand over a little more to the left.

  And flick on the light.

  “Augh!” Maxine jerks the covers over her head. “Are you crazy?”

  I put a foot on her bed and hoist myself up. “No, actually I’m brilliant.” I balance myself on her mattress and rip her velvet picture down with a fierce jerk.

  She gasps and bolts to a sitting position. “How dare you!”

  “Grandma,” I drawl. “Jesus won’t be sipping mochas in my room anymore.”

  Chapter 36

  “If you’re interested in trying out for cheerleading for the next school year, please attend the meeting today at lunch in the gym lobby.”

  I twirl my pencil between my fingers in English class as the school secretary reads the announcements.

  “Since the bubbles have been removed from the pool, the swim team tryouts have been rescheduled for Thursday after school.”

  I hope it didn’t shrink anyone’s Speedo.

  “The Powder Puff football game will be held April third. Girls will play football and boys will cheer. Please sign up if interested. Team captains, please make sure your cheerleaders wear underwear this year. That is all. Conduct yourselves as befitting the Chihuahua!”

  Ms. Dillon stands up. “Turn in your books to page—”

  The speaker overhead crackles and whines. “You go first. You’re the principal!”

  Everyone in the classroom stops and looks up, like someone’s going to crawl
out of the overhead speaker.

  “It’s Mrs. Whipple,” someone behind me says.

  Next we hear a deep, exaggerated clearing of the throat. Ew.

  “Students, this is Mr. Wayman. Er . . . your principal.”

  The class bursts into laughter.

  “I would just like to say . . . That is, I would like to take this moment to . . . Well, on behalf of Mrs. Whipple and myself, I would like to humbly . . . er, deeply, truly, um . . . seriously apologize to Katie Parker. And . . . now here’s Mrs. Whipple to explain why.”

  Everyone swivels in their seat to watch me. Angry whispers filter though the speaker then the sound of the phone exchanging hands.

  “Oh, all right. Ahem, yes, students, I, too, would like to apologize to Miss Parker. There seems to have been an unfortunate misunderstanding. Really, anyone could have made this teeny, tiny mistake. And it may come as a surprise to you, but Mr. Wayman and I are not perfect.”

  The class erupts in more laughter.

  “We make mistakes too. And we are sorry for wrongfully accusing Katie of theft at In Between High. She has been completely cleared of any charges and accusations. I believe that is all, so . . . What?” The overhead speaker crackles with static. “No, Mrs. Beasley, I don’t think that is . . . oh, very well. To make amends for our grievous error, Mr. Wayman and I will be buying Miss Parker ice cream in the cafeteria for the rest of the month.”

  Mr. Wayman’s voice booms out of the speaker again. “We need to see Angel Nelson in the office immediately.” Click.

  The class erupts in excited chatter, and I field the hundred or so questions thrown my way.

  Angel stomps down the row and knocks my book onto the floor.

  I reach for the literature book, but Ms. Dillon’s voice stops me. “Miss Nelson, you are going to pick that book up right now. Then you’re going to apologize to Katie. And then you’re going to march yourself to the office.”

  Angel turns to face me, her face red, her pupils dilating. I can tell she’s weighing her options. Please don’t pick the one that says, “Hey, I have nothing to lose at this point, I think I’ll ram this book down Katie’s throat and pull it out through a nostril of my choice.”