Evolution, Me & Other Freaks of Nature

by Robin Brande

  And that's what did it.

  I stared at him in utter wonder at how tender that kiss had been. Casey's eyes met mine. We both stood there, just staring at each other.

  And then I don't know who moved first, but somehow we came together, puppies cradled between us, and Casey Connor kissed me and I kissed him back.

  Lily licked my chin. Casey kissed me again.

  We put the puppies back to bed.

  And turned out the lights and sat on the step and kissed until ten o'clock.

  Forty-six

  So this is how it feels.

  I think I finally understand how drug addicts must feel.

  I never understood how you couldn't give something up if you really tried. But if someone told me now I could never kiss Casey Connor again or else I'd end up on the streets pushing a grocery cart filled with all my belongings, I wouldn't care. Just give me one kiss per hour—okay, per minute—and I'll put up with anything.

  When we finally stopped kissing, my heart was speeding like a cheetah. I started to shake.

  “You okay?” Casey stroked my arm, like maybe I was cold.

  I nodded. Closed my eyes. Rested my head against his shoulder.

  Then he opened the door to the garage and we had to pretend that nothing had happened.

  I went to find Stephanie, since I was already going to be late.

  “Did you kiss the puppies goodbye?” Kayla asked me.

  “Uh-huh.” I purposely didn't look at Casey.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Stephanie brought me home, just fifteen minutes late, and I smiled at my parents and told them Venus was beautiful and I was tired and would see them in the morning.

  They said they want to have a talk with me tomorrow. That's never good, but unless they somehow found out about Agent Steph already—which I doubt, or they would have said something—I don't see what new thing they have to punish me for. Think positive—maybe they just want to talk about me doing more work for them at the agency.

  For right now, all I want to do is sit on the floor, my back against my bed, reliving what it was like to sit this way next to Casey tonight. And I know this is embarrassing to admit—I should probably rip out this page and burn it—but I've actually been holding my pillow against my mouth, pretending we're still kissing. Casey's lips were just that soft.

  I don't want to sleep. I want to stay awake until it's morning and replay tonight over and over and over.

  So this is what it feels like.

  I had no idea.

  Forty-seven

  I don't think girls are supposed to call boys. I know we live in modern times and all, but it just seems weird to call a boy the next day after you've kissed. What are you supposed to say? “Hi, I really liked that, when can we do it again?” Or are you supposed to act all cool like nothing happened and wait for it to just come up in conversation? “Hey, I heard there was an earthquake in Turkey. What? That kiss? Oh yeah …”

  I know for sure Casey won't be calling here. He understands my parents wouldn't like that. So does that mean I have to wait until Monday to see what's going to happen? To see if he actually likes me, or if that was just some fluke brought on by our sorrow over the puppies leaving?

  I wonder which one of them will be the first to go. I wish so much I could be there today. But that would probably be torture, watching each of our babies being driven off in the hands of strangers.

  Of course, I could console myself by sneaking into some dark corner with Casey and wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him until I forgot my own name.

  I couldn't sleep at all last night, no surprise. I finally got up while it was still dark outside, went downstairs, and made myself some hot chocolate because I feel like pampering myself today. I am now officially a Girl Who Has Been Kissed, and kissed well, and I figure I deserve a little chocolate for breakfast. I might declare this an annual holiday.

  This is going to sound crazy, but I almost wish Teresa were still my friend so I could call her this morning and tell her everything.

  Maybe I'm just being extra mushy right now, but I have to admit that sometimes I feel guilty about how it all ended with her. After the way she's been treating me, you'd think I would feel nothing but joy to be rid of her.

  But if I had to be totally honest, I think I'd have to admit that I understand why she hates me. I mean, if she had sent some letter to someone apologizing for what I had done—without telling me—and then as a result my parents got sued for everything they own, I think I'd be pretty hateful myself.

  BUT I can't see me ever slamming Teresa into her desk or calling her a b-i-t-c-h or any of that.

  Which, if I'm really going to be honest, I also have to admit was part of the reason I liked hanging out with Teresa in the first place. It's exciting to have a friend like her who says what you'd never say and does things you never thought you'd get away with.

  The truth is, Teresa is the same person today as the one I've liked for years. I'm the one who's changed. And my problem is, instead of telling her to her face I didn't like what she was doing and didn't want to be friends with her anymore, I just sent that letter to Denny and let things happen as they would. I should have been brave and up front. But instead I was a coward, and now it's caught up with me and I have to pay the price.

  But I still don't have to like it.

  Anyway, my point about this morning is I wish I had someone—anyone—to share it with. But what do you do when the only friend you have right now is the very one you need to talk about behind his back?

  Oh my gosh. I just checked my e-mail, and there's actually something from Casey. It's times like these I wish my parents would let me get instant messaging. Our e-mail is so slow.

  NUMENOR: K gave me your e-mail address. I hope this is okay.

  MENA@REECEINSURANCE: Sure it's okay. What are you doing up so early?

  NUMENOR: Homework. You know how it is.;) How are you?

  MENA@REECEINSURANCE: Tired. You?

  NUMENOR: Ditto. Want puppy updates on the hour?

  MENA@REECEINSURANCE: Yes, please.

  NUMENOR: What are you doing today?

  MENA@REECEINSURANCE: Working in my parents’ storeroom. Again.

  NUMENOR: Will I see you this weekend?

  MENA@REECEINSURANCE: Don't see how.

  NUMENOR: Too bad. Everything okay?

  MENA@REECEINSURANCE: Yes.

  NUMENOR: I mean, EVERYTHING OKAY???

  MENA@REECEINSURANCE: YES!!!

  NUMENOR: Just checking.

  MENA@REECEINSURANCE: Good luck with the puppies. Give them all big kisses from me.I mean it.

  NUMENOR: I'd rather kiss someone else.

  MENA@REECEINSURANCE: I hear my parents getting up. I have to go.

  NUMENOR: I'll send updates.

  MENA@REECEINSURANCE: You'd better!!

  Forty-eight

  Please tell me I'm dreaming.

  That talk my parents wanted to have with me? I wish it were about last night. I wish it were about anything but what it was.

  They actually want to make some sort of Stand tomorrow at church. They told me they talked to their lawyer yesterday, and she said it looks bad for them to be slinking around, acting like they've done something wrong. She said it's industry standard to sell the kind of home owners policies my parents sold the people from church, and the chances of someone recovering against my parents if and when they do sue are pretty slim. Still, the lawyer thinks it would be a better strategy for my parents to go to church with their heads held high, daughter in tow, rather than keep acting like there's a reason to hide.

  Plus, the lawyer said I have this kind of “force field” around me now, since I'm the one who busted everyone for harassing Denny nearly to death. She thinks that showing up with me every week will remind people not to push my parents too hard.

  Force field? Give me a break! Is she on drugs? If anyone is going to get reamed tomorrow, it's me. I can't even imagine showing up and having to face Teresa
and Adam and the holy host of youth group bullies I'm already having to suffer through seeing five days a week.

  I tried to explain to my parents that everybody hates me, no one wants to see me, going with them to church will only make things worse, blah, blah, blah, but they wouldn't listen. They said I'm going.

  NUMENOR: Just lost Blue. My mom had a really hard time handing him over. I thought the poor couple was going to have to pry him out of her hands. They had a little boy with them, and he nearly wet his pants, he was so excited. How's it going with you?

  MENA@REECEINSURANCE: Awful! Miserable!! OMG you wouldn't believe what just happened. My parents are making me go to church with them tomorrow. They might as well prop me up in front of the firing squad. Remember how Stephanie spit in that guy's hair at the rally? Take that, multiply it by twenty-that's how people are going to treat me. And I'll have to face Pastor Wells again, too, and I'd rather lick pigeons. Tomorrow should be tons of fun. I think I'm going to stick my head in the oven now.

  NUMENOR: Ouch.

  MENA@REECEINSURANCE: To say the least.

  NUMENOR: Will it make you feel any better to know that when Lily's parents just picked her up, she actually leaped into their arms, she was so excited?

  MENA@REECEINSURANCE: No. I hate those people. We deserve Lily.

  NUMENOR: I'm really sorry you have to go there tomorrow.

  MENA@REECEINSURANCE: It's part of my continual punishment.

  NUMENOR: Anything I can do?

  MENA@REECEINSURANCE: Don't give away little Christmas. Save her for me and put her under my tree in a few months.

  NUMENOR: I wish I were with you right now.

  MENA@REECEINSURANCE: I'm no fun to be with. I miss you. Talk to you later.

  I deleted it all. Even though I doubt my parents would check my e-mail—they already feel pretty secure, having installed every filter recommended by the Christian sites, plus a few more they found on their own, so that I won't accidentally run off with some guy who's been writing to me from prison—still, there's no sense in giving my parents yet another reason to be mad.

  Not that they should ever be mad about Casey. He's the nicest guy I've ever met. I'm sure if they were even halfway normal like Mrs. Connor, they'd be thrilled to see their daughter hanging out with someone as smart and kind as him.

  But until they undergo a personality transplant, I guess I'll have to keep Casey to myself.

  Which is better than nothing, trust me. It's just that I wonder sometimes if I'll ever get to live a normal life.

  And if I'm going to have to keep lying like this from now on.

  Forty-nine

  I wish someone had been filming my life today, because I almost don't believe it myself.

  All I could think about as I got dressed for church was Kayla saying, “Wear something sparkly.” I read somewhere that ancient warriors used to paint their chests black before putting on their clothes and armor, because that way in battle they'd remember their black hearts and show no mercy.

  This was not an occasion for glitter powder, but I thought a black bra and underwear were entirely appropriate. Because if my parents actually wanted me to sit there for an hour of church and listen to Pastor Wells talk about sinners and evildoers while glaring at me the whole time, then spend an hour in Sunday school with that den of vipers known as the youth group, and then spend another hour hanging out in the food court or the sanctuary patio while my parents attended yet another worship service— well, I needed a little armor.

  I completed my outfit with black slacks, black calf-high boots, and a dark red (puce!) blouse that made it look like I wasn't afraid to wear bold colors because I certainly wasn't trying to hide.

  Right.

  I kept thinking as we walked up the sidewalk to the church, “I'm here to worship. I'm here to worship. I'm here for God. …” We entered the double doors into the lobby and immediately faced the gauntlet of handshakes from this morning's welcome team.

  They were as shocked to see me as if I'd shown up eight months pregnant.

  We entered the sanctuary. I tried to take a seat in the very back, but my parents were firm: we were to sit up front, our heads held high.

  So we took the long, hard march up the aisle, past every ugly face glowering at me for getting their almighty pastor and church sued by some pansy gay kid sinner and his equally hell-destined parents (I know how these people think), and finally after an eternity we got to take our seats, smack in the very first row.

  I've heard that at funerals, sometimes they drug the grieving widow or widower to help them get through the service. Normally I wouldn't say this, but today I wouldn't have minded some of that myself.

  Pastor Wells sat off in his corral to the side of the stage, watching every step of our procession, and he looked … happy.

  Which was not a good sign, to say the least. Nor was the fact that he started hurriedly flipping through his Bible, although I didn't understand what that meant until later.

  There's a lot of rigmarole to get through in church before you actually get to the meat of the sermon. There's the part at the beginning where we stand and greet the people around us (only one person shook my hand—some old woman who probably couldn't see it was me). Then we recite some verses together, sing a hymn, pass the collection plates, sing some more, listen to the choir sing—all those things I used to enjoy. I actually happen to love church, normally.

  But not today. Not anymore. I don't know if I can ever set foot in a church again.

  Because while we were praying and singing and pre paring our hearts for an uplifting sermon, Pastor Wells sat there so smugly and waited for his moment of glory.

  And revenge.

  “Beloveds,” he finally began, “welcome, and praise God for this glorious day.”

  So far, so good. But then he looked at me and smiled. “And for the return of lost lambs to the fold.”

  It was the same kind of smile the hungry Orc had in The Two Towers when he looked at Merry and Pippin. “What about them? They're fresh.”

  “I was going to speak today on the second of the beatitudes—blessed are those who mourn—but I believe we will save that for next week, because there is something more particular I wish to speak to you about today.”

  I don't think my parents had caught on yet. Unlike me, they were still sitting up straight, innocently ready to listen.

  Pastor Wells smiled again. That smile was broadcast onto the three huge video screens above his head so all the people in the ultra-back could see and appreciate how commanding and gifted he is.

  “Please open your Bibles to the Gospel of Matthew, chapter 27, verse 3.” Pastor Wells waited for people to find it, then he read aloud.

  “ ‘When Judas, who had BETRAYED him, saw that Jesus was condemned, he was seized with remorse—’ “

  Pastor Wells paused and gazed lovingly at my family. I wanted to scream.

  “ ‘—and Judas returned the thirty silver coins to the chief priests and the elders. “I have sinned,” he said, “for I have betrayed INNOCENT BLOOD.” ‘ “

  Pastor Wells paused to let the full gravity of that weigh on us. Then he bowed his head toward his Bible once more and read the last few lines.

  “ ‘ “What is that to us?” they replied. “That is your responsibility.” So Judas threw the money into the temple and left. Then he went away and HANGED HIMSELF.’ “

  Pastor Wells softly closed his Bible. It was the shortest sermon I'd ever heard him give, but then again, he'd had to think it up on the fly. Besides, everyone knew what— whom—he was talking about, so why add another word? Pastor Wells's eyes shone as he gazed out on his congregation, love and acceptance on his face. At least that's how it looked on the monitors.

  “Let us pray. Precious Lord, you gave of your life for us. You knelt in the Garden of Gethsemane, praying that this cup might be taken from you. ‘Yet not as I will,’ you said, ‘but as Thou will.’ “

  Pastor Wells's voice rose and boomed over his
lapel microphone. “Father, we come to you today with the same prayer in our hearts: not as we will, but as Thou will. We will take this cup, handed to us by the Betrayer, and we will lift it up, knowing that God in all his mercy, and the Son and the Holy Ghost, are with us now and forever, and will protect us from every harm and send us mercifully on our way. And the Betrayer will be punished. In Christ's name, amen.”

  “Amen,” the congregation murmured in response, just like they always do. But then somewhere in the middle of the room, applause broke out—applause. And pretty soon the whole church joined in.

  I glanced to my right and saw the look of horror on my parents’ faces. “Let's go,” my mother said.

  “No!” I said. “Everyone's looking!”

  “Mena, we're leaving.”

  It was the worst thing she could have done, but she did it anyway. The applause continued as we rose and slunk down the aisle. We were only halfway when the organist launched into her intro, and the choir stood, and the congregation joined in singing “How Great Thou Art,” some of them with their eyes closed (although most people preferred to watch us) and their arms raised high, swaying in time with the music, calling down Jesus to be with them. And Pastor Wells peered at us from the pulpit and the three megascreens above him, smiling triumphantly because he knew Judas was no longer in the house and would probably never return.

  My mother was crying by the time we reached the doors. I thought I might do the same, I was so angry and embarrassed. But mostly angry.

  And then off to my right, in the last row, out of the corner of my eye I saw an apparition—it had to be that. I turned my head fully toward him and saw that he was flesh and blood.

  I shook my head slightly and walked on as if I didn't know him.

  My parents and I hurried through the lobby, then burst through the double doors, out toward the parking lot. My mother was an absolute wreck.

  I knew the last thing I should do was open my mouth and say a word, but something came over me and I couldn't stop myself. “Can you BELIEVE that? Can you believe what he said? Oh my gosh, I can't believe he just did that!”