Anyway, I'll share my anonymity concerns with him, as well as my concern about working for the police department and getting paid for it. The problem is that I'm afraid I'm not exactly neutral about this.
The truth is, I really would love to work for the police department. I find it exciting and fulfilling, like it's something God has made me good at. And the possibility of being paid for helping Ebony on cases is way cool. But what if it's wrong? What if God has a different plan for me?
True to his word, Garrett e-mails me the chemistry notes, and I e-mail him back, asking if this means he doesn't plan on being at school tomorrow, I figure this is a pretty natural question since he is my lab partner.
I wait a few minutes after e-mailing him, but he doesn't e-mail back right away, so I decide to check out the suicide website. Like I need more depressing stuff. Or maybe I'm just curious as to the status of the death wish crowd. But to my surprise there is one positive response to the e-mails that Olivia and I sent on my birthday.
This is so exciting that I copy it and paste Becca's post in an e-mail to Olivia. Since she'd been as bummed as I was when she read the negative responses we'd gotten, I'm sure she'll be glad to hear that someone was listening. I'm also pretty sure she hasn't gone back to check it out since then either.
I decide to read more of the e-mails. I'm thinking about Peter and how he supposedly participated in that site before killing himself. But more than ever, I'm convinced that's not the case. After seeing Cody's reaction to Ebony's questions, I have to agree with her that someone else was involved. Someone who faked Peter's identity on this very website. Someone who I believe was intent on carrying out a well-planned and premeditated murder. Of course, I have no idea why that would be. I do know drugs were involved somehow, and I know, because of my own brother's various drug-related dilemmas, that it can really complicate everything.
As I'm spacing out, pondering the possibilities of Peter's death, I notice a new message pop up on the suicide site. The name of the writer is slightly familiar from the last time I was visiting. As I recall, he goes by “gay guy” or “gg,” and his main excuse for wanting to check out is because he can't deal with being gay— it's too hard. Somehow his homophobic dad found out a few weeks ago, and he's been making gg's life miserable ever since. Pretty sad. I wonder why the mom doesn't intervene.
Before I can even think about it, I decide to write this poor guy back. Maybe he's just trying to get attention, but he sounds truly desperate—way more than the last time I read one of his posts. And he's right—he does need help. And not just a new recipe for suicide either.
I've just hit Send when my cell phone rings. I figure it's either Ebony or Olivia, since they're the only ones who use this number. It turns out to be Olivia.
“Are you home yet?”
“Yeah, what's up?”
“Well, after you skipped out on the Honor Society meeting after school, I actually went to it and got roped into heading up the decorating committee for the Sweethearts Ball.”
I laugh. “For Valentine's Day?”
“Yeah. Ironic, isn't it?”
“Actually, it's great. You'll be really good at decorations.” I don't add that this might also help to keep her mind off Alex.
“Well, I signed you up too.”
“Olivia!”
“Come on, I need some help, Sam. Nobody wants to do this. I was actually trying to slip out the back door when Emma Piscolli nominated me.”
“Why didn't you nominate Emma right back?”
“I did, but they put it to a vote and I won.”
“Lucky you. Congratulations.”
“Thanks a lot. And now you have to help me, okay?”
“All right,” I agree. “It might actually be a nice change of pace.”
“You mean as compared to working on gruesome things like murders, suicides, and kidnappings?”
“Olivia!” I use a warning tone. “Is anyone listening to you?”
“I'm in my car. Chill.”
“Okay.” Then I tell her about the response we got from Becca on the suicide website. “I e-mailed it to you. It's enough to give a person hope.”
“Well, I better hang up and head for home now. I just wanted to make sure I had your support for the decorations.”
I make a dramatic groan. “But let's keep it simple, okay?”
“Exactly.”
“And let's recruit more helpers. How about if we get some of the sophomores who got inducted last spring?”
“Good idea. They have to do what we tell them to.”
“If it wasn't basketball season, I'd try to get Conrad to help.”
“And if Alex hadn't—”
“Don't go there, Olivia,” I say quickly. Then we hang up. Good for Olivia. At least she's out there doing something different. First she's auditioning with Cameron Vincent's band, which I remind myself is on Friday, and now she's heading up the decorations committee for the dance. I have to hand it to her.
I'm about to turn off my computer when I notice that Garrett has replied to my e-mail. Eager to see how he's doing, I open it.
I decide to write back. Maybe I can draw him out some more. I don't want to lead him on exactly, but it's okay for him to know that I think he's a nice guy.
I hit Send and wait a few minutes, thinking maybe he's still online. Maybe he'll write back and I can continue the conversation. But there is nothing. And for some reason this worries me. So I get another idea and send him a message titled “PS.”
I chuckle as I hit Send. Talk about roping somebody into something. And my trick works, because now I get a reply.
His little joke seems like an invitation to e-mail back. And we actually go back and forth a few times. And by the time I sign off for good, I'm feeling hopeful. Maybe Garrett really isn't the guy in my visions. Maybe he's just a frustrated science geek who needs a friend. I'll keep praying for him.
The next day, I'm not terribly surprised that Garrett's not at school. But I seriously miss him in chemistry. Even so, I try to take notes and make some calculations and predictions and things. Still, I'm in over my head. Way over my head. After school, Olivia takes me to the church for my little “counseling session” with Pastor Ken. Of course, she knows what's up and doesn't mind waiting for me. Especially since I promised to accompany her to the craft store when we're done—to shop for decorations for the dance.
“So what brings you here today?” Pastor Ken finally asks me after a couple minutes of obvious small talk.
I suppress a flutter, feeling of nervousness and attempt to begin what turns out to be a fairly lengthy explanation of my gift and how my dad recognized it early on, how my grandmother had the same gift, and how I've recently put it to use with Ebony on the police force. And by the time I'm done, Pastor Ken has a slightly stunned look on his face. I'm not sure he's even taking me seriously.
“I know this must all sound pretty strange,” I say quickly. “But I'm not making it up.”
He shakes his head. “No, I don't think you're making it up, Samantha. It's just that in all my years of counseling members of the congregation, well, I've never run into anything like this.”
“Does it bother you?” Okay, I'm feeling a little defensive now. Like what is he saying? Am I some sort of spiritual misfit? Does he think my gift is bogus? Or that it's no! of God?
He smiles. “No, it doesn't bother me. But I'm at a bit of a loss for words at the moment.” He reaches for his Bible now. “Do you mind if I read some Scripture to you? And to me?”
“No, of course not.”
He flips through the thin pages. “This is from the Gospel of John, chapter 16.” He clears his throat and reads.
He looks up at me. “Do you know what that's about, Samantha?”
The Holy Spirit?” I venture hopefully.
He smiles. “That's right. Shortly before the Crucifixion, Jesus was talking about how the Holy Spirit would come to us and say things and show us things. Scripture also speaks of othe
r gifts that will come through the Holy Spirit, some that are unexplainable and unimaginable. But if they are from God, they bring glory to Him.”
I consider this. “Do you think my gift is from God?”
“What do you think?”
“I think it is.”
“What makes you think that?” He's leaning forward as if my answer really interests him.
“Partly because of the way it comes to me. It's so out of the blue, and it just feels like God to me. But then it's always about helping someone who's in a tough situation. And it makes me really care about people—sometimes people that I would've otherwise ignored. And then I begin to pray for them, and it makes me want to help them in whatever way I can. That seems like God to me.”
He smiles. “Yes, it seems like God to me too, Samantha.”
Then I tell him about how I keep this thing secret, how it seems important to remain as anonymous as possible.
“That must be tricky when you're assisting the police.”
“I work primarily with one detective, Ebony Hamilton. She used to be my dad's partner.”
He nods. “Yes, I've met her before. Fine woman.”
So then I tell him about Ebony's job proposition to me. And he listens carefully. “But I just wasn't sure,” I finally say. “I wondered if it was wrong to receive money for using my God-given gift.”
“Do you think it's wrong?”
“I'm not sure. I don't want to misuse or abuse it. I'm pretty sure God would take it away from me if I did.” Then I tell him about the brief period of quiet, after telling God I needed a break during the holidays, and how worried it got me.
“I mean, if God decided it wasn't good to give me this gift, I guess I'd have to understand and accept it. And I know He'd still talk to me in other ways. But I want to be careful with it. If it's wrong to be paid, I don't want to be paid. But I just don't know. That's why I wanted to talk to you, Pastor Ken. Ebony thought it was a good idea too.”
“Well, as you know, many of God's servants are paid for using their gifts. Take me, for instance, I have a gift of pastoring, teaching, counseling…and I am on salary at the church.”
“I know.”
“And there are people who are gifted in music, and many of them receive payment for those gifts.”
“I know that too.”
And he goes on and on, mentioning all kinds of people who are involved in ministries and things—all who receive money for it. “Do you think that invalidates their gifts? Does that make it wrong?”
“I guess not.”
“As in all things, you need to search your own heart and listen to that still, small voice of the Holy Spirit, Samantha. I'm sure there are some instances when it would be wrong to take payment for a God-given gift. For instance, I would never allow anyone to pay me for praying for them. That would be wrong.”
“I saw a TV evangelist doing that once,” I point out. “But I thought it was wrong.”
He holds up his hands. “And yet I don't think I'd want to be the judge of others.”
I consider this. “I guess I wouldn't either. But I still think it's tacky.”
He laughs and winks at me. “I do too.”
There's a brief silence now, and I wonder if we're done here.
“Do you know what you want to do after high school? Do you have a career direction yet? A college picked out?”
So I tell him about my love of law enforcement and crime solving, and he nods and smiles. Then it seems to make perfect sense. God has given you a very special gift, Samantha, and it seems He wants you to use it. It also seems a bit ridiculous to think of you working for free.”
I brighten. “So you think it's okay?”
“I think it's okay. But it's more important that you believe God is telling you it's okay. It's good to seek counsel and advice, but it's just as important to hear what God is telling you.” Then he jots something down on a slip of paper and slides it across the table. “Read these Scriptures tonight.”
Okay.”
“And keep me informed of what's going on,” he says. “This is very interesting to me. In fact, I'd love to discuss it with Ebony Hamilton.”
“I'll let her know.”
“And you can trust your secret with me, Samantha.”
I smile. “I thought so.”
“One small word of caution to you though.”
“What's that?”
“So much of life is about balance, Samantha. I think I appreciate that more the older I get. As your pastor and friend, I encourage you to maintain balance in your life.”
“What do you mean exactly?”
“Well, you're a teenage girl. And you'll only be a teenage girl once in your lifetime. It's a delightful time for all sorts of delightful things. And I'd hate to see you getting so bogged down in the heavy world of crime and such…so much so that you miss out on some other more frivolous things. I do believe that God wants you to enjoy your youth too. So to do that and keep balance, I think you'll have to lean heavily on God.”
I nod. “Yes, I think you're right. And I do try to lean on Him.”
“Good.” He shakes my hand and reminds me to stay in touch. And I feel as if a load's been lifted as I rejoin Olivia where she's been waiting outside his office.
“Everything go okay?” she asks hopefully.
So I tell her about our conversation as she drives us to Craft World to shop for the dance decorations. We have a budget of one hundred dollars to get everything we need to make the cafeteria look like a romantic setting for a Sweethearts Ball. I tell her I'm imagining lots of pink and red crepe paper and maybe some goofy-looking cupids slapped on the walls.
Of course, Olivia says that'll look like a kindergarten project. I'm thinking I don't really care. Mostly I can't wait to call Ebony and tell her the good news! Well, after I read whatever it is that Pastor Ken wrote down. Hopefully it won't change anything.
Who's going to blow up all those balloons?” I ask when Olivia and I are finally done with our mad hunt for Valentine's decorations. The lesson to be learned here is that you shouldn't wait until a week before Valentine's Day to shop for decorations. It's taken four different stores and three and a half hours, including a short dinner break, but I think we've got it bagged. We better since we ran out of money about thirty bucks ago. Olivia chipped in.
“We'll get the sophomores to do the balloons,” she says as she backs out of the parking spot. They're probably full of hot air.”
“How about some hot air in here.” I rub my hands together. It's been raining like crazy all night long, and it feels like I'm soaked clear through.
“I hope we got enough balloons.” Olivia turns up the heat as she drives through a puddle that shoots out on both sides.
“I think you got every red, pink, and white balloon in town. What're we going to do with all of them anyway?”
“We'll make an archway shaped like a heart to be set by the entrance. Couples can get their pictures taken in it. Kind of like prom.”
Only cheesier,” I add. “If that's even possible.” Okay, neither of us actually went to the prom last year, but we heard it was pretty lame, with their “space age” theme. Kind of like a kiddie birthday party.
“For a smart girl, you sometimes lack imagination, Sam.”
Of course, I know what she means by this. She's implying that my imagination works great when I'm dealing with things like unsolved crimes, but when it comes to balloons and crepe paper, I'm pretty hopeless.
“Do you think I'm unbalanced?” I suddenly ask.
“What?” She glances at me then back to the wet black road. “You mean as in unstable? Crazy? Bonkers?”
“Unbalanced as a person, like I focus too much on heavy stuff like solving crimes.”
“Did Pastor Ken say something to make you think that?”
“Not exactly. He just warned me to be careful and to remember to be a regular teenage girl and have fun. So tell me the truth: Do you think I'm at risk here? Am I un
balanced?”
She seems to consider this. “Well, I think it could happen… I mean, the crud you work with is pretty serious. And sometimes I've seen you get a little down when you can't resolve something. But you have great resiliency, Sam. You seem to do really well at bouncing back. In fact, I've been trying to learn from you lately.”
“You mean in regard to recovering from Alex?”
“Recovering from Alex.” She kind of laughs. “Sounds like the title of a movie. And it probably seems silly since we weren't really a couple. But I've had a crush on him for so long, and I'd hoped…”
“I know…”I hope we're not going to digress here.
“Anyway, if you haven't noticed, I've been trying to keep a sunny disposition lately. But it's not easy. Still, it's a lot better when I keep myself busy and focused on other things. You were right about that. I guess I need to be more balanced too.”
“Well, I give you permission to let me know if I ever seem out of balance.”
“It's a deal,” she tells me. “You better do the same thing forme.”
When I get home, I go straight to my computer to e-mail Garrett with today's chemistry junk. I so need his help if I'm going to make it through this class. If not, I better drop it in time to pick up another credit, even if it's just a pottery class.
I hit Send and wait for him to reply. Like I think he's just sitting there waiting for my message. But after about ten minutes I realize that's probably not the case. Even a science geek might have a life. Hopefully he's feeling better by now.
“Did you and Olivia get everything for the dance?” Mom asks as she pokes her head in my room. I called her earlier to explain why I'd be home late tonight.
“I guess so.” Then I tell her about Olivia's heart-shaped archway plan and the millions of balloons required to create it.
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