Losing Faith

by Denise Jaden

  I dig in a drawer and pile a slew of sweatpants onto my bed, not wanting to come out and say that she’ll never fit into most of my other clothes.

  “Here, try these.” I hold out the biggest pair. They’re navy blue with our school emblem and SHS across the butt.

  She scowls. “I’m not walking in there dressed like a bum.”

  I can’t help sizing up her current wardrobe at that.

  “Jeans. Give me some jeans.”

  If I ever feel up to arguing with Tessa Lockbaum, I’m going to choose a more valuable subject than clothes. “Okay.” I pull a pair out of my bottom drawer, not even bothering to look for the size.

  She snatches them from my hand and heads for the door.

  “To the left,” I tell her. To the bathroom.

  While she’s gone, I fold up my sweatpants and shove them back in their drawers. Fine, she doesn’t want to wear sweats? Go ahead, find something else. Anything you like.

  “These’ll work,” she says in the doorway.

  I spin, and for the second time today, my eyes nearly explode from my head. I must be in some kind of alternate reality. Not only do my jeans fit, they look much better on Tessa.

  “Wow. I never thought … I mean, how come you always wear such baggy clothes?”

  She shrugs.

  I cross my arms and lean back to take in the whole look. “You look great.”

  “Makeup,” she says. “You can help with that, right?”

  “Sure.” I grab my small array of makeup and transfer it from my dresser to the bed.

  Tessa sits across from me, tilts her head slightly upward and closes her eyes. I’ve never put makeup on any face other than my own. In fact, with Amy’s lifetime aspirations, I’d always been the apply-ee, never the apply-er.

  Just the basics, I tell myself. Make it even; that’s all that matters.

  The way Tessa sits, so still and silent, makes me nervous. When Amy applied my makeup, I wouldn’t shut up. In fact, she’d tell me over and over again, “Be quiet. You’re making me mess this up.” Then I’d start laughing. She’d start laughing. Makeup would be everywhere and we’d have to start over.

  “What are you stopping for?” Tessa asks. “Are you done?”

  “Uh, no. Just distracted. Sorry.” To give myself a bit of a breather, I get up and head to my dresser. I have a brand-new green eye shadow I bought just before Faith died that I haven’t opened yet. For some reason, I just let it sit there. Every time I look at the paper bag, it reminds me of how much my life has changed, so I couldn’t seem to touch it.

  But it’s time. I take out the small eye shadow disk and move back to the bed.

  “Okay,” I say a few minutes later, when I’ve applied the last swipe. I can’t believe she sat still for so long. “Here’s a nice lip gloss. Put some on and I think you’re good.”

  She leaves her eyes closed. “Can you put it on?”

  Um, okay. Can I help you put your shoes on too? Maybe she is six. But I keep my mouth shut, tug on the applicator and run it along her lips.

  “You’re done,” I say while I pack up my pile of makeup. “Check it out. The mirror’s over there.” I point above my dresser.

  “We better get going.” Standing and turning the opposite way, she heads for my door, her black clothes bunched in a ball under her arm.

  “What? You don’t even want to see how you look? What kind of a girl are you?” I laugh, but Tessa already clunks down the hallway. I chase after her. “Hey!”

  She holds up a backhand toward me. “Just leave it alone, okay, Brie?”

  The way she says it, it feels like the first time she’s ever asked me for a favor. The first time she’s admitted to something she can’t quite handle—though I can’t wrap my brain around why a little bit of makeup would do that to a person. I’m so caught up thinking about it that I don’t notice where she’s walking. Suddenly, her hand is on Faith’s doorknob.

  “That’s Faith’s room,” I say, a little too loud.

  “Uh-huh.” She doesn’t stop turning the knob. “You don’t go in here much, right?”

  “No. Never.” She moves through the door. I inch down the hall in complete disbelief that she hasn’t even asked permission. “Well, just once.”

  “Same here. With Corey, I mean.”

  The way she talks about her sister, it’s like she’s so distanced. So healthy. When I reach the door frame, she’s touching her way around Faith’s room. Her eyes scan every inch, like she’s in awe of the place. Like she has some kind of fascination with death. So okay, maybe “healthy” isn’t the right word for her. She reaches out, touching the walls, the carved detail on Faith’s desk, the bedposts.

  “Do you think Faith really knew something about God?” she asks.

  I scoff. “Yeah, she knew plenty about God. I’ve told you this.” The tension of being in here makes my words sound rude.

  “No, I mean, do you think she knew the real God. What he’s really about?”

  I don’t quite get what she means, and shrug in response.

  “What’s this?” She reaches for a horn on Faith’s bookshelf.

  “It’s called a shofar.” I want her to put it back down, but I figure the sooner I can explain it, the sooner she’ll move on. “I remember the name because when I used to go to church with my family, I’d joke whenever she was taking it along. ‘Sho far, sho good.’”

  Tessa runs her hand along the rounded bonelike instrument.

  I can still see Faith’s small hands wrapped around it. “She used it back when she was on the church worship team.”

  “For, like, music?”

  “Not exactly. I don’t know, it was weird. Like when she really sensed something in the spirit realm, she blew it. There was something spiritual about it. I’ll give it that.” I reach over and take the shofar from Tessa. “It has only one note.” I place it gingerly in the exact spot where it came from.

  I head out of the room, expecting Tessa to follow, when I hear her say, “Can I have it?”

  I keep my back to her, letting her words ring over and over in my head. She doesn’t interrupt with “Oh, never mind.” Or “Just kidding.” We stand there with the silence stretching like a rubber band between us. Someone has to let it snap, and apparently it’s not going to be her.

  Would Faith have wanted this? That’s the most important question. Mom and Dad haven’t been in Faith’s room for a long time—I’m sure they don’t remember a single thing in here. I’ve been in here once in over a month. Faith would rather have seen her things used by somebody than left to sit around and rot. Especially the shofar.

  “Okay,” I say, finally.

  “Okay?”

  “Yeah. I guess.” But I can’t stay to watch. I take the stairs two at a time to the bottom. “We better get a move on, though. Shut the door behind you, okay?”

  Thirty seconds later, I glance at Tessa on her way to the car. She doesn’t have it. Just her balled-up bunch of clothes. Was she testing me to see what kind of friend I am? Or did she recognize my hesitance?

  Either way, I’m relieved. I force it out of my mind on the drive to Starbucks.

  “Did you get the MP3 player?” she asks as she bends her rearview mirror up to the ceiling of the car.

  Why is she so afraid to look at herself? She looks really good. But I don’t press her and just follow her lead on the conversation. “Check.”

  “How many gigs does that thing hold?”

  I pull it out of my pocket and turn it on. Before I look at the capacity, I can’t resist scrolling through Alis’s playlists, just to see.

  “I never would’ve pegged Alis as the girl-band type.” I laugh and keep scrolling. “I mean, eighties tunes, that seems like him. Even rap. It’s amazing how much variety this guy’s got on here.”

  “What’ll it hold?” she says, in an aggravated tone. “I know you wanna find out all about your little boyfriend and everything, but maybe we could save that for later, huh?”

 
My face heats up and I scroll back to find the menu. “Thirty-two,” I say, finally. “Only four and a half used.”

  We park at the far side of the strip mall. I reach for the handle.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Shouldn’t I find a good hideout near the building?”

  She scoffs. “It’s, like, thirty degrees out there.”

  I glance down at my layered look. Maybe she’s right. The car would be warmer.

  “Besides, this thing should make the range we need.”

  She reaches into her backpack and pulls out a sculptured Winnie-the-Pooh ornament, adjusts something on the back and sticks it on her dash. Then she slides what looks like a tiny white walkie-talkie into her left inside pocket.

  “Hopefully you’ll hear everything, but we’ll get a recording just in case.” That’s when she takes Alis’s player from my hands and slides it into her other pocket. Now that the pockets are equally weighted, they don’t look odd at all.

  “You sure we should do this?” I ask. Celeste can be so skittish, and I know what Tessa’s like.

  She blows off my question and double-checks Winnie the Pooh. “Volume’s on the back if you need it.”

  Without another word, she steps out of the car and marches toward Starbucks. I hear the scratching of her feet against the pavement and pebbles as she goes, and it’s only after she’s twenty feet away that I realize the noise is coming from the little Pooh-bear on the dash.

  I’ll have to remember to ask her where she went to spy training school.

  When she first gets into the coffee shop, I’m convinced I won’t be able to make out a thing. There’re muffled voices upon voices and all I can catch are the odd words. “Meeting tomorrow … breakfast at nine … lazy, rip-off mechanic …”

  Five minutes pass, and I close my eyes, leaning back. Suddenly, I hear Tessa’s voice, loud and clear. “Can I get a tall Americano, please?” At least I think it’s Tessa. She sounds, well, sweet.

  “Anything else with that?” It’s Celeste.

  “Um, let me think.” A pause, and I hear the murmuring again. “A brownie,” she says.

  “Six eighty-seven.”

  Some clinking of coins. We hadn’t talked about money. I hope Tessa has enough. “Hey, did someone just call you Celeste?”

  Did someone? I didn’t hear it. Maybe Tessa’s making it up. Or maybe Pooh here just doesn’t have enough range.

  “Yeah, that’s right.”

  “You don’t know Reena, do you?”

  My hands start sweating and I reach forward to turn up the volume, even though I can hear it just fine. The only sound for several seconds is shuffling of papers, coins dropping. Then, “Um, I don’t know anyone—”

  “I met this girl, Reena, and she was telling me about this group,” Tessa goes on. “Said I might want to come in and chat with you about it. That was months ago, so I’m glad you’re still here.”

  Another pause. Celeste clears her throat. “I don’t know of any group. If you want to talk about it, you should talk to her.”

  “Well, that’s the funny thing.” I’d love to see Tessa right now, but she’s out of view. “She gave me her number, but I lost it.”

  “Excuse me.” Another voice. “Are you almost done? I’m kind of in a hurry.”

  Murmuring.

  “Aren’t you a Yellow Entry Level? Reena said you’d be ready to move on to Martyrdom soon,” Tessa says in a loud voice and I nearly choke on my breath.

  Clanking noises sound through Winnie the Pooh, like a bunch of coins have been dropped.

  “I—I don’t know anything,” Celeste says. “Go talk to Nathan.” She sounds almost like she’s going to cry when she offers to help the next customer.

  A minute later, Tessa pushes through the coffee shop door with her drink and brownie and strides for the car.

  “Yup, that girl’s definitely hiding something. Pretty freaked, too, if you ask me.”

  “I’d love to have seen her face when you mentioned martyrdom.” This is only partly true, because I’ve never heard Celeste like that and I can’t help worrying about her. But still, she’s obviously not being up front.

  “Who’s Nathan?” Tessa asks, staring across the parking lot at the supermarket. “She waved over that way when she said his name.” Tessa points to the store.

  All of a sudden, I remember the boy in Reena’s Facebook pictures, the one with the stupid supermarket buttons all pinned to his shirt. “Hang on,” I say. “The boy with the pins!”

  By the contorted look on Tessa’s face, I can tell I’m not making any sense.

  “Just drive across the parking lot,” I tell her. “I need to check something out.”

  chapter TWENTY-SIX

  i stroll up and down the cereal and canned-food aisles, walkie-talkie in my pocket, looking for the Facebook kid who had worn the Albertsons Market buttons. In the cheese section, I take an extra ten seconds to study my namesake in the cooler. What’s my first question for this guy if I do find him?

  After walking the perimeter of the store, I head for one of the cashiers at the front.

  “Can you tell me if a guy named Nathan works here?”

  “Yeah, but I think he was off as of a few minutes ago.” The dark circles under the cashier’s eyes make me suspect she’s been working a double shift.

  “Okay, thanks.” I back away and check my watch. It’s five after nine, which is the time I’d told my parents I’d be home in my note. Disappointed, I head for the sliding glass doors.

  Just as I’m about to step on the automatic doormat, a blond guy emerges from the staff door along the side wall with a black backpack slung over his shoulder. He looks about nineteen or twenty. Cute. He wears a name tag, but I can’t see it from here. If his hair was spiked up, I figure he could be the same guy from the Facebook pictures.

  He almost bumps into me as he walks, head down, for the door.

  “Whoops.” I step back before he hits me. Focusing on his name tag, it takes several seconds to make out all the words: ALBERTSONS. PROUD TO PICK YOUR PRODUCE.

  No name.

  “Can I help you with something?” he asks, and I realize I’m staring at his chest.

  “Um, do I know you?” I conjure some sudden confidence when Tessa’s headlights flash through the doors.

  A smile edges onto his face. “I don’t think so. Have you shopped here before? I’d remember you.” The words slide off his tongue like butter into a nonstick skillet.

  A player. Right. My angelic sister hung out in a group with a player. “I don’t shop here much. My mom does,” I say. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

  He extends a hand. “Nathan.”

  Bingo. When I reach my hand to his, his fingers slip into mine like a glove. He’s a pro hand-shaker. And maybe I’m just nervous, but he doesn’t seem to let go as soon as he should.

  I pull my hand away and he readjusts his backpack over his other shoulder. As he switches it, I catch a glimpse of a round red sticker pasted to the back. It has the same scribbly cross design, but with two large words above and below it, easily readable from a distance. LOVE. SERVE.

  “And you are?”

  It occurs to me all at once that the phrase sounds like an echo. Probably because he repeated it while I zoned out on the sticker.

  “Annie,” I say, my alias coming to me quickly. “That’s a cool design.” I point to the sticker. “Where’d you get it?”

  He ignores my question and says, “Well, Annie, are you just starting or just finishing?”

  “Um. Just finishing.”

  He looks down at my empty hands.

  “They didn’t have what I needed.”

  He glances out the front window. “You driving or walking?”

  “Walking,” I say.

  “Let me walk you. You shouldn’t be out by yourself at this time of night.”

  Right. Much better to be with a total stranger who’s just been hitting on me. A honk sound
s, and I look outside. Tessa zooms along the front windows, flashing me a thumbs-up sign while Nathan has his back to her. She drives across the parking lot and idles at the far side in the direction of my house.

  I doubt she can still hear our voices unless Pooh-bear has bionic powers, but at least she’s within view.

  “What do you see?” Nathan asks, following my eyes.

  “Oh, nothing. Just thought I recognized somebody.” I shake my head. “It wasn’t them.” I shove my hands into my vest pockets, but when they hit my stash of electronics, I quickly pull them out again, not wanting to mess up the recording. Though I’m not even sure the point of the recording equipment. We can’t trust our own memories? I decide it must be Tessa going overkill on all the cloak-and-dagger stuff.

  “Which way?” Nathan asks, and I direct him to where Tessa’s car has now disappeared.

  “You don’t have a car, either?”

  “I do,” he says, and then points behind us in the parking lot. “Right over there, but walking is good for the soul. I think too many people rush from place to place and automobiles just breed busyness.”

  Great. This guy’s a total creep. He could have just offered me a lift, but no, he wants to walk with me. Probably lead me down some dark alley. “So you don’t like busyness,” I say. “What do you like?”

  “God. Women. Love,” he says so automatically I wonder how many times he’s been asked this before.

  The three words repeat over and over in my head. The first and the last seem to go together, even resemble my sister’s views. And with the word “Love” I immediately think of the red sticker. But “women”?

  “So you’re, like, a Christian, right?” This seems like the quickest way to get some answers. Plus, I’m not sure I’m interested in his view on women.

  He nods. “Not the same as most, though.”

  Why does that not surprise me? Though I’m not sure what “most” Christians are like anymore. Mom kidnaps statues of Jesus. Dad ignores his pain, running back to church like nothing bad ever happens. Then there’s Reena: preaching to senile senior citizens and painting a personalized crucifix on her ceiling. But I have to ask. “What do you mean, ‘not the same’?”