One True Way

by Shannon Hitchcock

  “What’s Egg and Spoon?” I asked.

  “Riders hold the reins in one hand and balance an egg in a spoon with the other,” Sam said. “The announcer gives instructions like walk, trot, or stop. The rider who holds on to his egg the longest wins.”

  “Sam came in second last year,” Webb said.

  She pointed her index finger at him. “I’m gonna win this year. I’ve been practicing.”

  “I’ll help you get Penny ready,” Phoebe said. “I’m good at making braids.”

  Of course she was. Red was becoming my least favorite hair color. I was in such a bad mood that I didn’t even like myself.

  Sam made a face at me. “Why are you scowling?”

  “Too much homework,” I muttered.

  Sam shrugged. “Gonna eat that doughnut?”

  When I shook my head no, she split it with Phoebe.

  I wanted to snatch the doughnut out of Phoebe’s hand. That’s what a terrible person I was turning into.

  “Allie, who are you planning to interview next?” Webb asked.

  I had a mouthful of pizza, and before I could spit out Dwayne Williams, Sam reached over and patted Phoebe on the back. “Interview Phoebe. She’s great at crocheting.”

  Crocheting? Who wanted to read about crocheting?

  “That’s an excellent idea,” Webb agreed.

  I was outnumbered and couldn’t think of a way to say no without looking like a jerk. So much for freedom of the press.

  Since Phoebe lived on Oak Street, same as me, we stopped to get my camera. I ran inside, and then we shuffled through fall leaves on the way to Phoebe’s.

  “I live with my grandmother,” Phoebe said.

  “Oh.” I wondered why, but didn’t ask. I understood about families who are different.

  “My parents dumped me here,” Phoebe said matter-of-factly, “but I’m happier with Grammy.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s predictable.”

  Most kids would have thought predictable meant boring, but not me. I missed knowing what days Eric had baseball practice and what time Dad was coming home for dinner.

  As soon as Phoebe opened the door to her grammy’s house, I smelled cinnamon and raisins.

  “Fresh-baked cookies!” Phoebe said. “Grammy bakes for Scott’s Drug Store, but there’s always plenty left for my friends.”

  “Pheebs, I’m in the kitchen,” a woman called.

  With snowy white hair and silver-framed glasses, Phoebe’s grammy looked like a storybook grandmother. “Sit, sit, girls. I have oatmeal-raisin cookies warm from the oven.”

  Phoebe’s grandmother bustled around the kitchen pouring us glasses of milk and serving cookies on flowered plates. “Just call me Grammy, same as Phoebe. All her friends do.”

  I dipped a cookie into my milk while Phoebe answered questions about her day at school.

  “I know your mother from the library,” Grammy told me. “I read Harlequin Romance novels, and she orders them especially for me.”

  My mom was a master at matching the right books to the right readers. Maybe she could even find some Sam would like. I’d have to ask her.

  After cookies, we went to Phoebe’s room. Whoa! Every square inch was covered in crocheted teddy bears, hats, shawls, scarves, baby blankets, and other things too. “You could open up a store and sell this stuff. I’d call it Crazy for Crochet.”

  Phoebe laughed. “I give the shawls to Reverend Walker. She takes them to people who are sick.”

  “What about the little hats and baby blankets?”

  “They’re for preemies in the hospital.”

  No wonder Sam liked Phoebe. She was nice, and her grandmother made the best cookies on the planet. “How’d you get started crocheting?”

  “Grammy taught me when I was in second grade. I was still living with my parents then, and when things got really bad, I’d lock myself in my room and crochet.”

  My parents yelled at each other a lot after Eric died, but I didn’t tell her that. “Do you use pointy needles when you crochet?”

  “No, those are for knitting.” Phoebe reached into a basket filled with yarn and pulled out a thin metal rod with a hook on the end. “I use a crochet hook. Want to try?”

  “I probably couldn’t do it.”

  “Bet you could. We could start with something easy, like a friendship bracelet.”

  Phoebe fished an extra crochet hook out of her basket. We rocked in matching chairs, like two little old women.

  “Watch me,” Phoebe said. “You start by making a slipknot.”

  With her coaching, I made a friendship bracelet in about fifteen minutes. It was actually fun and relaxing. “I did it!”

  “Told you,” Phoebe said. “I’ll give you some yarn and a hook to take home with you.”

  I snapped pictures of her wearing a crocheted hat and holding a blanket. I’d call this article “Crazy for Crochet.” “Phoebe, why don’t you start a crochet club? I’d help make baby hats and blankets, and I bet other kids would too.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Phoebe said. “I thought you were a sourpuss, but I like you, Allie Drake.”

  I liked her too. “I’m not really a sourpuss; I’ve just been in a bad mood lately.”

  “Why?”

  The truth was I didn’t like Phoebe sitting beside Sam at lunch, but I couldn’t tell her that. She’d want to know why it mattered, and I didn’t have a good answer. “Webb. He likes me more than I like him.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad. When you crocheted the bracelet so large, I assumed it was for Webb.”

  I slid the bracelet up higher on my arm. I’d made it too big for me, but it’d be just right for Sam.

  On Saturday Mom dropped me off at Sam’s house so that I could help her practice for the horse show. Sam climbed onto Penny’s back, and I handed her a hard-boiled egg and a spoon. Once Sam started riding around the ring, I climbed to the top fence rail and sat down to watch. “Reverse direction and trot,” I called.

  Sam and Penny did as I instructed. “Lope,” I yelled. They picked up speed. “And stop.” The egg rolled off the spoon and plopped into the dirt.

  Sam reined Penny in beside me. “How long?”

  “Five minutes.”

  Sam shook her head. “Not good enough. I need to double that time if I’m gonna win.”

  I handed Sam another egg from the bucket, and she tried again. About an hour later, Sam led Penny over to me. “Want to ride her?”

  “You mean right now?”

  Sam nodded.

  I jumped down from the fence and took a deep breath. “She looks so big.”

  “Nothing to be afraid of,” Sam said.

  Penny stood swatting flies with her tail while I listened to Sam’s instructions. I placed the reins in my left hand and turned the stirrup toward me with my right one. I’d watched Sam a bunch of times, so I knew exactly what to do. The problem was getting my nerve up. I counted to myself, One, two, three, then stepped into the stirrup and swung my right leg over Penny’s back.

  “Good job,” Sam said. “Remember how to use the reins to show Penny where you want her to go?”

  “Yeah, I remember.” My voice sounded scratchy.

  “Ribbit, ribbit,” Sam said.

  I turned Penny to the right, and she walked around the ring. Even with a cool breeze, my palms were sweaty, and my underarms too. I tugged on the reins and reversed direction. Using my legs, I applied a little more pressure and lightly tapped Penny’s belly with my heels. She went from a walk to a trot. My bottom bounced in the saddle.

  Sam walked around the middle of the riding ring offering suggestions. “A little easier on the reins. You don’t want to make her mouth sore. Not too fast, Allie. It’s your first time.”

  Someday I wanted to leave the ring behind and gallop Penny across the pasture. It would be like flying. I just knew it.

  When Sam called for a lunch break, I rode Penny toward the barn. Sam helped me unsaddle her and brush her coat.
“I’m proud of you, Allie. You were great out there.”

  I was changing in all sorts of ways. The girl who had moved to North Carolina six weeks earlier would have never climbed on a horse’s back. That girl would have been too afraid. I felt like Wonder Woman’s kid sister!

  I leaned against the fence while Sam turned Penny out to pasture. I watched while she closed the gate and walked toward me. Somehow in that moment I understood why I was jealous of Phoebe and irritated by poor Webb. I knew why I raced to answer the phone, and why I could hardly wait to see Sam each day. I liked her. I had a crush on her. It was, to borrow a word from Webb … stupendous!

  “Why do you look so serious?” Sam asked.

  I reached in my pocket and handed her the gold yarn friendship bracelet. “I made it out of school colors for you. Phoebe showed me how.”

  Sam slipped it onto her wrist. “See? A perfect fit.”

  I reached out and touched her arm just above the bracelet. “Do you like Phoebe more than me?”

  “I like all my friends.”

  But that wasn’t what I was asking.

  Sam turned and stared directly into my eyes. “I don’t like anybody as much as you.”

  My heart hammered so hard I could barely breathe.

  Sam took my hand and put it over her heart. Hers was beating just as fast as mine.

  The sky outside the barn door seemed bluer than blue. My hands were tingling, and I wanted to hug her, but I was afraid to.

  “I’ve always liked girls,” Sam said. “I’ve known since second grade when I had a crush on Kelly Hutton.”

  I had never had a crush on another girl, or on a boy either, but I’d always felt different. I just hadn’t known why.

  Sam squeezed my hand, and her palm felt rougher than mine from farm chores and handling a basketball. “This has to be a secret,” she said. “Nobody would understand.”

  My eyes filled like puddles in a rainstorm. The other kids would think we were freaks.

  Sam reached up and brushed a tear from my cheek. “Don’t cry, Allie.”

  “I don’t care what the other kids think.”

  “Yeah you do,” Sam said, “and I do too, but the biggest problem is my mom. She’d put us on the prayer list at One True Way and start quoting scripture.”

  “You think she’d actually embarrass us like that?”

  Sam nodded.

  “I don’t think my parents would mind. My dad has a brother who’s gay, and Mom is friends with Coach and Miss Holt.”

  “Maybe you’re right, Allie, but my mom would try and keep us apart.”

  I leaned in closer to Sam so that our shoulders touched. I didn’t believe like the people at One True Way, but I wondered what my own church had to say about kids like us. I needed to find out.

  Sam and I had lunch in the kitchen. Over bowls of her mom’s homemade chicken noodle soup, we snuck glances at each other. We smiled shy, sweet smiles, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what other people would say if they knew.

  When Mom came to pick me up, Mrs. Johnson invited her to stay for lunch. They had a friendly argument, with Mom insisting she couldn’t impose, and Mrs. Johnson assuring her it would be a pleasure. Finally, the smell of homemade chicken soup was more than Mom could resist.

  She sat down beside me and said, “I have a surprise for you girls. Murph and Franny have invited us to dinner tonight.”

  Mrs. Johnson clanged the metal soup pot with her ladle. “Didn’t mean to make such a racket, but the girls shouldn’t be spending time around women who live in sin. It’s like that Anita Bryant says, ‘Homosexuals cannot reproduce, so they must recruit.’ ”

  Mom picked up her napkin and wiped her mouth a lot longer than necessary. “Franny and Murph would never behave in that manner. I’m going to be there, and Reverend Walker too. Surely you don’t object to the girls enjoying a meal with neighbors.”

  Mrs. Johnson’s lips puckered like a prune. “Samantha has to be up early for church. Maybe Allie should spend the night here and attend One True Way in the morning. A good sermon would help them more than anything.”

  “That’s up to Allie,” Mom said.

  My eyes were drawn to Sam’s like a magnet. Her jaw was clenched. I couldn’t leave her alone with Mrs. Johnson—at least not today. “I want to stay here, Mom. Apologize to Murph and Miss Holt for me.”

  As soon as we finished our soup, Sam and I escaped to her bedroom. She paced around the room shaking her fist. “I told you. I told you how Mom is.”

  “She’s wrong.”

  “How do you know?” Sam asked. She opened one of her dresser drawers and pulled out a Bible. “Have you ever read Leviticus 18:22 or Romans 1:26?”

  It took me a couple of minutes to find the book of Leviticus. It said people like Sam and me were abominations. That means hateful and disgusting. Sam was the opposite of that. She liked everybody. She was kinder to her horse than most people were to each other. She gave piggyback rides to her brother, and every week she went to see a little girl dying of cancer. I closed the Bible. “I don’t understand.”

  Sam’s hands were still clenched. “Me either. When I was ten, I told our youth director how I felt about other girls. She said if I wanted to be saved and see the kingdom of heaven, I’d have to change.”

  “She meant well.” That sounded like something my mom would say, but it was probably true.

  “Whatever she meant, it didn’t help.”

  I found out when Eric died that sometimes people say stupid things, like the people who say everything happens for a reason. I mean, c’mon, what good reason could God have for the death of a kid? “If Melissa would let me borrow her bike, we could ride into town and talk to Reverend Walker. She’d understand.”

  “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” Sam said.

  But she followed me anyway.

  The Methodist church was painted white, and its steeple rose high into the air. Sam and I parked our bikes and hurried around back to Reverend Walker’s office. I took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” Reverend Walker called. She sat behind a large desk, scribbling on a legal pad. Her Bible lay open in front of her. She pushed her reading glasses on top of her head and smiled. “Sam, are you selling candy?”

  Sam shook her head. “No, not today, but I’ll be back with pecan clusters next month.”

  Reverend Walker groaned and patted her stomach. “Have a seat, girls.”

  Sam and I pulled two wooden chairs closer to the desk, but now that we were sitting in front of her, I didn’t know how to begin.

  “Will I be seeing you two later at Murph and Franny’s?” Reverend Walker asked.

  Sam looked down and scuffed her boot on the floor. “My mom won’t let me go because … well, just because.”

  “Ah … now I understand why you’re here.”

  We weren’t being totally honest with Reverend Walker, but it was easier to talk about Coach and Miss Holt than ourselves. “Are they an abomination?” I blurted out.

  “That’s a strong word,” Reverend Walker said. “For me the most important biblical passages are pertaining to Jesus. He never mentioned homosexuality, not even once.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Sam said.

  Reverend Walker continued, “I try to love everyone that walks through our church door. People who feel judged leave.”

  “I don’t think Coach and Miss Holt would be welcome at One True Way,” Sam said.

  Reverend Walker clasped her hands in front of her and leaned forward. “I’m sorry to hear that. I can’t speak for another minister, but I will quote Romans 3:23. ‘For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.’ The Bible says all; it doesn’t single anyone out.”

  “But is it a sin or not?” I persisted.

  “My church says it is,” Reverend Walker answered, “but my church also tells me to read the Bible and pray for discernment.”

  “What does that mean?” Sam asked.

  “
To pray and search your own hearts. Another of my favorite verses says, ‘Seek and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened to you.’ ”

  Sam and I would have to find our own answers. It was like hoping for a true/false quiz and being assigned an essay.

  “Pray with me,” Reverend Walker said. She bowed her head. “Gracious Lord, Sam and Allie are asking hard questions. Pour your wisdom upon them and guide their search for the truth. Amen.”

  On our way out the door, Reverend Walker added the most important thing. “Girls, I’ve searched my own heart, and I don’t believe homosexuals are an abomination of any kind.”

  That one sentence made the whole trip worth it.

  When Sam and I got back to her house, Jonathan came running. She swung him up into her arms. “What’s going on, Jon Jon?”

  “Pioneer Days!” he said. “I’m gonna wear a cowboy hat and boots.”

  Sam’s mom had a pattern and a large piece of fabric spread across the kitchen table. “I’m sewing up a dress for Melissa. She’s outgrown her old one.”

  The pattern was for a long dress and an apron. I had been so worried about going with Webb that I hadn’t bought a costume yet.

  Melissa opened the refrigerator and poured grape Kool-Aid for all of us. “Allie, want to borrow my dress from last year? I would offer it to Sam, but she always wears jeans.”

  When I said yes, Melissa whisked me away to her room faster than you can say Daniel Boone. Sam stayed behind to play with Jonathan.

  “Allie, could I give you a makeover?” Melissa asked.

  “I … I guess so. Do I look bad?”

  “No, but I’m itching to trim your bangs and get them out of your eyes.”

  Melissa pushed me into a chair, draped a towel around my neck, and grabbed her scissors. “Don’t worry. I cut my own hair all the time.”

  I took off my glasses and Melissa became a blur. As she snipped, soft blond hair rained down on my cheeks.

  In no time at all, Melissa was finished with my bangs and searching through a basket of beauty products. She shook a tube of mascara. “Your eyes are hiding behind your glasses. A little mascara will make them pop.”

  As she used the mascara wand, I struggled to keep my eyes open. Next came blush and lip gloss.