Suddenly there was a loud bang as one of the stalls in the bathroom slammed open. In the mirror, she saw a dark figure behind her, and her heart jumped. She screamed and turned to fight, to run…
But instead of a gunshot, there was a hiss and something cool and wet splattered her in the face.
Wiping her face frantically with her hands, she realized what the white stuff was. Whipped cream. All over her.
Standing in front of her looking horror-stricken, was a tall, thin, freckle-faced boy. A can of whipped cream dropped from his hand and clattered on the floor.
“Oh!” he said. “Thought you were Liz—”
The bathroom door banged, and he was gone.
As the shriek echoed through the school, the classroom fell into stunned silence. George heard footsteps pounding down the hall, and then J.P. rushed into the classroom, slammed the door and leaned against it, breathing hard.
“Ah, Mr. Flynn,” Mr. Costain said. “So nice of you to join us. Where have you been?”
J.P.’s face reddened underneath his freckles. “Nowhere,” he mumbled, “I just went to the bathroom,” he added as he sat down.
George caught Mr. Costain’s eye, and they both winced. George could tell Mr. Costain didn’t want to deal with the situation either.
George tentatively said, “Our Father…?” and Mr. Costain nodded, got up, and walked towards the door.
The door opened before he got there. A very angry Mrs. Flynn entered, followed by the blond girl, whose hair was now damp and whose uniform was spattered with white foam.
“Sorry about the disturbance, Mr. Costain,” Mrs. Flynn said, glaring at J.P., who was huddled in his chair clutching his rosary and apparently praying to become invisible. “It seems that someone played a practical joke on our new student.”
“Really,” Mr. Costain said, his voice much colder. “Well, I’m certainly sorry to hear that—especially since it’s her first day here,” he added, glancing at J.P. “Everyone, this is Allison Weaver, our new sophomore. Allie, you can go ahead and find a seat.”
“I’ll bring you a towel to clean yourself up with,” Mrs. Flynn murmured and left the room.
The new girl’s face was beet-red. She gave J.P. a murderous glance, and then stalked over to an empty desk, sat down, and sullenly stared into space.
“All right,” said Mr. Costain. “Let’s continue. George?”
After she had cleaned up, Allie stared at the wall, too angry and humiliated to even pretend to pay attention to the unfamiliar words of the prayer. I have got to get out of here:. The words ran through her head again and again.
Somebody nudged her elbow. She looked up to see a girl with dark, curly hair.
“Try to follow along,” the girl whispered, pushing a rosary into her hands. “I’m so sorry about what happened!”
Allie just stared at the rosary, an object that she had never actually held before or even seen up close. Confusion replaced her anger as she held the string of colored glass beads with little knots and medals on it.
“…As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end, Amen. Oh my Jesus, forgive us our sins, save us from the fires of Hell, lead all souls to Heaven, especially those in most need of Thy Mercy…”
The prayer droned on, sounding strange and slightly creepy to Allie. She started following along on the little beads, but she didn’t actually say the words; she was too busy sneaking looks at the other kids.
It was a diverse group, despite the fact that there were only—she counted rapidly—six of them. Was this the whole school? Two girls and four boys. The redhead, a black guy, a fat guy, and the praying guy—the one who had called her a psycho creep.
She checked him out again. He was the only guy here who could be called cute—tall, curling light brown hair, hazel eyes, nicely built. She’d never seen a guy like that praying before, and even though she knew he was a jerk and a hypocrite, there was something compelling about the way he prayed. Weird.
So this is a Catholic school, and they’re praying… It was a bizarre experience, sitting there with six other teens just…saying words. Over and over again. To no one who was in the room. Okay, to God. It hit her that suddenly she was on a different plane, in a different universe; a world where things like prayer were important. Her heart sank. How am I ever going to fit in here?
After what seemed like forever, the brown-haired guy was saying “Our Lady, seat of Wisdom,”
“Pray for us.”
“John Paul the Great,”
“Pray for us.”
Silence. Everyone made the sign of the cross, including Allie. At least she knew how to do that.
“Okay!” Mr. Costain said, clapping his hands together and rubbing them with a warm smile on his face. “Let’s go, people! Freshmen to math—no, wait, freshmen to science first—sophomores and junior to math class. James, Allie, that means you’re going to Mrs. Flynn’s classroom, one door down on the left.”
“Allie!” the rosary girl said, picking up her books and coming over. “I’m so sorry about what happened!” she said again. “J.P. can be such a pain. Are you okay?”
The girl seemed to know her, which was equally weird to Allie. “I guess,” she said, cramming her wet sweater into her backpack and trying to pretend she wasn’t freaked out. Who are these people?
The girl turned to prayer guy, who was gathering up his books and clearly trying to ignore them. “George, you didn’t mean to say Allie was a psycho creep, did you?”
The tall boy turned, and Allie saw he was red with embarrassment—which made him look as cute as a confused beagle. “I didn’t mean you,” he muttered. “Sorry.”
Despite her defensiveness, Allie was amused. “So who did you mean?”
“I meant him,” George said in a low voice, and the fat boy walking up the aisle paused and turned around.
The boy’s fat face betrayed no expression, but his gray eyes sparked. “Georgie Porgie is not very nice,” he said. Then his eyes fell on Allie.
They lingered on her a little too long. Uncomfortable, she flipped back her hair and turned away to pick up her books. Okay, another weirdo.
She glanced back at George, who was sneaking away, his face still bright red—at least she wasn’t the only one embarrassed.
Allie shrugged and slung her backpack over her shoulder and walked down the hallway with the girl, whose name, she found out, was Celia Costain. “So,” she said, “let me guess. Is Mrs. Flynn J.P.’s mom? Or is he an orphan?”
“Mrs. Flynn’s his mom,” Celia said. “And Mrs. Simonelli is Liz’s mom. Mr. Costain is my dad. There’s just three teachers.”
“So that means,” Allie said slowly, “that about half of the kids here are related to the teachers?”
“More or less,” Celia said, shrugging. “And anyway, George and me might as well be related, we’re so close. I don’t know the other kids as well, though. I knew Liz a little bit from St. Bridget’s—that’s the Catholic grade school– ”
“I know,” Allie said distantly.
“But I’ve never met Brian or James before they came here. They were both home schooled, I think.”
“What about J.P.?” Allie said.
Celia laughed. “J.P. is the youngest kid in this huge family. He’s got, like, ten brothers and sisters. So yeah, I knew him from St. Bridget’s and from church. And because his dad writes for magazines my parents get, and his mom speaks at conferences my parents go to, and organizes things my parents go to…The Flynns are like, Catholic to the max.”
So, Allie thought glumly. A bunch of homeschoolers and Catholic school kids. That’s who goes here. I’m really gonna fit in. Her family hadn’t even been to Mass since last Christmas. Everyone here was probably halfway on their way to being nuns and priests or something. Catholic to the max. Great.
“And you used to go to Sparrow Hills, right?”
“Yeah,” Allie said as they sat down in a smaller classroom with about five desks.
&
nbsp; “Weird.”
Yeah, Allie thought darkly. Weird for you to have to deal with me.
“I mean, we must seem really weird to you,” Celia corrected herself.
Allie did a double-take. Did she just read my mind?
But Celia just smiled and said, “If anything here freaks you out, just let me know. I can explain things, okay? I really want you to feel comfortable here.”
“Okay,” Allie said, still suspicious. Celia was the principal’s daughter. Maybe she said this to everyone. But did she really mean it?
Before either of them could say any more, though, Mrs. Flynn walked into the classroom.
“Is everyone here?” Mrs. Flynn said briskly, as she plopped an old battered textbook entitled Intermediate Algebra on Allie’s desk before going to James’ desk and doing the same. “My, we’ve doubled our class size! Let’s get started.”
Allie took one more look around. Three other students, besides her. Yeah, I guess going from two students to four is doubling the class side. At least I know that much math…
Then she doggedly cracked the old book open and fished a brand-new spiral notebook out of her backpack, along with a mechanical pencil. School, after all, was still school.
Completely embarrassed, George tried to focus on his algebra, but he couldn’t help sneaking glances at the new girl. She definitely wasn’t the type of girl he had expected to come here. How did she end up here, anyway?
“George?” Mrs. Flynn said, tapping on the board with her pencil. Tall, heavyset, and grandmotherly, she was a capable, sometimes formidable math teacher. “Why don’t you take this problem?”
He looked up, startled, and his eyes flashed to the algebra equation on the blackboard. “Uh—just a sec.” He tightened the grip on his pencil and started scribbling frantically in his notebook.
This was the hardest math class he had ever been in; mainly because there was no crowd to hide in, but also because Mrs. Flynn had the tendency to just fire off complicated problems and expect you to solve them by yourself. He scribbled some more, trying to narrow down one side of the equation so that only the x remained.
“Come on, George,” Mrs. Flynn said encouragingly. “There’s only one variable. You can do it!”
“The answer is 13, Georgie Porgie,” drawled James behind him.
“Oh, that was quick, James. Can I see your equation?” Mrs. Flynn asked.
“I did it in my head,” the flat voice said. “I don’t like writing anything down.”
George felt a stab of annoyance and pushed it aside. Okay, the x has got to be divided by two…how do you divide an x by two?? His brain seemed to freeze, and all he could think of was the cute new girl’s bored expression…
Mrs. Flynn leaned over his shoulder and checked his notes. “You have to just multiply both sides of the problem by two,” she said patiently. “And then what do you get?”
George gritted his teeth, thinking of how stupid he must look in front of Allie Weaver, and finished the problem.
“Very good,” Mrs. Flynn said, watching him. “X equals 13. Now, that wasn’t too hard, was it?”
George was glad when the bell rang. Next up was History class with Mr. Costain, and it was sure to be less difficult.
He and the others went back to the homeroom. The whole school took all Mr. Costain’s classes together, which meant that now the classroom actually looked full for a change.
Mr. Costain had passed out papers already, and stood in front of the blackboard smiling. George had never had a teacher who enjoyed his work so much.
“All right, people,” he announced as soon as everyone took their seat. “Because we have two new students today, I thought that we would review some essentials. Time for a quote.”
This was a standard Mr. Costain-ism, something Mr. Costain had done in his classes at St. Lucy’s too; starting class with a provoking quotation from a saint, historian, poet, or theologian. The class would discuss the quote before diving into the meat of the lesson.
Today’s was a poem by David Craig. George scanned the handwritten words on the sheet before him as Mr. Costain read them…
No one said anything except James, who gave a prodigious yawn. “Modern poetry,” he said as though it was something smelly.
Mr. Costain merely smiled. “Question: Everyone says they want to find the truth. But do you really want to?”
Silence fell. Then the new girl, Allie Weaver, raised her hand.
“Well, what is the truth, really?” she said. “I mean, can we really ever know what it is?”
“Very good question, Miss Weaver,” Mr. Costain said. “Why don’t you go on? Elaborate a little. Why do you think that truth is so hard to find?”
“Well, you know…” Allie twirled her hair nervously with one finger. “There’s so much bias and prejudice and stuff. There’s two sides to every story. I mean, the truth isn’t something you really know, it’s something you…have to keep seeking. If you want to be a good person. You know, you always have to be open to finding the truth. I don’t know if you ever actually find it.” She looked around as though to find support, and suddenly, to George’s surprise, she glanced in his direction.
He gulped, and suddenly seemed to lose about 50 I.Q. points. “Uh…”
Mr. Costain turned to him. “Well, Mr. Peterson? Do you have an opinion?”
“Uh…no,” he found himself saying. “I don’t agree. You can find it. It’s there.”
“And according to my friend Dr. Craig’s poem, it’s when you find the truth that your problems actually begin,” Mr. Costain said.
George felt himself turn red. “Right.” He glanced at Allie, who looked somewhat annoyed. Smooth, George. Real smooth.
From the back, James’ voice said with a touch of smugness, “The Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting. It has been found difficult, and left untried.”
“G.K. Chesterton,” Mr. Costain said. “Excellent, James.”
George wished again that everyone wouldn’t keep complimenting James.
Brian raised his hand. “So the poem is saying that the problem isn’t finding the truth, the problem is with knowing the truth.”
“Yeah, because it’s impossible to understand,” Liz grunted.
“Catholicism can be very complicated, true,” Mr. Costain acknowledged. “But understanding the faith is not the whole problem.”
“Living the faith is harder than understanding it.” Celia said.
“Very good,” Mr. Costain said. “I’ll leave you to ponder that. Celia, why don’t you take this copy and tape it on the wall? That can be the start of our ‘Great Wall of Quotes’ for the year. I’ve been a little late starting it, but there you go. Now. Let’s go back to the Apostolic Age and see what other troubles the early Christians had.”
He handed his paper and a roll of tape to Celia. “Everyone else, notebooks out.”
As George slapped open his notebook, he saw James looking sideways at him. George felt another stab of anger. James seemed to think he was scoring points against George with every right answer he made. George didn’t want to even play the game, but at the same time, he was mad that James seemed to think he was winning.
What a rotten day.
Catholicism. Truth. It was hard to talk about things like this: like using muscles she’d never used before.
Allie creased the poem in half and put it in her notebook, but still she couldn’t shake the image of a nerdy, troublesome Truth guy following her around. I’ve had enough of weird people following me around, thank you very much.
She was extremely grateful when the bell rang to end the history class, and rushed off the bathroom before the next class started. Once she was safely inside, she pulled out her cell phone, hoping to catch Tyler during the class break at Sparrow Hills.
He picked up after the first ring. “Hey babe! What’s up?”
Allie breathed a sigh of relief. “Hey, Tyler. Are you free?”
“For a little while. How’s
the freak school going?”
“Terrible. Hey, listen, could you pick me up after school today? I really want to see you.”
“Sure thing. I don’t have practice today.” She could tell he was pleased she’d called him, and for the next few minutes she actually started feeling okay.
As she was walking back up the hallway a few minutes later, she met Celia.
“Hey, Allie! I just wanted to make sure you knew,” the other girl said. “Next class is Theology, with my dad.”
“Again? Your dad teaches two classes?”
“Three, actually. After lunch, he’ll be teaching English. What did you think of history? Wasn’t it interesting?’
“I guess,” Allie said vaguely.
“Theology should be neat, too. We’re going to go over St. Thomas Aquinas’ five proofs for the existence of God!”
Yippee.
George walked into the cafeteria for lunch. Small as the building was, it did have a little cafeteria between the two wings of the school. There was no kitchen staff, of course; every student paper-bagged it, and everyone tended to sit together, at one of the many long folding tables.
But the two new students, James and Allie, each found a separate table and sat down alone. When Celia saw this, she turned to J.P. with a fierce look on her face. “What did you do to her?”
“Nothing!” J.P. said defensively, shifting in his folding chair. “Well, I didn’t mean to do anything. You see…well, there was this little mix-up in the girls’ bathroom…”
“What were you doing in the girls bathroom?”
“Nothing! …Well, you see, I had no idea who she was, and I just saw someone…and …well, I got her.”
Celia looked at him stonily.
“With whipped cream,” he mumbled. “I thought she was Liz.”
There was a clatter of metal as Celia stood up. “Come on,” she said to J.P. “You’re going to apologize. George, make him apologize.”
“Oh, all right,” George sighed. “Come on, J.P.” They went over to the table where the new girl was sitting alone, flipping through her math book as though trying to ignore them. There was no lunch in front of her.
Catholic, Reluctantly (The John Paul 2 High Series) Page 3