“We don’t know,” Jeremy said. “It seems someone downloaded a program onto the computer giving them remote access to the computer.”
“Oh, come on, we know who did this,” Jake Ankiel, sitting in the back, interjected. “I bet it was those atheists.”
The hairs on the back of Curt’s neck raised to attention. He rotated in his seat, locking eyes with Jake.
“We don’t know that for sure,” Jeremy said.
The muscular EMT looked right at Curt as he lobbed his next accusation into the open. “After all that’s happened lately in town? Who else would’ve wanted to do it? It’s clear they want to destroy Christianity in America.”
Most of the students stayed quiet, though a few murmured in agreement.
“What atheists?” Curt asked.
Hannah shifted in her seat next to him. The rest of the room went silent, sensing a confrontation was looming.
“Which atheists?” Curt repeated. “I need you to be more specific. It’s not like we have a club or anything.”
“Yes, you do,” Samuel said incredulously.
“Do you mean the Humanist Chapter in town?” Curt asked. “Because you don’t have to be atheist to belong to that.”
“Maybe we should talk about this later, in private,” Jeremy suggested, his voice faltering.
“Your dad talked about bringing in the Satanic Temple to help get God out of our town,” Jake said. “We know what you’re about.”
“The Satanic Temple?”
No group quite possessed the power to troll Christians like the Satanic Temple. They were vastly misunderstood by the general public, though.
“They don’t even believe in Satan or the supernatural. They’re more in favor of protecting freedom of speech and separation of church and state.”
Jake leaped to his feet. “How can you not believe in the supernatural? Especially after what happened to you? Seems like you’d start believing.”
“Now, Jake,” Jeremy scolded, “We shouldn’t bring up things like…”
“What are you referring to?” Curt asked, rising to his feet. “That my dad was struck down by God because he opposed your stupid Ten Commandments monument?”
The conversation was spiraling out of control. Curt’s dad often found ways to defuse these kinds of escalating situations. But Curt’s emotions were getting the best of him.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I think,” Jake spat back.
Curt felt the temperature rise in his own cheeks. “What are we? Living in the middle ages? Lightning came from the sky, must be God? Are you sure it wasn’t Thor? I mean, he’s the rightful god of thunder, right? My dad died because we live in a chaotic universe, and he happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
He struggled for composure. Many of the lessons his dad had taught him over the years cycled through his mind: Don’t let it get personal. Ask questions. Understand where the other person is coming from and find common ground. But Curt couldn’t prevent this situation from getting personal. If he stayed in the church, he’d lose control completely. While glaring at Jake, Curt stalked out of the room.
Footsteps stomped after him. Jake Ankiel had tracked him down the hallway, with Samuel Wilson tailing behind.
“Hey, I don’t want to see you back here. You leave us alone. And I don’t want to see you around Hannah, either,” Jake warned, with a decisive finger pointed squarely at Curt.
Curt turned around and faced Jake. The two were standing mere feet from one another in the middle of the otherwise quiet church hallway.
“That won’t be a problem. And hey, anytime you want to join me in the twenty-first century instead of living with this superstition and ignorance, let me know,” Curt said, his voice rising in ferocity.
“You think you know everything and you’re smarter than us, don’t you?” Jake asked.
“Smarter than you? Well, I did graduate fifth grade, so yeah, I’m smarter than you.”
Curt had barely finished his sentence when Jake cocked his fist back and struck Curt in the cheek. The sudden force pushed Curt backward. He lost his footing and fell to the floor. Despite the fact Jake had about twenty pounds of muscle on Curt, he stood up, ready for a fight. Jake leveled another blow against Curt’s cheek.
As he hit the ground a second time, Hannah came sprinting down the hallway.
“Stop it!” she cried, throwing herself in front of Curt. She sent a withering glare at both Jake and her brother. “What are you doing?”
Jake turned around and waved his hand as if indicating his surrender. He and Samuel slowly retreated toward the youth room, though Samuel backpedaled, keeping his gaze fixed on Curt as if the visitor was a threat to spring up and reignite the fight.
His assailants now vanquished by Hannah’s disapproval, she turned her eyes toward Curt. “I’m really sorry that happened. Are you okay?” Her voice percolated with sympathy.
Curt gingerly rubbed his sore cheek, which already felt a little swollen.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, meeting Hannah’s gaze.
Now that he’d been humbled by Jake in front of Hannah, his anger had shifted to embarrassment.
“It wasn’t your fault. And I probably made things worse.”
If he hadn’t lobbed that last unoriginal insult at Jake, the hulking brute would have allowed him to leave intact. Not that this let Jake off the hook for the altercation.
Hannah sucked in her cheek. “Can I walk you home?”
“Yeah, sure,” Curt replied, trying to sound nonchalant.
Internally, the possibility excited him. He even had to squelch a smile. If getting punched in the face allotted him time alone with Hannah, then maybe getting punched in the face was worth it.
14
Enthusiastic Consent
The walk to Curt’s house had thus far been quiet. He and Hannah were about five minutes from the church. Every so often, Hannah stole a glance at Curt, who mostly kept his eyes directed ahead. A myriad of potential questions percolated inside Hannah’s mind, though every one of them seemed likely to spark a fight.
Disappointment reigned inside Hannah, too. She’d wanted Curt to come to youth group and hear a message of love and grace. Instead, he’d been punched by the overzealous Jake. Curt would probably never consider the message of Christianity now. Hannah also felt guilty that she had subjected Curt to that shabby treatment.
Finally, a vital question formulated in her mind, based on the tail end of Jake and Curt’s interaction.
“Do you think Christians are stupid for believing what we do?” she asked.
Curt released a soft sigh. “No, I don’t think all Christians are stupid.”
“But some are?”
“Of course, some are. Some of every group of people are stupid. Including Atheists.”
She eyed him closely. “Do you think I’m stupid?”
Curt studied her for a moment as they continued to walk. “No, I don’t think you’re stupid. I just think Christians believe in things for other reasons than logic and reason.”
She tilted her head. “Is that just a polite way of saying we’re stupid?”
Curt stopped on the sidewalk, leading Hannah to do the same. They stood a few feet from one another. The sun had set and most of the traffic had receded from the Beaumont streets.
“When you decided you believed in Jesus, whenever that was, did you only do so after you thoroughly studied biology, cosmology, philosophy, and all of the different major world religions? And then, after weighing all of the different evidence, you decided believing in Jesus was the most logical thing to do?”
Hannah looked away from him. “No,” she said in a quiet voice.
Curt shrugged. “So then you believe for reasons other than logic and reason. Most people do. And that goes for most things, not just Christianity.”
He started walking again; Hannah followed. She cycled through potential responses in her mind. She’d read books and blog posts about apologetics—
the art of defending her faith. However, at the moment, Hannah drew a blank. All the information that once seemed so convincing to her had slipped through her mind. Whereas Curt seemed composed, as if he participated in these kinds of conversations every day, Hannah struggled to think quickly. Then her mind stumbled on a relevant question.
“Do you believe in things for reasons other than reason or logic?” she ventured, drawing a critical eye from Curt. “Did you do extensive studies on all the things you mentioned before you decided there was no god?”
Curt began to stammer back a reply. His initial tone was defensive. The question had definitely gotten to him. Then his composure returned.
“No, I haven’t. I’ve done some, but I can’t claim to be an expert on all the fields I mentioned earlier. Probably no one can.”
“So then you and I are the same,” Hannah said, feeling a tad bit triumphant.
“No, not quite,” Curt said, shaking his head. “You’re saying something definite about the universe. That there’s this very specific God out there with very specific preferences about what He wants people to do and very specific consequences for people if they fail Him. I’m just saying there isn’t enough evidence to believe in a God. And I’m not even a hundred percent certain that I’m right about that.”
Wind rippled through the trees as Hannah considered Curt’s latest claim. She gazed up at the darkening sky on this clear night. Only the planets had appeared on the horizon. There is no god. She tried out that proposition but couldn’t entertain it long with the grandeur of creation staring her smack in the face.
“How can you believe there’s no God? Look at this. Look at the universe, the trees, life...I don’t understand how you can’t see it. Do you think all of this just appeared out of nowhere from nothing?”
Curt shrugged. “Well, not out of nowhere. It took us billions of years to get where we are now, and a lot can happen in billions of years. Honestly, I don’t know why the universe exists or we’re here. I just know there’s a big gap between maybe the universe was designed by a god to that god is Jesus Christ and He died on a cross for our sins.”
“But don’t you want to be certain about life?” Hannah asked, almost exasperated at Curt’s profession that unknowns didn’t bother him.
“Yeah, I guess. But I only want to believe things if they’re true.”
Curt stopped at the white cape cod, where only a few nights ago Hannah had joined him in the predawn hours to catch a single meteorite streaking across the sky. He remained at the gate to his walkway. Hannah crossed her arms. The temperatures had dropped with the descent of the sun. His words weighed heavily on her mind.
“I get what you’re saying, I do,” Hannah said. “I guess I’ve always been certain about God. I’ve never doubted.”
Curt nodded. “Okay.”
“That’s not enough for you, though, is it?”
“A lot of people are certain in their beliefs. Muslims are certain. Jews are certain. Buddhists are certain. What makes them wrong and you right?” He shrugged. “But I am certain that if more Christians approached conversations about faith like you do, I’d be more likely to take their claims seriously.”
Hannah blushed, warmed by his praise and this small moment of intimacy in which they exchanged ideas both personal and sacred to one another. When he smiled, Hannah believed Curt felt it, too.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said, reaching for her hand.
Hannah looked at the ground but didn’t recoil from his touch as he wrapped her hand in his.
“Would it be okay if I kissed you? I’d really like to kiss you.”
Hannah’s eyes shifted toward his. The sincerity in his eyes paralyzed her. She stammered back a reply consisting of a lot of ‘I’s’ and ‘uhs’ but never formulated into anything coherent. He waited for a green light to proceed, to erase the small distance between them; she couldn’t give him one.
Curt released her hand, making it feel instantly colder. His smile faded. “Well, that doesn’t count as enthusiastic consent.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I guess watching a guy get beat up by someone else is kind of a turnoff.” Curt took a step backward toward his door. “Thanks for the invite tonight. Don’t worry about what happened—it wasn’t your fault. Goodnight.”
Once again, she found speaking impossible. Hannah lingered on the sidewalk, well after Curt disappeared into his house, trying to parse all that had happened that night. Her feelings were mixed: embarrassment but also desire flooded through her. Eventually, she walked home. Hannah still hadn’t reached a verdict on how she felt by the time she reached her house.
15
What My Father Would Say
“Where have you been?” Elizabeth McDonald asked, meeting her son in the entryway once he entered the house. She appeared more curious than worried.
He closed the door, turning his face toward her for the first time. She gasped.
“What happened to you?”
“Oh, this?” He pointed to his swollen cheek. “Someone punched me.”
“Someone punched you?”
“Yeah, in church. It was no big deal.”
Despite Curt’s efforts to dismiss the altercation, his mom dropped her hands to her hips, non-verbally demanding an explanation. Curt proceeded to relay the pertinent details, though his story left a lot of loose ends.
After his mom had located an ice pack from the freezer, they settled around the small table in their kitchen.
“What were you doing in church, anyway?” she asked.
Curt adjusted the ice pack against his cheek. “Hannah invited me.”
Her eyes narrowed, bearing down upon Curt. Elizabeth McDonald preferred to read the truth from her husband and son, often bypassing their words in the process. She possessed an uncanny ability to perceive their emotions, even when father or son ducked her questions.
“I know I asked before, but is there anything going on between you two?”
“No, we’re just...nothing is happening.”
Her eyes remained fixed on his. “Do you want something to happen with her?” she asked tentatively.
Even this question was designed to elicit a non-verbal response from Curt more so than an actual answer.
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
The resulting silence, though perfectly normal, carried with it an aura of emptiness. He felt very small sitting at the table alone with his mother. Even if Matt McDonald had still been alive, there was a decent chance he’d have been sitting in the living room working on a puzzle or leafing through a legal brief. But his absence at the table still felt conspicuous.
“You probably think it would be a bad idea for me to pursue her.”
His mother leaned back in her chair. “I said no such thing.”
No, she hadn’t said it. Curt, however, sensed her disapproval at the notion of getting involved with Hannah Wilson.
“I wish I knew what Dad would say in a moment like this.”
She folded her arms. “I bet between the two of us we could piece that together. What do you think he’d say?”
“I don’t know. Probably ask me questions.”
“Like what?”
“Why I’m interested in her to begin with.”
“What would you have told him?” she asked.
“Because she’s pretty.”
She gave him a disappointed stare. “And?”
“I don’t know. She seems kind. And kind because she is and not because she’s trying to be a good Christian. She seems really genuine. Like she really believes all this religious stuff but also is willing to listen and figure things out. Like she wants to know about things outside her world.”
The thing that most attracted Curt to her was their honest moments. He’d never experienced such raw and genuine moments with a girl before, save for Kate, and obviously she’d never be anything more than a friend. He and Hannah got to know each other not via flirtation, but through unplanned, spontaneous encounters. The experienc
e in the hallway outside her locker where he sunk into her arms, her arrival at their house the night of the meteorite shower, and their walk back home after Curt got punched all felt one hundred percent real. Things with Alexis had never quite reached that level of authenticity.
Still, Curt frowned. “He would’ve told me not to pursue her, wouldn’t he?”
His mom’s face mirrored Curt’s disappointment. “I thought you knew your father better than that.”
His mom was right. Rarely did his father ever push Curt to avoid anything, save for truly dangerous things, like hard drugs.
“He might have asked if you were trying to change her,” his mom said delicately.
“You mean, get her to lose her faith? I don’t know. Maybe.” Curt couldn’t deny he’d prefer Hannah without any faith attachments.
“He also might have asked if she was trying to change you.”
Curt didn’t respond to that question. If he had, he would’ve been repeating his previous answer. Hannah probably did wish he would believe; that desire most likely prompted her to invite him to youth group in the first place.
She nodded. “So this is me talking, and I’m not trying to channel your father. I met this woman at work once who was really friendly. She was about my age and seemed kind of fun. I thought it might be nice to have a friend at work because it gets kind of hard to make friends when you’re older. Anyway, she asked me out for coffee. I accepted. We were talking like normal, and all of a sudden she brings up religion. And before she even says much, I could see where it was going. So I politely told her I wasn’t interested in talking about faith.”
Elizabeth McDonald paused, smiling at the recollection. “After that, she didn’t seem as interested in talking to me. Definitely never asked me to hang out outside of work with her. It was like I was a project to her. And when she couldn’t convert me, she wasn’t interested in me, anymore.”
Curt allowed the words to sink in before voicing his own question. “Do you think that’s what Hannah’s doing to me?”
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