This Little Light

by Lori Lansens

  Seems like Mr. Hutsall has been pimping Jinny out, having her recruit for the Crusaders and for the AVB. One of the news reports says Jinny Hutsall is eighteen, not sixteen. They say school records indicate that the Hutsalls moved around a lot and that she repeated eighth grade and frosh. News reports also say that Jinny was involved in a number of episodes at her other schools. The victim of anti-Crusader cyberbullying at one. The victim of a vicious physical attack at another. The fuck? Did Warren Hutsall know about the Reverend’s relationship with his daughter? Somehow I doubted that. But then again.

  Has Jinny essentially been working as a spy? Smoking out then discrediting agitators like me? Creating dramatic scenarios to create free publicity for the Cause and feed the propaganda machine, just like my mother always said the Crusaders do? Like the whole Red Market thing. Bombing the AVB.

  It’d been Jinny’s suggestion that we lie at security and say we left our phones at home. She said we could tuck them into our bras and bodices and take some fun bathroom selfies after the ceremony. I should’ve wondered why Jinny cared about bathroom selfies, when she only ever posted anti-abortion stuff on Crusader forums, never pics. At that point I think I was relieved at the thought of keeping my phone on my body. Like, it’s my phone. It also occurred to me that I could get some covert photographs for my blog. I wasn’t thinking about outing Jagger Jonze as the total fraud that he is. I was way too afraid to try that on my own. But I did wanna defy him, and maybe post some unauthorized pics of him drooling over some teenaged virgins.

  At the Hutsalls’ house, when we were getting ready for the ball, no one was mad at Jinny for stealing the Dom Pérignon from the wine fridge and sneaking it upstairs in her Louis tote, along with six crystal glasses.

  As she poured the champagne into the flutes, she said, “I can’t believe it’s actually happening. And don’t worry, God will forgive us for the champagne.”

  Dee worried the alcohol might react with her Wellbutrin but took a glass when Jinny offered.

  “Won’t our dads smell the alcohol on our breath?” Zara asked.

  “It’ll be overpowered by the alcohol on theirs,” I said.

  “Besides,” Jinny’d giggled, “champagne isn’t alcohol, it’s bubb. And I think a little bubb is right for tonight. Plus, I’m so nervous.”

  I was looking at her, like, Last night you were getting your ring pearled by Jagger Jonze, and now you’re nervous about getting a pearl ring from your dad? Seriously? I was also thinking, Do you know that I know your secret, Jinny?

  “Rory? Champagne?”

  I took the glass. I’d hardly slept the night before and spent most of the morning worrying if Jinny and Jagger knew I filmed them and what they might do if they did. Any moment I’d expected her to ring the doorbell and storm up the spiral staircase to confront me in my room. What would she say? I still don’t know. I wonder if I’ll ever know.

  Jinny wanted to make a toast. Ugh. We formed a circle, held up our sparkling glasses and waited as she blinked back some tears. I felt like such a poser. Jinny couldn’t believe this night was actually happening? Me either. Or more, I couldn’t believe I was actually going through with it.

  Jinny began her toast, “To the Lord Jesus Christ Our Savior.”

  I know she saw me cringe.

  “We are so grateful for Your blessings, and so stoked to make this pledge to You tonight. Forgive us for the bubb, Lord.”

  We all giggled.

  “Please watch over us. Especially Rory. We know You move in mysterious ways. May tonight be a turning point for our friend.”

  The girls thought she was teasing, but I knew Jinny meant every word.

  I tipped back the champagne, liking the way it bit my tongue, and fogged my brain, and made me hate Jinny a little less. Well, until she bent down to fix the strap on her pretty Lacroix sandals. And then I was just so jealous. My toe was swollen from trying to move my dresser to get my camera and I couldn’t wear my sandals. I had on sneakers.

  Mr. Sharpe had bought Fee a pair of the Miu Mius she wanted, but on the day of the ball she texted me that they didn’t fit! She’d bought them weeks earlier, when she and Delaney went dress shopping, but now she couldn’t get her feet into them and so she was gonna have to wear her white Keds. It never occurred to me, like, oh, obviously, Fee is pregnant and retaining fluids and that’s why her lips seem plumper, and her tits fuller, and her feet grew a size. Nope. I just thought that’s why we shouldn’t try on shoes in the morning when we’re at our skinniest and least hydrated. Thank God we both ended up in sneakers. We’d never have made it to Javier’s in heels.

  Jinny had been encouraging, watching Fee and me lace up our sneakers in her room. “No one can see your shoes anyway. And sneaks are better for dancing.”

  We never got to the dancing.

  After the vow ceremony, our little group had dispersed again. Sherman joined a group of dads I didn’t know, to smoke cigars outside somewhere. Jinny snuck up behind me and whispered into my ear that she was going out to the limo to get the other bottle of champagne she’d stashed in her tote. She pulled me out to the hallway to conspire. We definitely didn’t wanna get caught with alcohol, so she said we should meet in the farthest bathroom, out back behind the gym on the other side of the school.

  “Bee and Zara are doing portraits with their dads,” I said, pointing to the photographer’s line. “Not sure where Fee and Delaney are.”

  I told her I’d text the other girls about our bathroom meet and she said, “Oh my God, don’t pull out your phone, Rory. And don’t text anybody—just in case somebody hears the buzz. And we can’t all go out there at the same time. It’d look suspicious.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll tell them.”

  “Okay.”

  “Head over there now. Dom and I’ll see you in a sec.”

  Dom and I? Making jokes? With me? Was she drunk? “Okay.” I was glad to have an excuse to leave the ballroom.

  “The one behind the gym,” she reminded.

  “I know.”

  I started down the long hallway that led to the door that led to the path around back to the gym on the other side of the school. That’s when I saw Fee, sitting on a bench with her head in her hands.

  When I sat down beside her and put my arm around her shoulder, she shook me off. “I’m okay,” she said.

  “I’ll drive you home if you want.”

  “I can’t. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

  But I could see she wasn’t. “Where’s Dee?”

  She shrugged.

  “Sure you don’t wanna go home?”

  “Mr. Tom’d be pissed. You know how much this night cost?”

  “But you’re sick.”

  “I’m okay.”

  I told Fee about Jinny and the champagne rendezvous back in the gym bathroom, and how we needed to be cagey. She told me to go on ahead because she had to find Mr. Tom to say sorry about her ring not fitting. And also, he wanted to get their portraits done. Whatever.

  Heading to the gym bathroom, I started to play that crazy-making game of Does Jinny Know I Know? all over again. What would I say if she stepped to me? I’d started to compose an explanation the second I dropped my camera. No idea what you’re talking about, Jinny. I was taking video of the roses outside my window to send to my aunt Lilly. You thought I was filming you in your bedroom? What? No! Why? Were you waxing or changing or something? I didn’t see anything, Jinny. I swear. I could sell that. I felt, even then, as if my life depended on it.

  A few dads were out by the basketball courts. I smelled cigar smoke, then heard Sherman laughing, and decided to take the long way around, through the elementary school’s playground. It took forever, and the whole time I kept thinking I heard footsteps behind me in the dark. I had this feeling that if I was in a horror movie, people would be yelling at me from the audience: Are you stupid? Don’t go! Don’t go!

  When I finally got there, the bathroom door was locked, or stuck. So much for that.
I took my phone from the secret hiding place in my bodice, but no texts. I was about to message Jinny and the rest when I heard a noise on the other side of the door, something metal clattering against the porcelain sink. “Hello?”

  There were quick footsteps, and then Fee shouting from the other side that the door was stuck and for me to pull. I did, and together we managed to open it.

  “Where were you?” Fee asked. “I’ve been here for five minutes.”

  “I took the long way. How’d you get here so fast?”

  “Mr. Tom needed to talk to Reverend Jagger about something. Where is everybody?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Should we text?”

  “No. Can you imagine how mad the dads would be if they knew we had our phones?”

  I dragged a waste can over to hold the door open so we wouldn’t get locked in. I hadn’t got a good look at Fee, but now I could see that her eyes were puffy and swollen. She took her little makeup bag out to do a reapply. I remember telling her that she shouldn’t put her metal clutch on the damp countertop. It could get rusty.

  Then I asked, “What’s going on, Fee?”

  “You said Jinny was bringing champagne.”

  “What’s going on with you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Not nothing.”

  “I just feel sick, Ror. That’s all. Something with my gut.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Mr. Tom’s pissed at me.”

  “Why?”

  “He spent all that money on my shoes and I couldn’t wear them.”

  “So you can return them.”

  “He’s pissed about the ring too. To be fair, I was the one who gave him my ring size.”

  “He’s pissed about that?”

  “It was embarrassing, Rory. Everyone was looking at us.”

  “Okay.”

  “Plus, I feel like shit.”

  “Well, don’t drink the champagne, then.”

  “Where’s Jinny? Where are the girls?” Fee looked at her phone. “No texts. I’ve got, like, ten percent.”

  That’s when the smell hit me. “OMG, did you fart?”

  “I’ve got bad rot gut. Don’t laugh. It’s serious. I feel really weird. I’m, like, peeing out my bum.”

  “TMI, chica,” I said. But I didn’t mean it. For me, there’s no such thing as TMI. “What else did you eat today?”

  “I ate nothing. All day.”

  Except the chocolate thingies, but I didn’t think of that in that moment. “God, Fee.”

  “I know.”

  I finally shot off a group text. Like, where are you guys? I waited a sec, but no one responded. I just figured that wherever they were, it wasn’t safe for them to text us back. That portrait line did look long. Then I wondered if Jinny got caught with the champagne. I wouldn’t have hated that.

  Fee suddenly hiked up her gown and dove into one of the stalls. I mean, everyone has had pee-bum from nerves or eating something bad or whatever. I felt horrible for her, and for myself because smell. Plus, I knew once Jinny Hutsall got here, she’d make Fee feel gross for being human.

  While Fee was in the stall, I realized I had to pee, and that’s when I saw blood on my pretty new panties. When I got out of the stall, I found the pad dispenser empty, and asked Fee if she had plugs in her purse, and she freaked. Then Fee flushed and OMG the toilet clogged and started overflowing. We were wearing long white gowns. Don’t even. I grabbed Fee by the hand and we ran, screaming laughing, because we’re sixteen years old and it was all just completely insane. On the way out the door, I accidentally kicked the trash can that held it open. The can fell and the door slammed shut behind me.

  “My purse!” Fee said, not laughing anymore. “I need my purse, Rory.” She was frantic—way overreacting.

  We tried the door, but no way we were getting back in there. We looked around, but no Jinny. None of the girls were anywhere in sight. “Where is everybody?”

  “Let’s wait on the bleachers,” I said. “We’ll get your purse later.”

  We ran off, but she was still obsessing about her purse.

  “Your ID is in there, right? Someone’ll find it and get it back to you. It’s Sacred Heart High, for God’s sake.”

  “No ID.” Fee shook her head as she realized this. Now I know the look on her face was relief.

  We stopped and sat on a bench from where we could see the bathroom door in case the girls showed up. We waited. Then Fee pulled out her phone. No signal. Fucking mountains. She doubled over from stomach pain. “What the fuck is going on with me?”

  “Maybe you’ve got that flu. Come on, let’s get you home.”

  We got up off the bleacher and started in the direction of the Grand Ballroom, but Fee had to stop to barf.

  That’s when the group texts started blowing up our phones. I read the texts out loud.

  DEE: Haps in the parking lot.

  ME: What?

  ZARA: What?

  BROOKLYN: Come outside you guys.

  DEE: Pastor Handsy tweeking.

  Then I typed. We coming.

  Even though I’m a cross-country runner, I actually hate walking. And Fee was sick as shit, so we took a shortcut behind the Olympic swimming pool and back through the trail behind the tennis courts, and up over the ridge on the north side of the parking lot. I kept reading the group texts aloud:

  ZARA: Somebody in a backseat.

  DEE: OMG! Making out?

  BROOKLYN: Banging at the Ball!

  ZARA: Just dads here.

  ME: Perf. Incest at the AVB. Pls take vid.

  ZARA: Yola and that guy from St. James? He lives close.

  DEE: It’s serious. Jinny calling for help.

  ZARA: Fee? Rory?

  ME: We’re coming.

  ZARA: Where you???

  DEE: OMG. Where you guys?

  ZARA: See you Dee. See me by our limo? Waving. OMG.

  DEE: Ppl crying.

  ME: Crying?

  ZARA: Camy Jarvis just fainted.

  BROOKLYN: Can’t see ANYTHING!!!

  ZARA: Rory and Fee where u guys?!!!

  DEE: Hurry up, Ror. They’re looking in your Prius.

  Something shifted. I could feel the dark energy that rose up to the ridge as Fee and I followed the path to a spot overlooking the parking lot. I listened to my inner voice telling me to stay hidden in the shadows of the rock and brush, and pulled Fee back with me.

  We could see the crowd that had gathered below us. All of the dads in tuxedos and little virgins in gowns making a wide white circle around my Prius. We could hear the deep-throated murmurs of the fathers radiating up to where we hid. There was something—a person—moving around in the backseat of my car. It was one of us, one of the brides. You could see the white dress. Was someone really having sex in my car? Appeared so. Should the fathers have shielded their children from what they were about to see? Prolly.

  The buzzing from the crowd got loud, and then—

  Oh. My. God. Jinny Hutsall emerged from the backseat of my Prius, her freaking gold hair blowing in the wind, so fucking glamorous in that white gown. And I’m thinking, Oh my God, Jagger was drilling Jinny in my backseat and they’ve just been caught! For a sec I felt relief: Jinny will leave and be dead to us. And the Reverend? He’ll get fried for it, and that felt like justice.

  We waited, along with the rest of the crowd, to see who was fouling Jinny Hutsall in the backseat, but no one else got out of the car. There was only beautiful Jinny Hutsall. But wait…

  There was this collective gasp as people grasped that she was holding something in her arms—a small white bundle wrapped up in her blood-streaked pashmina.

  Then the whispering started—so loud we could hear it from where we hid: It’s a baby. Oh my God it’s a baby. She’s holding a baby. That’s a newborn baby in her arms. Did I hear that or did I say that? Or was it Fee who said it? I remember that we shared a look and kept to the shadows and Fee took my hand and squeezed it as we wa
tched the scene unfold—and that’s what it felt like: a scene from a movie, not life—and not MY life.

  We watched from the distance, me wishing I had my long-lens camera, as Jinny rolled the pashmina back to reveal the pallid face of the thing. A baby. A still baby. A dead baby? Fee squeezed my hand hard. So awful and sad, and it just killed us to see. Fee whispered, “What the fuck is happening right now?”

  We couldn’t see it, and I didn’t know it at the time, but on the security cam footage they just released, of Jinny Hutsall holding the tiny infant wrapped in her bloodstained white pashmina, a fat tear rolled down Jinny’s cheek. For a minute the whole thing looked like a photo shoot for a horror movie or fashion magazine. Fee was still squeezing my hand so hard it hurt.

  No one seemed to know what to do. Jinny clutched the bloodstained thing to her perfect tits. Then, out of nowhere, a couple of Jinny’s brothers showed up to keep people—even the dads—from getting close to Jinny and the baby.

  The crowd suddenly parted like the Red Sea and we could see Jagger Jonze running toward Jinny. Seeing the still baby in her arms, he fell to his knees. Jinny said something to him that we couldn’t hear. The crowd watched, silent, mouths agape, as Jagger Jonze lowered his head for a ten count then raised it and cocked it like he heard a voice. Then he stood and set one palm on the baby’s forehead as he lifted the other hand to God.

  Jinny Hutsall raised her free hand too, and that’s when it came—a tiny cry.

  Fee and I fell into each other’s arms. I thought I might die from relief that the bloody thing was alive.

  But my car! Who in the name of God would put that baby in my car? The crying got louder. And louder. It didn’t really sound like a newborn, but it was soon drowned out by the sound of clapping and cheering from the crowd.

  Fee wanted to go down there and join our gang, and find out what the fuck was happening. I didn’t know exactly what was happening, but it appeared that Jinny Hutsall had pulled a dead baby from the back of my car and that Jagger Jonze, and Jinny Hutsall, had miraculously resurrected the baby. Somehow, someway, this didn’t look good for me. I made her stay put.