That’s no longer true
and there’s nothing I can do
to change things back.
We’re in different places now,
like I entered a room
Seth doesn’t have a key to
and the best we can do
is wave through the window.
I just hope one day soon
I’ll figure out how
to crack that window open
an inch or two,
without, you know,
smashing it to bits.
Somewhere between
bites of pepperoni
and a swig of milk,
Seth asks,
“So, what’s with you and Trey?
Are you, you know,
hooking up now?”
I almost choke,
no joke.
Milk sputters
down my chin.
I grab a napkin,
start dabbing away,
my brain on fire
from the fuse
she just lit.
“It was one time, Seth!”
I say, teeth tight.
“One time!
And I’m already sorry.”
“Okay, okay!” says Seth.
“I was-you know-
just wondering.”
I cut my eyes at her.
“Okay!” she says.
“I’ll shut up.”
That is
the smartest thing
she’s said
all day.
All through practice,
Seth snatches looks at me,
as if she’s wondering
what I’m doing here.
I want to yell,
“Virgins aren’t the only ones
who can sing!”
But who am I kidding?
I do feel weird being here,
singing about a God
I broke my promise to.
If everybody knew,
maybe they’d ask me to leave,
and maybe I would.
And maybe I should.
“Haven’t seen Sethany
around here much lately,”
says my mom.
“You two get in a fight?”
“No,” I say. “We’re both busy, is all.”
I study the wall
just right of her head,
hoping she doesn’t notice
how adept I’m getting
at avoiding eye contact,
wishing she wasn’t
so dang nosey.
“We broke up, by the way,”
I told Seth over lunch.
She quit munching her sandwich
long enough to look up
to see if I was okay.
I didn’t say anything,
just shrugged my shoulders
in a way that said Don’t ask.
Not now.
She took the cue,
smiled to let me know
she was relieved,
and finished eating
in silence.
I miss the old days
before I pulled away from church,
when I trusted Seth
with all my secrets,
even face-to-face.
Funny how my fears
weighed half as much back then,
as if telling my best friend
split them in two.
I used to say or do whatever
and never worry
that she’d judge me
or love me less.
If only we could be
that close again.
What if I took a chance
and let her in?
“Here’s the ugly truth,”
I tell Seth after school.
“Trey never really
cared for me.
He just wanted
to add me to his list.”
I ball my fist,
fighting back the tears.
Seth slips an arm around me.
“It’ll be alright,” she chokes out.
“Besides,” she adds,
“he’s not worth the dirt
under your fingernails.
He’s a supercilious, joyless jerk.”
Clearly, Seth’s been
hitting the dictionary again,
which makes me smile
in the middle of my cry,
which is exactly why
I love her.
Later that week,
I finish up an essay for English
as my cell phone rings,
putting a period on my homework
for the night.
It’s Seth, of course,
calling to remind me
about Youth Group Video Night.
“It’ll probably be lame,” she says.
“Ya think? Bet you anything
it’ll be The Princess Bride.”
“Again!” we say in unison.
“Come hang with me anyway,”
pleads Sethany.
“We always have a blast.”
“Escuchame, pero
yo no hablo Ingles,” I say.
“Girl! Quit it!”
We ping-pong words
back and forth awhile
before I finally say yes.
I can’t help but smile
at the ease of it,
feeling like we’re almost
back to normal.
His heart must be
a light switch,
something he turns on and off
whenever the mood hits,
‘cause here he is,
weeks later,
pressing another girl
up against the hall lockers.
I can’t fly by
fast enough.
What was that line again?
“You’re killing me, girl.
You know I’m falling
in love with you.”
Yeah.
Right.
Color me stupid.
The school library
is suddenly my best friend.
I sneak there
for a quick rendezvous
with Mary.
Joseph joins my family
for the evening meal,
the first we have shared
since it happened.
Does it show?
Does my face glow
like the skin of Moses
on Mt. Sinai?
“Shalom, Joseph,” I greet him,
quickly dropping my gaze,
afraid my secret is sealed
in the glint of my eye.
“How was your day?”
“The trek to Sepphoris was grueling
in this midsummer heat,
especially the climb
up that last, steep hill.
But you know, Sepphoris is
our nearest metropolis,
and that is where the work is.
So, I go.” I nod to show
that I am listening,
all the while wondering
why Mother didn’t hear us,
why a man,
righteous as my father,
couldn’t sense
the presence of God
in his own house.
Unless God did not want him to.
“I worked on cabinets today,”
says Joseph.
“Or should I say
they worked on me.
My muscles scream.
Surely, you must hear them.”
“Poor Joseph,” I tease.
“Maybe I can help.”
Rising from the table,
I plant my strong young hands
onto his stiff old shoulders
and knead the pain away.
“You are an angel,” says Joseph.
I smile to myself, thinking
No. But last night,
I met one.
When Mother greeted me
this morning,
my only answer was a nod.
I refuse to speak until sundown,
this one-day vow of silence
the least I can do
to help me focus,
sort truth from wild imagination.
After all, where is the evidence