Caleb stared at his tray.Somehow, he had finished his fries without tasting it. “Coming outsounds very inconvenient.”
“But necessary,” Francoreplied quickly. “Trust me—nothing compares to the feeling afterhaving given up the biggest secret of your life. It’s such a reliefto be honest, you know?”
“I . . .” Caleb flustered.It felt like Franco was directly asking him the question. Hechanged the subject. “How are things with Drew?”
Instantly, Franco’s facecreased into a frown. “Still not talking to me. Drew could be sodramatic, I’m tempted to call it quits sometimes.” Just as quickly,his face cleared. “But we always get back together. I’ll just haveto be patient.”
Caleb nodded, feeling likehis head was floating on his shoulders. What was happening to him?He shouldn’t have asked Franco all those questions. “I have to go.”He pushed himself up from his seat. “Nice talking to you. Andplease tell Tara . . . I’m sorry.”
Franco scrambled from hisseat. “Can I give you a ride somewhere?”
He shook his head. “I’mgood.”
“Okay, hold on.” Calebwatched as Franco grabbed a paper napkin from the table, and fishedout a pen from his jeans’ back pocket. He flattened the tissue onhis palm and scribbled furiously on it. “Here,” he said, handing itto Caleb. “If you need to talk or whatever.”
Eleven digits stared backat Caleb, written in blue ink.
Chapter 12: MajorScale
It was the samelong-sleeved white polo he’d worn at the concert, but instead ofjeans, it was tucked into the slacks his mom had insisted on.Another difference: this morning, he wasn’t part of the audiencebut the performer. He lifted his gaze from the Bible cracked opento the Book of Isaiah, and saw the rows of faces staring up athim.
The people walking indarkness
have seen a greatlight;
on those living in theland of deep darkness
a light hasdawned.
In the high-ceilingchurch, his voice sounded strange, bouncing against the walls inthin echoes. Caleb had attended therequired seminar for youth lectors years ago; still,his mom had insisted on reminding him of thebasics: Look at the audience. Don’t speakin a monotone. Pause for emphasis. Feel the words.
You haveshattered
the yoke that burdensthem,
the bar across theirshoulders,
the rod of theiroppressor.
There was a time when“yes” was Caleb’s automatic response to his mom’s every request.But lately, his replies had been the opposite, especiallyyesterday, when she asked him to be a lector for the morning mass.She had shot him that now-familiar look of puzzlement and reproach,as if asking, Who are you and what haveyou done to my son?
Caleb wished he had thecourage to tell her: I’m still here, Ma,but I’ve changed. Playing for the choir, reading the scripturesaloud, bringing the chalice to the priest are things I no longerwant to do. Can’t you respect that?
In the end, he had cavedbecause he was just too tired. Just thisone favor, his mom had wheedled.Please, mahal. Thelengthy negotiation had exhausted him so much that after theirtalk, he had jumped into bed, falling asleep right away. Assertinghimself took so much effort. Now he knew why he had fallen into thehabit of going along with what other people wanted.
The zeal of theLord Almighty
will accomplishthis.
There, it was done. Allfinished. He waited a heartbeat before looking up, eyes sweepingacross those nameless faces before him. “The word of theLord.”
When he received theresponse, Caleb took a few steps back, turned to face the altar andbowed.
The walk to the front pewfelt like the longest journey of his life. The skin on the back ofhis neck tingled in discomfort. He forced himself to walk slowly,eyes cast down the marble floor.
When he sat down, his momleaned into him and murmured, “Good job.”
Rebellion seethed insidehis chest. He was angry at his mom, but mostly at himself for beingtoo weak, too accommodating.
At the back of the priestloomed the large wooden image of Christ nailed on the cross. Calebfocused on a spot on the crown of thorns, which reflected a sheenof light.
The people walking indarkness have seen a greatlight.
He repeated the words overand over to keep him calm. They came from the Bible. They came fromthe divine.
Afterwards, when FatherMon came up to congratulate him, he pasted on a smile and replied,“You’re welcome, Father.” That fake smile stayed throughout thewhole conversation even with the priest convincing him to play forthe choir. Caleb wanted to scream.
Here he was again, feelingone thing yet showing another thing. It occurred to him that hisperformance had still not ended. That perhaps, for most of hislife, he had been performing all along.
* * *
“Sorry, I didn’t mean toruin the rest of your weekend.”
Franco stared at himbefore bursting out in laughter. “Is this how you usually greetpeople—with an apology? Whatever happened to the standardHello?”
Caleb felt another apologyrising to his lips, but tamped it down. “I didn’t want to mess withyour plans.”
Franco shrugged. “No plans.Drew still isn’t talking to me—not that I care. Honestly, I washoping you’d text.”
At those words, Caleb’sheart fluttered. Stop it.Maybe Franco was just desperate for company—anycompany, and not specifically his. Caleb looked out the window,directing his attention to the pale blue sky. He needed the blue tocalm him down.
On a Sunday afternoon, theStarbucks at the mall was packed with patrons toting gym bags.Caleb would’ve preferred to meet in a more private place, but thiscafé was right next to Franco’s gym.
Of course Franco went tothe gym. How else could he have acquired those biceps, bulging outof the sleeves of his black Henley shirt?
“I wanted to . . .” Calebfaltered, took a deep breath and tried again. “I wanted to talk toyou about what we talked about last time.” He winced. So much forbeing articulate.
Yet Franco’s eyes werewatchful, his face all seriousness. “We talked about a lot ofthings then.”
Caleb wanted to flee. Howdid one take off the defensive layers that had crusted over
