Anne just stares at the ground.
“Either way, the awkwardness you and your mama and daddy might feel won’t last. It ain’t worth lettin’ some ogre knock you around,” I add.
“It’s normal,” Anne repeats, and I can’t tell if she’s asking a question or making a statement.
“As normal as hoppin’ John on New Year’s Day,” I say, giving her a warm smile.
“What if the person I wrote about is a girl?”
Oh. Wow. For all my two-headedness, I did not see that one coming. Shit. Oh shit. What do I say? What is she talkin’ about?
“Really? Like? You like a girl the way you’d like a boy?” I ask. I just wanna make sure I understand.
“The way you’d like a boy, but yes,” she replies.
I shrug. “I mean—I guess it’s normal for you. Probably normal for a lotta people. Just cuz we don’t know ’em don’t mean it’s not.” I will admit: I can’t quite picture two girls makin’ out. It just sounds silly to me, but I am in no position to judge anybody. There’s a good chance that Anne Marie likin’ girls is still more normal than me jubin’ all over the place.
She looks up at me, and I can see the beginnings of a little, teeny smile.
“You’re a good friend, Evvie,” she says, and I hear her voice cracking again. I don’t know whether to leave her be or to embrace her again. Either could hasten the waterworks.
“That don’t mean my parents would understand. And… it’s against”—and she whispers—“God.”
“Isn’t everything?”
“Evvie, I’m serious. I’ve worked too hard to go to hell!”
“You’re not goin’ to hell! I’m sure they have a special room up in heaven all ready for ya when it’s time.”
“It’s in the Bible. Leviticus 18:22. ‘You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination,’ ” she recites mournfully. “They don’t say a woman shall not lie with another woman, but it’s implied.”
“So? Bible’s fulla ridiculous shit,” I say.
“Wow. Right outside the church. You’ll just say anything, woncha?”
I don’t know if that’s true, but I’m unnerved by how much I just sounded like my grandmother.
“I feel like Leviticus is one a those books of the Bible that was written by crazy people. You can’t take it literally.”
“I appreciate your willingness to blaspheme in order to make me feel better, but—”
“I’m not just tryna make you feel better. I honestly remember readin’ stuff in that book that is positively crazy.”
“Evvie…”
“Hold that thought!” I run inside through the back door of the church, up into the hallway, and Reverend Henry’s office door is open. I race in before I realize he’s in there.
“Evalene! Surprised to see you here! What can I do for ya?” he asks, startled by my abrupt appearance.
“Um, can I borrow a Bible real quick? I’ll bring it back, I promise.”
He breaks into a huge smile. “Of course.” He goes to his bookshelf and pulls down a small one. “This is a King James, but it’s especially suited for young people who—”
I snatch it from his hands. “Thank you!” I run back out the way I came. Anne Marie’s sittin’ on the bench lookin’ irritated, which is a healthy step up from despondent.
I quickly flip to Leviticus and start running my finger down each page.
“Is this really necessary?” she asks me.
“Yes,” I answer.
She fidgets while I speed-read. Outta the corner of my eye, I see her check her watch.
“I should be gettin’ home soon,” she says. The despair’s sneakin’ back into her voice, and I won’t have it.
“This,” I exclaim. “I found it! Listen up. ‘The Lord said to Moses, “Say to Aaron: ‘For the generations to come none of your descendants who has a defect may come near to offer the food of his God. No man who has any defect may come near: no man who is blind or lame, disfigured or deformed; no man with a crippled foot or hand, or who is a hunchback or a dwarf, or who has any eye defect, or who has festering or running sores or damaged testicles.’ ” ’ This is sayin’ that God wants nothin’ to do with the crippled! That’s insane! There. I have discredited the book of Leviticus for you. Your room is safe in heaven.” I wink at her, disproportionately proud of what I’ve accomplished here.
And she smiles! A real smile, a joyful smile. Hallelujah!
“You always make me feel better,” she says.
“Same here.”
Despite her arguments, I walk her home before it gets dark. We get inside, and her mother’s in the kitchen cookin’. She pops her head in from the doorway.
“Oh hi, Evalene. Nice to see you! Should I set another place?” she asks. I glance at Anne Marie, who’s sittin’ in the corner of the couch with her hair in her face, covering her eye injury.
“No thank you, ma’am, but d’ya mind if I use your phone?”
I call Clay, and he agrees to come pick me up and take me home. Before I hang up, Roland enters the room. Anne Marie stiffens. Her mother fries fish in the kitchen, unware anything’s amiss. I watch this man closely and take a deep breath.
“Anne?” I begin. “Remember that red checkered top you borrowed from me?”
She frowns in confusion.
“Yeah. Didn’t I give it back to you?”
“Maybe. I just haven’t been able to find it. Can you check your closet? Just in case?” I ask.
“I’ll look, but I’m sure I gave it back to you,” she says as she heads to her room.
Now it’s just me and Roland.
He holds up a newspaper to block me from his view.
It’s practically effortless. I look at him—as if flimsy newsprint could protect him from me—and his stomach makes a terrible sound. He drops the paper and inhales sharply. He leaps off the chair and tries to run, but he can’t. His stomach rumbles again, and again he tries to move, but he cannot. He chokes back a moan.
“You have
