Page 36 of Anything (Mayberry University #1)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Tonight. Before I chicken out. After my talk with Levi last night, I know it’s past time to tell someone something. It has to be here and now.

Levi and I still go to Praise and Prayer nearly every Sunday, but not together.

I’ve made a habit of praying my way across campus, both there and back.

It’s sacred time for me—time I have to keep separate from the thoroughly distracting presence of Levi.

He took the hint early on and sits far from me each week.

The group that gathers varies, but a core circle of girls is always there—girls I’ve come to trust. Strangers in a way since they’re not in my classes or on my floor, but my anonymity here feels safe.

It’s probably messed up to lean on people I don’t really know more than the ones I do. Add it to my growing list of flaws.

During prayer time, we split into small groups to share requests and pray for one another. God often brings a verse to mind for someone. I always leave feeling lighter, grateful. I need this time.

Tonight, cross-legged in our little corner of the chapel, I’m honest but vague. “Please pray for healing for my”—my voice breaks—“my mind.”

I hate this. I hate the questions that might follow, the judgement, the assumptions. This is more than I’ve told anyone besides Mom and Tess. But I’m trying. It’s a step.

Please bless my attempt, God.

The girls squeeze my shoulders, hold my hands, and pray earnestly as tears slip down my face.

One of them shares a verse placed on her heart: “The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him; it is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord.”

Hugs follow, and soon I’m the last one in the corner. I rise and cross the chapel. So much is left unanswered, but I release a deep sigh as I push open the creaky door. Sharing something was progress. I did it.

Heal me. I’m desperate. Help me place my hope in you.

Kit’s leaving Praise and Prayer with tears on her cheeks.

The back of her gray sweater expands and contracts as she sighs.

I know to give her space on Sunday nights, but it takes everything in me to glue myself to this pew.

I need to comfort her, to fix it, whatever it is.

The chapel door clicks shut behind her, one more way she’s shutting me out.

I need some quiet before heading back to the floor. Everyone’s finished praying, so it should only be a few more minutes before I have this place to myself. I spin my Tic Tac box and slump into the pew.

Finally, I’m alone .

Somewhere along the way, a thrilling chase became a race of desperation.

I’m disgusted with myself. Never before have I followed a girl around like a lost puppy.

Never before have I been shot down again and again.

Never before have I needed to give up an ounce of my pride.

I gave that pride to Kit, but I want it back.

She lured me in so close with affectionate looks and unbelievable compliments and intimate talks …

and then blew it all up with some vague comment about impossibility.

I can’t get comfortable. The air is still and growing colder. The rustle of falling Tic Tacs. The zipper of my leather jacket. The scratchy red pew cushion. And this cavernous room that Kit loves so much.

I should teach myself to forget her, to distract myself with someone else, to show Kit that I heard her “impossible” loud and clear. Ada? Victoria? Chloe? They aren’t Kit, but they wouldn’t shrink back like I’m poisonous. They wouldn’t send mixed messages.

A squeak and scrape cut through my thoughts. Haymitch shoulders his way into the chilly chapel and folds his white cane—he must have walked here alone in the dark. He shuts the door with his heel, casting a long shadow as he moves around the pews, serene as ever. He’s praying.

No.

Talking to Haymitch is the last thing I want to do right now. He’s wise, profound, has a way of getting to the heart of things. I want none of it. Besides, I don’t talk about this. Sure, he’s my buddy, but it’s like I told Kit—I listen. I don’t share.

Did you send him, Jesus?

That’s not the gut feeling I wanted.

Alright, fine …

I pull myself up in the pew and prepare a voice far more congenial than I feel. “Haymitch, how are you, man?”

“Jeeves, buddy. I’m just fine. Can we talk?”

I grunt honestly. My mother would be appalled.

“If you’re up for it, I think you’d better.” Haymitch takes a seat in no hurry. “Kit’s messin’ ya up, huh? Been there, man.”

Oh good, we can talk about him. “Tell me. The girl back home?”

The faint grimace on his face tells me there’s a sad story there. “Another time, my friend. You have enough to think about at the moment.”

I’m curious to get to the bottom of that and surprised I haven’t heard more about it, but he’s probably right. I lean on the pew, stretching my back.

“Wanna talk in my room?”

“No, thanks.”

He knows I don’t want an audience. “So, why you all bent outta shape?”

My mouth opens, but I close it back.

“We’ve been friends a long time now, Jeeves, and I’m better for it. You’re a next-level kinda dude. Smart as all get out and fun to be around. But more than that, I always know I can count on you, that you’ll have my back.”

That’s generous of him. Where is this going?

“It’s time for me to do that for you. It’s time to say it like it is, my friend.”