Page 5 of Gay for Pray (Arport Sacred Sacrament University #1)

Chapter Five

Jude

I PAUSE AT THE doors of the library and take a deep breath. In my entire freshman year at A.S.S. Uni., I managed to avoid this building. I didn’t set foot inside even once, but now I have to break my streak for the worst possible reason.

Theodore is waiting for me.

I check the text message he sent. It contains nothing but a room number, but even that feels like too much. When I said I wanted to meet guys and get numbers this semester, I didn’t mean him or his number . My resolution to find a man is not going as planned.

I adjust the bag hanging across my chest, checking the laptop inside it. I pat my pockets for my keys and wallet. I look around as though I might have forgotten something. Then I’m out of delaying tactics. I must accept my fate and go to the library with Theodore.

My college life has never been less sexy.

The broad main doors let me into a foyer with a shiny, laminated floor.

A hush sweeps over me, making even my footsteps feel loud in the enormous building.

The lighting is sedate, but the décor sure isn’t.

Every wall bears art. Every stairway and railing and corner is ornate.

This could be another church like the one where Theodore and I will be singing this semester.

A desk sits in the foyer. The bored girl staffing it gives me a look, but I hurry past her without asking for directions.

I head through a set of doors and into a big room containing rows and rows of shelving.

The scent of old paper hangs in the air like the dust filtering through the shafts of sunlight cutting into the room through the large windows.

I find a curling staircase in one corner and follow it upward. The stairs creak, the wood exposed for decorative effect. Everything here absolutely reeks of age, and it instills a weird sort of reverence even in me.

The second floor contains a huge, open study room with a stern sign warning against any and all conversation.

But past that is a broad hall, and a little way down it I spot the study rooms. The glass boxes line each side of the hall, adorned by plaques indicating room numbers.

To my surprise, most of the rooms contain at least one student.

I guess Theodore isn’t the only complete and total dork at this school.

I should have expected more nerds at a university, but neither Nick nor myself have ever bothered coming to this place, and none of our friends or acquaintances have either.

I don’t need the number in my text message to find the correct room.

Theodore sits at a table inside one study room, his laptop open in front of him and books strewn around him.

When I open the door, his head pops up like he wasn’t actually expecting me to show up.

His eyes are bleary, and he has to blink before he can focus on me.

The second he does, a scowl digs into his face.

This is going to be a long Friday afternoon.

I head inside as though he’s not glaring his way through me and set my bag on a chair. I sit across from Theodore, using the excuse of the table to give myself some breathing room.

“You’re late,” he says.

I check my phone. “Five minutes? That barely counts as late.”

“We said two.”

I roll my eyes. This is going to be such a great semester if he’s starting it off by criticizing me for being a whole five minutes late.

“Fine, whatever,” I say, hoping to move this horrible afternoon along. “What are we doing?”

He hesitates as though he’d prefer to scold me some more, then concedes and turns his laptop around to face me. The screen shows a word document already filled to the brim with notes.

“Our topic should be predestination,” he says.

And by “should,” he means “will.” Our topic “will” be predestination because that’s what he’s already decided.

“Predestination?” I say. “Like the idea that we don’t have any free will?”

“It’s more complicated than that, but yes, basically,” he says.

“Okay, and where are we coming down on the idea of free will?”

It figures this guy wants our entire project to be about whether God is puppeteering our lives personally or not. I certainly have thoughts about that, but I try to keep them off my face and seem open to whatever he may want to say.

“The point isn’t to take a stance,” he says. “The point is to explore a philosophical debate and be able to present it to the class. Did you even listen to Professor Demsky?”

This time I can’t stop from rolling my eyes. “Yes, and she said we need a thesis. I’m pretty sure our thesis can’t be ‘lol I don’t know.’”

“Will you just read the outline? I already laid it all out. This doesn’t need to be complicated. I have it handled.”

By which he means, “Just shut up and do what I say.” Again, I consider retorting, but this is not worth wasting my Friday night over. Nick and I found something way more fun to do tonight than sitting around in a library, and I’m not going to miss it to make a point to Theodore.

I start reading the notes he typed out, but his document is already several pages long.

My eyes begin to glaze over somewhere around the third or fourth deep theological argument he has outlined here.

He might as well write the paper at this point.

It’s basically done already. Clearly, I’m not a part of this project.

I’m a child he has to carry along to his perfect grade.

That shouldn’t rankle, but it does. I can’t help myself. I’m not going to let someone like Theodore tell me how worthless and stupid I am, even though agreeing would get me out of here way faster.

“I think we should make a strong argument for or against,” I say.

“That’s not—”

“Whether it’s required or not, it shows a deeper understanding of the concepts and a more thorough philosophical exploration of the materials. I think Professor Demsky would be more impressed with that than with some bland non-answer.”

Theodore opens his mouth, but doesn’t speak, simply closes it again after a moment. A tickle of pride zings through me as I watch him flounder and actually consider my answer. It feels way better than it should to surprise him.

“This is my grade too, you know,” I say. “And my major. I do care about this stuff.”

My snappy remark finally jolts Theodore back to his usual scowl. What a shame. He was cuter while surprised. Not that I should be thinking about him being cute. Ever. At all.

“Yes, but you’re a slacker,” he says.

“A slacker? Seriously? Are you my mom?”

“I’m your project partner, unfortunately, and I am not letting my grade slip for you. We’re doing the project this way.”

He turns his laptop back around as though that’s the end of the matter, but screw this guy. I’m not going to let his control freak tendencies dictate my life.

“You can do what you want, but I get a say in this as well,” I say. “What if I simply write the paper differently?”

He scoffs. “You’re not writing the paper. I am.”

“Okay, then what if I present what I want to present instead of what’s in your paper?”

His mouth tightens and eyes narrow, and I realize it’s way too fun and easy to mess with him. He responds to every little jab, giving me far more ammunition than he should. My worst instincts take over, urging me to egg him on.

“I guess I’ll just have to use my best judgment,” I say. “Hmm, I wonder if that kind of proves the existence of free will. Something to consider for my presentation.”

Theodore’s hands ball into fists as he loses control over the situation. For a second, it looks like he’s going to leap across the table and strangle me, but I hold my ground, smiling at him as though we’re the best of friends.

“Why are you even here?” he snaps. “What are you doing at a Catholic university when you aren’t Catholic? Is life one big joke to you?”

I don’t expect that sudden turn, and maybe that’s why I answer with the truth instead of something clever.

“Because they offered me a free ride.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, which seems to be his favorite response to me. The dismissive gesture instantly spikes my blood pressure, and more honesty than I intend bursts past my lips.

“Sorry that my single mother and I aren’t rich,” I say, “but I didn’t have all that many choices. If I wanted to go to school, I needed someone to pay for it, and this is the school that offered me the most money. It was my only option.”

He clams up, jaw tight as he evidently grinds his teeth.

I’ve hit the right nerve, and while I should be feeling triumphant, his chastened response has the opposite effect on me.

I almost want to take back or soften my words, but I clench my teeth and refuse.

He should feel bad, actually. He goes around making all these assumptions about people like me because I don’t fit his ideal vision of his ideal world, but I haven’t done anything to him.

Merely living my life in his proximity seems to be enough to bother him, but that isn’t my problem.

“Sorry,” he mutters down at his laptop keyboard.

His apology affects me more than it should.

My thin veil of anger dissolves, leaving me even more tempted to soften this moment for him.

My mind flashes to him singing in the church during his audition, the beauty of his voice, the brief handful of minutes in which he seemed to enjoy something simply for its own sake.

My heart does something I’m desperate to ignore, and I shrug.

“Whatever,” I say. “Let’s just get this project divided up so we can get it done.”

“Fine,” he says, but with none of the bite he had earlier.

He starts typing, and I let him, calming down the weird mix of emotion inside me in the meantime. I must be on the very edge of desperation if Theodore is having this effect on me. The sooner this gamble with the choir works out, the better.

After a couple minutes, he turns his laptop toward me again. The outline looks more or less the same to me, but admittedly I didn’t read it all that closely the first time.

“I think if we wanted to make an argument in favor of free will, we could still do that in a theological framework,” he says.

I don’t roll my eyes only because I understand this to be a concession from him.

Our project will still be weird religious stuff, but he is giving me an opportunity to express my own point of view by taking the stand that free will exists.

Honestly, I’m surprised, which is all the more reason to let him have the win.

Despite my irritation, I don’t argue with him for the rest of our hour together, agreeing to his suggestions for resources and his tweaks to our joint outline.

He even lets me contribute to the plan myself.

Maybe there is a God because the time passes peacefully after that.

As a final miracle, I leave that study room with a clear picture of my philosophy project and a conviction that we will somehow pull this thing off.

Theodore and I are going to work together for half the semester.

We might even survive it.