Page 8 of Gay for Pray (Arport Sacred Sacrament University #1)

Chapter Eight

Theodore

“I THINK IF WE move this section around, it’ll be easier to work in a couple more sources. We need five total, right?” Jude says.

I sit beside him in a tiny study room on the second floor of the library, following his finger as he points at the outline on my laptop. It takes me a moment to trace his line of thought, then I blink with surprise.

“Yes,” I say, startled. “That’s a good point. You’re right.”

He grins at me. “Wow, look at you, admitting I’m right. That’s growth, Theodore!”

I let the remark slide. It doesn’t actually sting because it has no bite behind it. Weirdly, it feels more like the way you’d tease a friend than a jab at an enemy, though Jude and I certainly aren’t friends. This is just the way he talks to everyone.

“Okay, where else can we fit in a few sources?” I say. “Professor Demsky only requires five, but we’ll get extra points if we can use a couple more.”

I expect him to retort with something about how I’m such a lame dork who only cares about grades, but he says nothing, just goes back to studying my outline— our outline.

I came to our first meeting for this project prepared to handle everything myself, but in the time since, he’s done a lot more than I anticipated, making additions and revisions that are shockingly astute.

The finished product that sits before me is truly a collaborative effort, a feat I wouldn’t have believed possible only a few days ago.

It turns out Jude is actually kind of smart.

He identifies another place where we could add a source while I’m busy churning over this revelation in my head. It feels weird to fall behind him in an academic setting, and it prompts me to respond with a question.

“How come you’re never like this during class?”

He sits up straighter. “Huh? Like what?”

I wave at my laptop screen. “Like this. You’re actually smart.”

He snorts. “Thanks for recognizing that I’m not an idiot, I guess.”

“No, but I mean, you never act like this in class. You always seem like you’re on your phone or slacking off. You never show any interest in the material. Why not?”

He shrugs. “Class is boring, but my scholarships are contingent on my grades. I couldn’t slack off even if I wanted to.”

He says it so casually, but I can’t imagine the pressure I’d feel if my ability to go to school depended on my grades. I get excellent grades, of course, but there isn’t an anvil hanging over my head forcing me to do that. It’s purely my own ambition propelling me.

For the second time in far too short a span, I find myself feeling something like pity or admiration for Jude.

I shake it off, remembering my furious prayers last Sunday.

It doesn’t feel like God is answering the call, and if this is a test, it’s the worst sort.

I didn’t need to see Jude as anything but annoying, but the more we’re forced to interact, the more I glimpse a different side of him, a side that’s studious and hard working and stronger than I ever imagined.

He’s carried this burden all on his own without ever letting his mischievous smile fade.

“Let’s get this divided up,” I say to change the subject and steady myself. “We should try to get some of this done before we meet again. I know we’re way ahead of the deadline but…”

“I get it,” Jude says. “Better to knock it out now before the coursework piles up. I can’t promise I’m going to be as diligent as you, Boy Scout, but I’ll do my half before the due date.”

He talks as though he expects me to push back, and I can’t fault him.

Even I expect me to push back, but for some reason I don’t.

I accept his answer and focus on divvying up this assignment so we can get it done.

Even weirder, I believe him. I believe he’ll do his half.

The anxiety I always experience with group projects isn’t buzzing under the surface like it should be.

I glance aside and find Jude typing up his own notes for himself. Some of the brightness he usually carries into every room is missing today, however, like a cloud interrupting the perfect California sunshine. It reveals a crack I never suspected, a kernel of doubt amid all his bluster.

“Are you okay?” I say before I think better of it.

He raises an eyebrow. “Am I okay?”

Shoot. I didn’t mean to say that. I shouldn’t have noticed, but I was sitting there studying him and, I don’t know, it just popped into my head. Why does he keep having this effect on me where everything I take for granted about myself goes out the window?

My stomach knots around the answer to that question, but I’m determined to ignore it.

“You seem different today,” I say, hoping I sound casual.

“Different how?”

“I don’t know. Like, kind of down or something?”

The eyebrow climbs higher. Jude’s laptop sits completely forgotten before him, the cursor blinking in forlorn defeat.

“I…guess I am a little,” he says slowly. “But why would you care?”

“I don’t,” I say.

“Just your Christian duty to check up on the heathens?” he suggests, that sly smile curling across his mouth. It does things to my already fraught stomach that leave me nauseous.

“Something like that,” I mutter at my keyboard. “Whatever. Forget about it.”

I put my head down and try to get back to work figuring out which sections of the project will be my responsibility, but the silence is thick as honey clogging my throat. After only a few moments, Jude speaks again.

“Fine,” he says. “You want the truth? I haven’t exactly had the easiest time here. As you yourself pointed out, I don’t really fit in in this place—in a lot of ways.”

His honesty drags me away from my work. I find myself meeting his bright blue eyes despite my best intentions. I’m going to vomit up my lunch at this rate.

“Well, it is a Catholic university,” I say with no real bite behind it. “Is that why?”

“Partly,” he says on a sigh. “That certainly doesn’t help. You don’t care about this, though.”

“I care,” I say, then swiftly add, “It could impact our grade.”

He rolls his eyes. “Right. Of course. Don’t worry, Choir Boy. My love life won’t hurt our grade.” He adds in a bitter mumble, “Especially because there’s no love life to speak of.”

I flinch. This is exactly the sort of topic I want to avoid with him.

I’ve spent my whole life confused by this kind of thing, and he does not make it any better.

The way he lives—so open, so free, so unashamed no matter what he does—inspires a queasy mix of horror and…

something like jealousy. I don’t know how he does it, how he can sit here and say something like that to me, knowing where my own beliefs lie. His fearlessness terrifies me.

“This isn’t the appropriate place for something like that,” I say stiffly.

“Yes, of course. Wouldn’t want to offend God with my happiness.”

The bitterness finally creeps into his voice, as though I’ve undone all our work toward being minimally friendly project partners with that single sentence.

Well, it’s true, though. This isn’t the university you come to to have “college experiences,” especially queer college experiences.

He should have gone somewhere else if that’s what he wanted.

Though, he couldn’t, could he? He didn’t have his pick of several schools like I did.

He had to go with the one that offered him financial aid, even if it meant being one of the only openly gay students at a Catholic university.

“Actually,” he says, “I’m going to a party on Saturday.”

He throws this out like it’s some kind of prize he won, but I’m the wrong person to try to impress that way. I’ve never been to a party on campus, and I probably never will.

“Apparently it’s going to be pretty crazy,” he goes on. “Some frat house that’s known for throwing some real ragers. You could go if you weren’t allergic to fun.”

It’s a jab, and an obvious one at that, but I resist rising to the bait.

Something about this whole study session has me wanting to push back, to surprise him, to subvert his expectations.

For some reason, I care about shocking him.

I know he’s only telling me this because he thinks I’ll be appalled and quote some piece of scripture at him, and while I certainly could do that, I don’t let myself.

Jude wants to see me as what he thinks of as a religious nut, but he knows nothing about me.

He’s operating purely on assumptions, and for some reason I simply can’t let that stand.

Perhaps that’s why I say the dumbest thing I possibly can.

“Fine. I’ll go.”

He sits up straighter and blinks. I’ll admit it takes an effort for me to resist doing the same.

Those words hang in the air between us as though someone else said them.

I don’t go to parties. I never go to parties.

I’ve never had any interest in going to a party.

I don’t drink, I don’t do drugs, and I’ve certainly never had sex.

There is nothing for me in an environment like that except for all the sins and vices I’ve dedicated my life to avoiding.

But some part of me can’t let him goad me like that and get away with it.

He thinks I’m a stuck up boy scout who never has fun?

Fine, I’ll prove him wrong, even if it comes at the cost of ruining my Saturday night study plans.

I’ll show him I’m more than what he paints me as, future Catholic priest or not.

Bravado tingles through me, leaving me jittery as it hits me that I really will go through with this just to subvert his expectations.

I don’t know why I care so much, but now that I’ve thrown myself into the fire, I find that I’m determined to withstand the heat.

“Are you serious?” he says.

“Absolutely.”

“But you’re…”

“How can I minister to my future flock without experiencing the same worldly temptations they will?”

“Do you even party? Do you even drink?” Jude says.

“No, but I’m still a college student. Isn’t this what college students do?”

“Yes, but it’s not what you do.”

“Like I said, worldly temptations. It will make me a better priest some day. You can’t guide people’s spiritual lives if you know nothing about their mortal lives.”

The excuse sounds ridiculous even to me, but Jude just sits there gaping at me.

I hold his gaze and refuse to back down, meeting him stare for stare as tension trembles between us.

Then a slow smile crawls across his face and a twinkle lights those pale eyes.

He sizes me up, taking my measure in a glance, and I try to suppress a shudder.

“Fine,” he says. “I already have your number because of this stupid project. I’ll text you on Saturday. You can go with me and my roommate. Do you know Nick? He’s also in the choir. You might recognize him.”

I don’t, but I nod as though this is all perfectly normal and sane, as though I’m not doing the absolute dumbest thing I’ve ever done.

My heart beats at my chest like it means to flee before this disaster can unfold, but we’re stuck on this crazy ride now and there’s no getting off.

I am going to a real deal college party.

With Jude.

What could go wrong?