me for Pink Willow on Sunday night. Iâm waiting her out. So what if sheâs mad about my nagging.
At lunch, B.T.B. is all excited. âYouâre coming tonight to youth group, arenât you? Mary Carlson had them order pineapple, jalapeño, and ham pizza, which is my favorite.â He pauses.
I hadnât planned on going. Iâd planned on a Lost Girl marathon in my favorite flannel pajamas, pouting about Dana, and making myself sick on nachos. But I canât freaking say no to his smile.
âIâll come for a little while. Just long enough for pizza.â
âOh, but theyâre showing a movie.â He seems perplexed Iâd want to miss that.
Across the lunchroom, I spot his sister at the drink machine. Sheâs by herself, concentrating hard on the choices between flavored waters. She scratches her hair and it poofs up a little. I smile. Thereâs something off-kilter about her.Like even though sheâs hanging with the popular kids, she canât quite get it together. My mind plays out a fantasy. I walk over and lean against the drink machine and smile at her. She smiles back. I tell her I like her hair. She blushes. She tells me nobody ever likes her hair and she canât do a thing with it. I reach out my hand and finger comb the strands until it lies flat. She starts breathing a little faster. And then . . .
Fantasy crushed. Some tall boy in a letter jacket actually plays it out in real time. The leaning-on-the-machine part, anyway. Mary Carlson takes a step away from him. But the boy doesnât seem dissuaded and says something that makes her laugh, then hands her the drink when the beverage door opens.
I nudge B.T.B. âIs that your sisterâs boyfriend?â
He looks and his expression darkens. âNo. That is Chaz.â
Of course. If not Trey, it would have to be Chaz. B.T.B.âs actually working his own pretty good glare. âIâm guessing you donât like him?â
B.T.B. shakes his head hard. âHe is a mean boy.â
âHow so?â
Heâs scowling. âHe thinks I should play football because Iâm big. But I donât want to play football and he calls me names.â
âHeâs bullying you?â
B.T.B.âs mouth locks in a tight frown and he shakes his head again in an equally tight motion. âNo more talking about him. I donât like the words he uses. They are wrong.â
Heâs getting agitated, so I switch the subject. âSo I should stay for the movie tonight?â
B.T.B.âs smile lights up immediately. âWeâre watching Soul Surfer . It is very scary but very good. You can sit with me.â
âDeal.â I pat his hand, then climb out from between the lunch table and attached stool. I wonder if his sister will be there.
That evening, at the church, I park and wind my way inside. Thereâs no escaping Pastor Hank tonight, as Iâve somehow gotten my times turned around and arrive at five instead of five thirty.
âJoanna Gordon,â he says, âIâm sorry we didnât get a chance to talk on Sunday, but I didnât overlook you. Glad youâre here early this evening so we can chat. Any friend of B.T.B.âs is a friend of mine.â
This is getting sort of crazy. Does Pastor Hank think Iâm B.T.B.âs girlfriend, too?
âElizabeth used to help me lead youth groups on Sundays. Sheâs a bright star. Youâre lucky to have her in your life.â
So maybe heâs not making assumptions. âYeah, I guess.â
He gives me the thoughtful look that is the universal therapist, counselor, pastor, pre-insightful-comment gaze. I freeze. I donât need another person telling me how great Three is. Whatever he sees in my face must change his mind about delivering platitudes. He clears his throat. âHelp me set up the room as long as youâre here.â
This I can do.
By the time the other kids arrive,