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S
omething about wearing black always makes me feel put together, sleek. I’m wearing a black V-neck cashmere sweater with a tight white tee positioned perfectly underneath. My black studded belt looped through my jeans looks fab with these boots. Noah will have a hard time focusing on Pastor Ed at youth group.

“Thanks, Mom,” I say as she pulls up to the door of the Youth Barn.

“Sure, honey. I’ll pick you girls up later.” Mom smiles and waves. She’s driving both ways tonight.

“Thanks, Mrs. Kraus,” Emma calls as she crawls out behind me.

I feel anxious after not being at youth group last week. I mean, no one takes attendance or anything, but still Emma and I made a conscious decision to skip. I let Emma open the door, and I pause before stepping inside. The drummer is practicing a cadence, and the air is charged. Kids swarm the snack station and gather in small groups, giggling and slapping high fives. I feel like a voyeur, watching a scene where I don’t belong. I glance from side to side, anxious to find something. What am I searching for?

“C’mon,” Emma says, grabbing my arm.

I follow, breathing in the smell of new carpet and gym shoes.

“Ladies . . .” Peter stands to make room for us on a pile of
pillows near the stage.

Emma playfully punches his shoulder. I’m glad they’re getting along tonight.

I feel a magnetic pull toward Noah. Like he was the thing I was hoping to find, and now I’ve found it.

“Hey.” I smile. He snuggles me next to him. His arm feels so natural around my shoulders, like I belong here. I bop my head to the drumbeat. The energy is contagious. There’s electricity in this room.

“Howdy, ladies and gents!” Pastor Ed jumps on stage. He’s wearing a plaid shirt and a hokey bandana tied around his neck. “First a few announcements, and then we’ll get on with the show.”

“Show?” I whisper to Noah.

He shrugs.

I look to Emma. She’s studying Peter, who’s eyeing the tall brunette sitting catty-corner in front of him.

“As a follow-up to our heated discussion . . .” Pastor Ed pauses while the drummer gives a
ba dum dum
. “Thank you.” Pastor Ed nods. “As I was saying, to follow up our heated discussion on
s
-
e
-
x
, I want to announce a rally coming to town in two weeks called The Silver Ring Thing. They’ll have rockin’ music, awesome prayer, and everyone attending receives a Bible plus a chastity ring.”

Noah holds my hand tightly, like he’s willing me to be calm. Like his hand is saying, “It’s okay, Linds. We love each other.”

Emma sniggers and tosses her head.

I pull my hand away and trace my ring finger with my thumb. I don’t want to be a conspirator on this. I don’t want to hide something from God. I feel nervous again, like I need to find something I’ve lost. What have I lost?

Oh, God, what have I done?
I press my lips together tighter
than an eyelash curler clamping.

A month ago I would have urged Emma to come with me to the rally, especially if it had great tunes. Now neither of us can go. We’ve lost the right. What I’ve lost is my virginity! My stomach churns and lilts. And I can’t get it back — ever! Beads of sweat break out on my hairline. My cheeks and eye sockets tingle. I feel dirty all over, soiled. This isn’t Emma’s fault or Noah’s fault. It’s all mine, and I have to live with the consequences forever. This is something I can’t undo. It’s not like yelling at my sister, then saying I’m sorry and trying not to get angry with her again. It’s not like anything. I was a virgin, and now I’m not! The lump in my throat feels like I’ve swallowed the chastity ring I’ll never be able to wear. There’s a pinching in the top of my nose. I try to shake it away, but the tears are coming. They’re pooling in the corners of my eyes. I’ve got to get out of here. I stand and race toward the restrooms.

“Linds, you okay?” I hear Noah whisper.

But I keep walking, ignoring him, my back to Noah and the crowd. I can’t look at him. I love him. No, I hate him. No, I hate what we did! Everything blurs as tears pour down my face like hot water from a shower. Pastor Ed’s voice fades into a monotone blip, like the grown-ups on Charlie Brown.
Waa. Wa. Wa. Waap.

The path from my seat to the bathroom feels like a mile-long trek. I walk and I walk and I walk like I’m on a treadmill until I’m finally behind the safety of the closed door. A sob escapes my throat, thick and heavy. I lock myself in a stall. My head collapses on the cold, metal door. Tears pour out for each of the thoughts I’ve stifled over the past two weeks.

• I love Noah. I love him so much. This alone could bring on tears.

• He loves me too. I truly believe that.

• We had sex. We did, and I actually liked it. I wanted to be with him — to be that connected. Everything I’ve ever learned says that makes me naughty. That’s hard to think out loud. I liked something that was taboo. Sounds like the Garden of Eden and that blasted apple. God never said sin wouldn’t be fun. He just says we shouldn’t do it, so we don’t get hurt — hurt by things and ideas sometimes we can’t even understand.

• It was wrong. We knew we shouldn’t do it. Scratch that, I knew I shouldn’t do it, and I did it anyway. I can’t hold Noah accountable. I think in my head I’ve been saying, “Well, he’s a Christian too, and he thought it was okay.” That’s between him and God, not him and me. We barely talked about our views on sex as Christians before we did it. I mean, that time after the dance was just like joking. I should have asked Noah what he thought. I should have prayed about it. I knew having sex with Noah was wrong all along, but I didn’t want to listen to God.

I grab a wad of toilet paper and mop some of the soppy mess of tears and makeup from my face. It’s a relief to let these thoughts surface instead of pushing them away and hiding them in the back of my mind. My thoughts have been there, I just wouldn’t allow myself to see them. The something I was looking for when I walked in tonight wasn’t Noah. It was Jesus.

My tears slow to a trickle. The salty tracks they’ve left on my face are beginning to sting. I inhale and exhale. I’m going to have to go back out there. I don’t think I can. How am I going to do this?

God?
My instinct tells me to turn to Him, like anytime I need strength or courage. But I’ve been ignoring this sixth sense lately. I can’t imagine He wants to hear from me. I’ve completely turned my back on Him. Where else can I turn? I hope He’s still there.
Oh, God, please still be there!

God?
I pray.
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ve made an enormous mistake. I
really do love Noah.
I exhale and think of Noah’s eyes and his soft hands, and I have to shake my head to get back to God. I pray out loud to push away the thoughts that have been keeping me from Him.
I should have waited. I knew that before, and I know it now. I don’t know what happened. I know I’ve disappointed You. I don’t know what I’m going to do next or how I’m going to do it.
My voice cracks as I choke on more tears.

Do I have to break up with Noah? I don’t want to! What if I just don’t sleep with him anymore? Will he still want to date me if those are the rules? I think he’ll understand. Maybe he won’t. What will I do then?
I look up at the ceiling tiles, as if looking toward heaven will give me the answer I want. I stop shaking and am able to catch my breath.

Slow down
, a Voice tells me.
One step at a time
. I don’t know if it’s me, or God telling me that, but I look down and back up again.

Anyway, Jesus, I can’t swallow all of that. Not yet. It’s too much! But I do know I need to walk out there and, and what? What is it I need to do?
The words come instantly and effortlessly to my heart and my lips:
And listen to the message and sing praises and pray. The rest will fall into place.

An overwhelming sense of calm rolls through me, like when they wrap that steaming towel around my face during a facial. Everything around me is blocked out, and all I feel is warmth and comfort. My shoulders roll back. I stand up straight and wipe my
eyes. I can do this. I can walk back out there and not care what anyone thinks about me bolting to the bathroom. Probably no one noticed, except Emma and Noah, and I’ll have to explain to both of them anyway. The explaining will be hard, but walking out there won’t.
God will take care of my tomorrow too
. Yes, I’m supposed to live one day at a time, according to Matthew 6:34. I smile at the way Scripture enters my head freely when I’m talking with God again.

I emerge from my hiding place and splash cold water on my face at the sink. I reapply lip gloss and mascara and am thankful the lighting is horrible out there. It might help camouflage my puffy eyes.

The band is jamming. The crowd claps and sings, “Open the eyes of my heart. I want to see You.”

My feet walk with the rhythm, and my head bobs to the band. A small laugh escapes my lips.
Thanks for the eye-opener
. I smile at God. He doesn’t miss a beat.

I slide into my spot next to Noah. He turns to me with his eyebrows bunched up in concern. I just nod and smile and keep singing. The tunes are a perfect guise to avoid explaining — for now.

Ed has allowed for absolutely no downtime tonight, which is perfect. We go from the songs to Ed’s sermon to some silly scavenger hunt around the barn. When it’s time to go, Mom’s Prius is first in line for pickups. Noah squeezes my hands and searches my eyes. He knows something’s wrong.

“I love you,” he whispers in my ear as Emma and I start toward Mom’s car.

“Me too.” I force a smile.

My bottom has barely touched the cool leather in the backseat when my phone buzzes.

R U OK?

“Geez!” Emma rolls her eyes. “One minute without his princess and he’s already texting! That’s sick!”

Mom laughs. “Have fun, girls?”

I’m typing back.

K. NEED 2 TALK 2U

“Yeah, it was good, right, Linds?” Emma elbows me.

“Yeah. We did this scavenger thingy. Em’s team won.”

CYT

GR
143

I type back. I don’t want him to think I’m mad at him, because I’m not. My “me too” on the way out was lame, but I’m not sure how I feel right now. I don’t know what I’m going to say.

God, I’ll need Your help.

In the silence I sense a Voice saying,
I’m always here.

M
y stomach flips, then flops. My brain can’t focus, and I’m even struggling to pull an outfit together this morning. I settle for plain jeans and a long-sleeved solid hot pink sweater. A pink polka-dot headband makes me look peppier than I feel. I eat maybe two bites of cereal.

At lunch, I try to listen to Emma lament about how her little brother’s Tinker Toys have overtaken her room and about the new songs Raven downloaded last night and about the funny book Melissa’s reading and about the fight Gracie and her brother got in this morning over hogging the bathroom. But I keep glancing at the clock, counting the minutes until Noah appears.

“Hey, Linds.” Noah’s voice sounds mechanical behind me. I turn and force a half smile. He tilts his head toward a small empty table. I nod and scoot out of my chair.

“See ya.’” I wave to my friends and raise my eyebrows. None of them have a clue what I’ve done, or what I’m about to do.

Dear God, please help me through this. I know it’s all my fault, but I need You so much.

“So, are you okay?” Noah asks as we sit down.

I scrunch my nose to push back the tears.

“Hey,” he whispers and gently cradles both of my hands in his warm, strong ones. “Are you okay? Are we okay?” His voice quivers.

I nod so many times, I feel like a bobble head. I inhale and look down at our fingers. “It’s the chastity ring thing.” My words come out, but each one feels like it has to climb over a bump to escape my mouth.

Noah nods and keeps rubbing my fingers, waiting for me to say more.

“I always thought I’d get one, and now — ” My voice breaks.

“You don’t need one.” Noah’s lips curve into a half grin. “Wow, Linds, I thought you were going to break up with me.” He lets go and leans way back in his chair. My Noah is back — the relaxed, in-control Noah.

My words come more freely, since he’s at ease. “I can’t have one.” I shake my head. “Can’t you see, we shouldn’t have . . . you know, we should have waited.”

“Waited for what? For marriage?”

I nod.

“Linds, we don’t need that. You know I love you, and if I haven’t told you . . .” Noah leans forward so close his nose almost touches mine. “I’m going to marry you. I want that with you. I want a house and kids and everything.”

I feel like I’ve had an extreme makeover! Before picture: I’m nervous, anxious, and scared Noah will never want to speak to me again. After picture: I’m relieved, elated, excited. My whole future, with Noah, is ahead of me. I feel my heart pounding inside my chest like stilettos on pavement.

“You do?” I eek. A tear escapes my right eye and darts down my cheek. I wipe it, laughing, with the backside of my hand.

“Yeah.” There are tears in the corners of Noah’s mossy eyes too, confirming his love, melting my concerns.

All other thoughts fly from my head. Noah wants to marry me!
That’s different, God, right?
I don’t wait for God’s reply. This is too good to be true!

“Me too.”

“So, we’re good. I mean, we’re great!” He laughs thick and full, like his laugh came from all those hockey pads he wears. “I mean, I know the Bible says that we’re supposed to wait, but in the Bible all those people got married when they were like thirteen or something! We’re older than that already, and we’re going to get married. We both want that.” He gives a cockeyed grin. “We both want that,” he whispers.

I nod. I want that too. It feels like that’s all I want.

“Making love with you just makes me feel closer to you.” Noah squeezes my hands.

Brrriinnng!

Chairs squeak across the floor, shoes pound the ground, books slam, and trash whooshes into garbage cans. Hundreds of conversations buzz around us.

“I can’t get another tardy in calculus.” Noah grins. “Call me after practice this afternoon?” He leans in to kiss me.

I instinctively take a step back, smile, and shake my finger.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, no PDA! Whatever!” He turns.

“I love you.” I blow him a kiss.

“Me too, Mrs. Hornung.” Noah winks and disappears in the crowd.

Mrs. Hornung? Wow, he really wants to marry me!