Never Enough (37 page)

Whatever. So what if they don’t want me in their stupid inner circle. My own circle’s coming together and it’ll be much better than their little saintly one.

I collapse into the front seat of her Toyota and decide once again that I’ll have to try harder to get Dad to take me driving so I can finally get my license. Then I won’t have to ask Faith for anything, won’t have to concern myself with what she and her friends are up to. Swiping the chip bags from around my feet, I shove them into her already full garbage bag. As I reach for one more wrapper on the dash, a new sticker above the stereo catches my eye. Or at least it wasn’t here the last time I was in this traveling garbage dump. The round yellow sticker has an artsy cross on it. Almost scribbled-looking, but pre-printed on there.

Faith slides into the driver’s seat and I’m about to reprimand her for defacing her vehicle—I mean, at least she has one—but I stop myself when I see the tense look on her face.

“All worked out?” I ask, even though I know Faith almost always gets her way with Celeste.

“You need a ride home, too?” she asks, backing out and then driving down the street with her eyes straight ahead. Her fingers grip the steering wheel at ten and two like it’s a life preserver.

“No. Amy’ll drop me.” I haven’t thought of a reason why
Amy
couldn’t pick me up, and I hope Faith won’t think to ask.

Her hands loosen and drop to the lower half of the wheel. She nods, apparently relieved that I’m not going to be any more of a burden. For a second I wonder why things had to
change between us. Why aren’t we still friends, or at least siblings who can have a normal conversation? But the thought is gone as soon as it enters my head.

After stopping at the corner gas station, she reaches to turn on the radio, confirming there’ll be no sisterly chatter on the car ride over. Once she starts singing along, I decide I much prefer listening to her singing voice over arguing with her anyway. I nudge the radio volume down. Faith is used to this move of mine, and keeps singing without any reaction. And this is the way I like her voice—not tied to her church worship group or up on stage with everyone staring in amazement. Just her singing and me listening.

We pull into the large church parking lot, and Faith backs into a spot near the perimeter. She turns off the engine and we sit there, both staring ahead at the looming steeple.

“You okay, then?” Faith asks after several seconds.

I take that as my cue to reach for the door handle. “Sure.” Something in me wonders if I should ask her the same question. “Are you—”

But a dark-haired girl with a ponytail scurries over to the driver’s side and interrupts us. “Faith, oh my gosh, it’s so good to see you!”

Faith and I get out on either side, and I raise my eyebrows. Only at church can people get so excited to see each other after only a day or two apart.

“Oh, you brought your sister.” The girl nods approvingly.

I pull my arms across my chest and feel the scratchy condom wrapper I’d stashed in my bra. More teens move in toward Faith, toward us, and I get a mental picture of them grabbing my hands and singing “Kumbaya.”

And just then, Faith’s dark-haired friend makes her way around the car with a hand outstretched. I stare down at it.

“I’m not staying,” I say, tucking my hands behind my back. “I mean, I’m meeting someone . . . over there.” I point over my shoulder. “Thanks for the ride,” I call out, but Faith waves me off, since she’s now surrounded by several of her elated youth-group buddies.

I dash across the street and make a show of ducking into the Rio Café. After waiting a few minutes to make sure it’s safe, I slip out into the dark alley alongside the coffee shop and race through to the next street over. The street is deserted and I hug my purse to my chest. I wish Dustin could pick me up in front of the coffee shop, but I can’t chance Faith catching sight of me heading back to the house with my boyfriend.

I slink into the shadow of the art supplies store so I won’t be obvious to any stray, lonely men driving past, and pull out my cell phone. After checking the street sign, I text Dustin with the coordinates.

I snap my phone shut and blow on my sweaty palms.
What if I’m not ready?
Dustin’s been patient—too patient,
Amy says. And now that I’ve given him so many hints, how could I say no?

I won’t,
I decide only a second later. Even though I’m not completely at ease with this, who is, their first time?

I look up just in time to see a familiar red Toyota sail by. The smiley antenna ball catches my attention, and I squint at the back of a blond curly head in the driver’s seat. It’s Faith.

Worse, she’s headed back in the direction of our house. There goes my special night with Dustin. Though the thought does make my racing heart slow a little.

When Dustin’s lights gleam around the corner and onto the deserted street where I wait, I put Faith out of my mind. I paste on a smile, smooth down my straightened hair with both hands, and step out of the shadows into the bright lights.

Denise Jaden spent her high school lunch hours trying to tame her frizzy/curly
hair in the bathroom or playing freeze tag in the drama room. She attended the theater program at college, and then enjoyed a variety of occupations, including stage production, mushroom farming, and Polynesian dancing. The first draft of her debut novel,
Losing Faith
, was written in twenty-one days during National Novel Writing Month. This is her second novel. She lives just outside Vancouver, Canada, with her husband, son, and an overweight shih tzu. Find out more online at
www.denisejaden.com
or follow her on Twitter at @denisejaden.

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