Thinking Straight (21 page)

Was that a non sequitur, or did I miss something? “Yes, ma'am.”

“You wrote on Monday that bad words had occurred to you multiple times. Are you finding the frequency to be lessening?”

Just last night I'd changed
fuck
to
heck
when I was talking to Nate. That should count for something. So I say, “No, but I'm finding it easier to change them to something less offensive.”

She blinks at me. “You make it sound as though you've been speaking them.”

“In my head, I have. But on Monday and Tuesday, I didn't change them to something else.”

“So you can see how SafeZone can help you. And now that you're speaking out loud, you change them?”

“I guess that's it.”

“Why are you changing them?”

Okay, I know what kind of an answer she wants here. I decide to give her as much as I can without lying. “They're wrong here. I'm trying to leave them outside.”

She looks at me for a second and then says, “They're wrong outside, too, Taylor. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, ma'am. But I have to take it one step at a time. I've been saying them for years.”

I think she's trying not to chuckle. “Very well. Now, you mentioned you were reported to be humming an inappropriate song. You also mentioned you changed the song to something else when you hummed later. Tell me about that.”

Tell her about it? That's what I did in the MI. “I'm not sure…What do you want to know?”

“Were you surprised that someone reported you?”

“Yes.”

“When you were humming the first time, did you sing the lyrics in your head?”

“Some of them. The ones I could remember.”

“Didn't you recognize them as FI?”

“No. Not until Sean pointed it out. Then I started humming something else.”

“But did you understand, after Sean spoke to you, that it was wrong?”

I shrug. “That song doesn't have anything bad in it. So if it's just a question of reminding me of how I was before I came here, then I understand. But the song itself seemed fine to me.”

“Do you understand, Taylor, that you're being born anew in the time you spend with us?”

I want to say I was born okay the first time. But I just tell her, “Yes, ma'am.”

“When you leave here you'll be a new person. It's a chance few people get in their lifetimes, and I hope you will cherish it in the way it deserves. Only God can give you this chance, Taylor. God and the people who love you.”

I bow my head, hoping that will do the trick. It seems to.

“Now, your MI goes on to say that you were chafing in SafeZone. You said it made you want to lie about what had happened because you didn't feel you'd done anything wrong, and yet you couldn't explain yourself.” She looks at me. I wait her out, and she goes on. “Tell me now what you think about SafeZone.”

Brainstorm. “I think it's like a double-edged sword. It cuts both ways.”

She sits forward just a squidge. I have her. “Go on.”

“Well, it can still be extremely frustrating, at times when I feel strongly that I need to communicate something. When I think I'm being misunderstood or misjudged. Like with the sheets in the laundry room, when Nate chastised us. But at other times it's good. Like, being new, I don't know all the ways we're supposed to behave. How we're supposed to respond to things. So it's good to be able to watch without being expected to speak. And, like I said earlier, maybe it kept me from saying some things I shouldn't. Things I'm used to just blurting out.”

She's nodding; good. But then she says, “So, what if I told you I was going to put you back into SafeZone?”

A number of those “wrong” words occur to me at once, and it's everything I can do not to react. As quietly as I can, I say, “I guess I'd hope you'd tell me why.”

“I mentioned that you are a very interesting person, Taylor. Many times, interesting people are also presumptuous. Many times, they rebel against authority. Many times, they find humility an almost unbearable challenge. I think you are one of those people.”

Don't speak, Taylor. Don't speak. Say nothing. Presumptuous; that's what I'd said to John….

“Are you one of those people?”

“Do you think that because of what I did last night? Because if you do, I didn't mean to do anything wrong.”

“No, I don't think you did mean to do anything wrong. And strictly speaking, you didn't. But you revealed many things about yourself nevertheless. Initiative is not necessarily a bad thing, Taylor. In fact, once it's harnessed, it's a very good thing. Yours has, I think, yet to be harnessed. Partly that's because you're young. And partly it's because you are a leader. But because you are a leader, it's that much more important for you to learn to curb your impulses, to manage them, to shepherd them in ways that lead others to the glory of God rather than in ways that break down discipline. Do you understand what I'm saying?”

Okay, this is a trap. If I say no, I get SafeZone as punishment. If I say yes, I get it because I asked for it. I try a distraction. “Are we going to talk about my second MI?”

I hate the look I see on her face right now. It's like she's not falling for it, but she knows I've tried.

“Your second MI isn't nearly as interesting as your first. It's more a laundry list of transgressions, and the one that preyed most heavily on your mind was forgiven last night. And I think you understand now about the writing.” Oh, I understand, all right. I understand you'll see anything I don't flush down the toilet. “So, no, I don't think we need to dwell on the second one. But we do need to figure out how to address the situation that has arisen around your leadership. Were you aware of the effect your Public Apology had on your brothers and sisters?”

Effect? No; what effect? “Some of them spoke to me afterward, that's all I know.” I'm trying not to sound sulky, and not succeeding. I know where this is going, and I can't see a way out.

“They were very impressed. Some of them who typically speak out when the Apology is finished were silent. And as for speaking to you afterward, I don't think I've ever seen residents praise a brother or sister after an Apology. If they express anything, it's sympathy or understanding. Support. But they praised you.”

Thanks, Dawn. Thanks for nothing. I'll have to learn to hide my light under a bushel from now on. “I wasn't looking for praise. I just wanted to be understood.”

“I believe you. If I thought you had deliberately set yourself forward in pride, your punishment would have been severe. As it is, I think one more day of SafeZone will help you understand how you must modify your—let's call it zeal. Redirect it.”

She sits back and folds her hands on the edge of the desk. “You are bold, brother Taylor. This is a good thing. But your boldness, your energy, must be harnessed and directed toward the glory of God. Perhaps you didn't intend to direct it toward self-glorification, but it would be far too easy, and extremely dangerous, for others to glorify you because of it. And that can lead to delusion, to glory of self. Do you understand?”

Am I in SafeZone yet, I want to ask? Foolish. That would be beyond foolish. So I tell her the truth. “I'm not sure how to answer that.”

“Very well. Because you're in SafeZone again until noon tomorrow, you will be released from your work assignment at four o'clock today for Contemplation. I suggest you spend that time to come to the understanding you don't yet have. And don't forget to do your third MI. I'll see you here tomorrow at noon precisely.” She picks up a pen and writes something on a paper. “Keep this note with you until I see you again, in case anyone stops you in transit.” She hands it to me and then reaches into a drawer. In her hand is a sheet of yellow stickers. “Do you have any questions before you enter SafeZone?”

It's an effort to breathe normally. I'm sure my face is beet red, and fury is making my stomach boil up whatever it was I had for breakfast. I struggle to keep my voice even. “Yes. I was planning to ask you whether I could invite Marie Downs to accompany me to tomorrow night's barbeque. But if that would be putting myself forward inappropriately, I won't.”

“I'm glad you understand, Taylor. It would, in fact, be putting yourself forward inappropriately. Not only because this is your first week, but also because I suspect your reasons are not altogether admirable. Why Marie?”

Think fast, Taylor. “Well, she seems to be kind of desperate. Like she's struggling for something she can't quite see. And it can make her seem abrasive. No one had asked her, so I thought it might make her feel better if someone did. That's all.”

Harnett gives me a long look, like she's trying to see into my brain. “Well, maybe for some future Activity you could ask her. But for now, I think you should go with John.”

Ha! So he
is
in on this with her. Otherwise, how would she know there had been any plan to go with him? It's so tempting to say something here. Like, “Did he tell you he wants to understand my scriptural-research methods?” But I just sit there, trying hard not to look angry. Hell, trying not to look like the wrath of God. Plus if I say anything else, she might make me do a Public Apology for my Public Apology.

She asks, “Anything else?”

But I've said all I'm going to say. I was trying to be honest in here, at least as honest as I could be. But this isn't the first time being honest has gotten me into something shitty. If I'm forced, and I'm beginning to think I am, I can give her only what she wants to hear. I can play her game. I can fake humble and harnessed and curbed. Because now I'm in the circle. And because Will is waiting for me. “No.”

“Stand, then, brother Taylor, and accept your mark.”

The mark of Satan? The mark of something evil, that's for certain. She hands me a sticker, I take it, and I slap it onto my shoulder. It's an effort not to extend my arm into the air. Heil, Hitler.

“You have the note I gave you?” Nod. “Go with God, Taylor.”

I turn on my heel and leave, shutting the door behind me as quietly as I can manage.

I
head for the nearest boys' room. How could she do this to me? I was trying so hard! Inside a booth, I stand so no one can see my face. Christ, but I hate this place. How can Nate stand it? And how could he willingly have sacrificed two fucking summers for it
after
having suffered through one?

It's a misery just thinking of what the rest of my day will be like. Everyone who knows me will see this mark of disgrace—and that's what it is now, not an indication of new arrival any longer—and imagine all kinds of things I've done wrong to deserve it.

I did nothing wrong! At least, not as far as Harnett knows. Unless Nate isn't what he pretends to be. Unless he's really some kind of mole, tempting kids like me and trapping them. Is that what's going on?

No. It can't be. For one thing, I refuse to allow myself to fall back into the state of confusion I was in before he conscripted me. For another, it just feels wrong. He's good at this game, but he can't be
that
good.

Shit. He'll see this sticker, too. He'll think I've done something wrong. Something that might disqualify me from the circle, and he won't be able to ask me what. At the very least, it will alert him that Harnett's got her eye on me.

Will I still be able to go to the meeting tonight? And if I do, can I talk?

I want to hit something so badly! My eye falls on the toilet paper roll. If I attack it where it is, I'll catch hell for destruction of property. It takes me a frustrating ninety seconds to figure out how to release the thing from its holder. Then I pound it.

I don't even put it back on the holder when I leave the booth.

What a rebel. (Sarcasm alert.) I used to be pretty gutsy. What the hell's happening to me?

I'll have to go back to the laundry room now, where pissy little Sheldon will see this and be glad he's such a coward. Well, if I'm yellow on the outside, he's yellow on the inside. I will not be humbled. And even more, I will not be humiliated. I stand in front of the mirror and square my shoulders. Chin up, Taylor! Look 'em in the eye, and smirk!

Back at the laundry room, I show Sean my note. He starts to take it, but Harnett had said to keep it, so I pull my hand back. Sean looks up at me.

“What's going on? Oh…” And he sees the sticker. He closes his eyes and works his jaw for a second. “You need to keep this note?”

Nod.

“I, uh, I'm sorry, Taylor. I dunno what to say.” He looks around like he also doesn't know what to do next. Then he says, “I put someone else on with Sheldon, so why don't you portion out detergent again. Do you remember where everything is?”

Nod. This could be worse; at least I don't have to watch Sheldon avoid my eyes as we fold sheets together.

I'm hard at work, if this can be said to be work, when I sense someone near me. I turn. It's Nate. He opens his mouth like he's going to say something, but then he sees the sticker. The tiniest gasp escapes him. He pretends he needs to get something on a shelf over my head, and under his breath he says, “Do you still want to come tonight? Nod or shake.”

Nod.

He busies himself with something, not looking at me. Still very quiet, he says, “Please remember that if anything has happened that jeopardizes the circle, you shouldn't come. Has it?” I shake my head. “Okay, then. But you won't be able to speak. If anyone asks you tomorrow if you spoke at any time, you need to be able to say no and not lie. Do you understand?”

I'm getting a little tired of people asking me if I understand things I don't like. But there's nothing for it. So I nod again. And he leaves.

At least I'm not forbidden access to the circle. And maybe he'll let me write out for him what happened. There's hope. Meanwhile, though, my meeting with Harnett made me miss break period for the laundry room. Did Will come back? Did Nate give him my message? Did I miss a chance to know that he was near me? I can't even ask! I'm angrier than ever now.

Charles is not waiting for me for lunch. He doesn't know yet about the SafeZone. But I miss him. I'm standing alone, tray in hand and looking for the least conspicuous landing spot, when Nate appears next to me. “Come on,” he says, and I follow him.

We sit at a table where Dawn and some kid I don't know are already settled. Nate says, “Dave Ivy, this is Taylor Adams. Taylor, Dave is in the same prayer group as John McAndrews.”

This puts me on my guard immediately, but one look at his face—the wry grin and the tiny nod—makes me like Dave. He's saying, silently, “Yeah. Lucky me.”

Dawn sees my sticker. She nearly whispers, “Holy moly, Taylor! What's going on? Sorry; I know you can't tell me. But—Nate, what happened?”

“Don't know yet.” He looks around casually, but I know he's making sure he won't be overheard. “We'll give him a chance to explain tonight.”

I look quickly at Dave and he winks at me. And suddenly I'm breathing easier. These are my people. The people Jesus sent me to. It'll be all right.

Or so I thought. Suddenly John McAndrews is hovering over us. The first thought I have is that he's suspected there was something going on between all of us at the table. Maybe he even suspects about the circle? Did I do something to give it away? I'll never forgive myself if I've…

“Taylor, here you are. Listen, I need an extra pair of hands in the kitchen this afternoon, and Mrs. Harnett and I thought you might enjoy a change of scenery.”

What's he saying? Is he pulling me out of the laundry room? Away from Nate? Away from where I can watch for Will at break?

The panic must show on my face. He laughs and says, “Don't look so alarmed! You might actually enjoy it. Just come to the kitchen whenever you've finished your lunch. It'll be a nice break for you.” He smiles, nods at the others and then at Nate, says, “Brother Nate,” and walks off.

I throw a pleading look at Nate, but he just gives me this wobbly smile. “He's right, actually. You might enjoy it. And it's just for the afternoon.” I'm thinking how to ask, without speaking and without letting on even to Dave and Dawn about Will, how I'll be able to stand not seeing Will if he shows up. Maybe Nate gets it. He adds, “Don't worry; if you miss anything monumental, I'll be sure to fill you in.”

It's not enough, but it will have to do. Needless to say, I'm in a foul mood when I darken the doorway to the kitchen.

Actually, kitchen detail is kind of fun. It's true I was worried, and I had my doubts, with John McAndrews as supervisor. But he does nothing the whole time I'm there that makes me feel like he's suspicious, or like he's watching me in any particular way. And I have to admit, the place wouldn't have been the same without him. He teases everyone he thinks can handle it and is gentle with kids who seem more fragile.

I get teased. My first time in here and he's got me peeling onions. The paid staff take care of all the cooking, but there are kids doing the prep work. Now, I never had to peel onions before, and I gotta tell ya, I don't like it. The onion juice makes my eyes ache and sting and water like crazy, and when John sees this, it looks like he might be about to laugh—though I can barely see him through the watery fountains of my eyes. But he gets all solemn, takes the knife away from me and sets it down, and then drapes an arm around my shoulders.

“Brother Taylor, I am troubled in my heart to see you in so much distress! Now, I know you can't talk today. Let's see if the others can help.” And he steers me out into the middle of the floor. I'm thinking, What now? Then he says, “Brothers and sisters, as you can see, brother Taylor is deeply troubled. But because he's in SafeZone, he can't tell me what the problem is. Can anyone help?”

Someone calls out, “He really wanted to do garlic, but he's too loving to take it away from me!”

A girl's voice says, “He asked me to accompany him to the luau next Friday, but I turned him down.” Everyone laughs at that one, and I don't know whether to giggle or not.

A guy says, “He just had a visit with Reverend Bartle!”

By now, the room is in hysterics. Even John is fighting laughter. I can imagine why they all think the Bartle comment is so funny, but I don't. I really don't. And evidently, someone near me doesn't either. I can't see very well, but I hear some boy's voice say, “Reverend Bartle gives me the creeps. He's so gross, always touching me.” I know what he means; the guy gives me the creeps, too.

I start to wipe the water off my face, but John grabs my hands, trying to speak, but he's laughing for real now. Finally he almost squeaks out, “Taylor, no! If you wipe your eyes with oniony hands it'll only get worse!”

The girl who mentioned the luau comes over, still giggling, and takes my hand in hers. “Maybe I won't go to the luau with you, but I'll take you to the sink.” And she leads me over there, turns on the cold water, and washes my face with a wet paper towel. Then she rubs my fingers against the stainless steel sink and takes some detergent and squirts it on my hands.

“Here,” she says, “wash your hands off. Be sure you get under the nails.”

“Okay, everybody,” John calls out, a chuckle still in his voice, “I think that's done it for brother Taylor. Let's all get back to our chores, or dinner won't be ready on time.” Then he comes over to me. “All set?” I nod. “Great. 'Cause you've still got several more onions to do!” He laughs again as he walks away, and I guess I have no choice but to go back to them.

But before I leave the sink, my rescuer says, “I'm Reva. And if you take care not to dig too deeply into the onion while you're peeling it, you might be able to keep from getting so much of the juice into the air. And onto your face. Rubbing your fingers on the steel sink helps, too. By the way,” she lowers her voice, “I would go to the luau with you if you decide to ask me.”

I do a double take. Her smile says she's not kidding.

Somehow it feels different being in SafeZone this time. I can't figure out if it's because I know I can handle it if I have to, or if it's that I'm in the circle now and the Harnetts of the world can do only so much to me as long as I don't actually mutiny.

But I do feel weird leaving at four o'clock with the few who are in SafeZone; most of the new kids got here over the weekend and they're in laundry room, anyway. Only the kids who are in SafeZone again for some reason (whether they understand it or not!) are still wearing yellow. So I'm feeling almost jaded as I make my way back to my room to write my third MI—an opus I haven't a clue about in terms of what I can put into it. Oh, and I'm anxious, because I don't know whether Will showed up today.

Jaded leaves real fast. Anxious doesn't. As soon as I'm in the room, all bets are off. The place has been tossed.

Okay,
tossed
is a little dramatic. But it's obvious a search has taken place here. All my clothes, and all of Charles's as well, are stacked in piles on the bureau tops. We didn't have much in our desks—not allowed to, really—but what we had on the surfaces is now stacked neatly in identical piles: Bible just so; ruled pad just so; pen just so; tissues, lamp, and so on. I pull open my top drawer, where I'd kept my diminishing pile of those folders I'm to put my MIs into. Since I've submitted two, there were two left; Harnett had given me enough for one week. Now there are six folders. I slam the drawer shut and look frantically around the room, feeling watched.

The beds have been remade. At least, mine has; it's too neat. They must have gone through the bedclothes, under the mattress—maybe even inside the pillowcase, which I would have thought would be safe. Charles's bed, of course, is always neat, so it's harder to tell, but everything else of his was looked-through.

Holy shit. Nate had been right! Thank you, Jesus, for making me take his warning seriously! OMG, if they'd ever found that article from Will, and his note…Even my Bible wouldn't have been safe. Is nothing sacred?

It doesn't take long for me to go from a mood of thanksgiving to one of outrage. How dare they do this? I mean, are body-cavity searches next? Just you wait until I see you again, Harnett. Just you wait until I can talk.

I sit down at my desk and turn to look around the room once more. I wonder if Charles knows, and if this has happened to him before. Or if it's happened to Nate. Wait—is there any chance someone knew there might be something to look
for?
Could Nate have done this to test me, to see if I did what he said?

Stop it, Taylor. Don't get paranoid. Then a voice in my head says, Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not out to get you.

Stop it! I rub my face and try to calm down. What would Will do?

I close my eyes and picture him. He's laughing. And he tells me, “They really can't look inside your head, you know, Ty. And by the way, the trash has been taken, and they won't come for it again until tomorrow. In case there might be anything you'd want to throw away that might be, I don't know, damp?”

I'm smiling before I even know it. Grabbing a handful of tissues, I step behind the door, where I really can't be seen from the hall. I lean my hands against the wall and pretend Will is imprisoned there. We kiss. And kiss. And pretty soon I need those tissues.