Inevitable and Only(38)

Beatrice and Benedick immediately started to argue again, this time about Hero and Claudio, but the rest of the lines in that scene went right over my head. I felt my face burn, trying as hard as I could not to visualize myself on that stage, not to imagine how it would feel to play that kiss with the leather-jacketed guy in the seat next to me. I let my eyes slide in his direction without moving my head. He was very carefully staring straight ahead, still whispering Benedick’s lines along with the actor. I couldn’t tell in the dark theater whether he was blushing, too.





CHAPTER TWELVE


I went back to church with Elizabeth that weekend, because I’d said I would. I told myself I just wouldn’t think about Sam Shotwell. She hadn’t mentioned him or the dance, and I hadn’t asked. Besides, I reminded myself, you don’t have dibs on every boy in your school. In fact, you only have dibs on one of them, because you put on your big-girl pants and asked him to the Fall Ball. And that does give you dibs. But Sam Shotwell can take whoever he wants to the dance.

We started walking down Keswick, and she asked how play rehearsals were going. I told her a little about the Shakespeare Theatre field trip, and asked about debate team. She said she liked the advisor and the other students. Then the conversation flagged, and I started thinking about the play again and worrying. Was Robin going to ask Zephyr and me to kiss onstage? My first kiss couldn’t be a stage kiss. That would just be wrong. My first kiss was supposed to be with Farhan, my one true love. But if Robin did ask, I couldn’t very well tell him I’d never kissed anyone. I couldn’t say that in front of the cast, or Zephyr. I was probably the only person in the whole cast who’d never kissed anyone. From what Micayla had told me, they’d all had plenty of practice kissing each other. And according to Raven, it took a while to get it right. It was sloppy and awkward at first. If I had to kiss Zephyr onstage, he’d know immediately that I’d never done it before.

To distract myself, I blurted, “So, what about the Fall Ball? Do you have a date yet?”

Elizabeth waved a hand in front of her face, as if brushing away a fly. “Oh, that. Yeah.”

“You do? That’s great! Who is it?”

“Just a guy from my math class. You probably don’t know him.”

I forced a laugh. “It’s Fern Grove—I know everyone and their cousins and their dogs.”

“Oh. Well, his name is Sam.”

“Sam Shotwell!” I said, acting surprised and overshooting the mark by about twenty yards.

She looked startled at my enthusiasm.

“That’s great. He’s a great guy. You’ll have a great time.” I was going to get fined for excessive great-ing.

“And this topic is starting to grate on my nerves,” Elizabeth said, grinning.

I laughed, despite myself. She knew how to pull out the sarcasm when you were least expecting it. And she did have Dad’s way with words, his talent for dumb puns.

When we entered the church, Elizabeth dipped her fingertips into a little sconce in the wall filled with water, and crossed herself.

“What’s that, holy water?” I whispered.

She nodded.

I let her walk ahead of me, so she wouldn’t see me dip my fingertips in, too. It just felt like normal lukewarm water, though. I wondered if my Communist grandparents and all my Jewish ancestors were rolling over in their graves.

Mass was a little more intelligible this week—I remembered some of the places I was supposed to stand, or sit, or kneel. I liked that the calls and responses were the same every time. It was like a very elaborate weekly rehearsal. Or maybe it was more like a play, and the congregation was the devoted audience who went to see every single show.

I hesitated when it was time for Communion. I didn’t want to go face the priest again with my arms folded, but I also didn’t really want to sit in the pew all by myself while everyone else went up. At least if I stood in line, I wouldn’t stick out like such a … well, like such an atheist Jew at a Catholic Mass. So I got up with Elizabeth and we made our way slowly to the front together.

When it was my turn, I folded my arms across my chest and then—I couldn’t help it—whispered to the priest, “I’m not Catholic. I’m just, um, trying it out.” He smiled at me and nodded, then bowed his head, made the sign of the cross, and said the blessing over me. Were you supposed to thank a priest for a blessing? I nodded back to him when he was done, and that felt like the right thing to do.

I turned to tell Elizabeth, but she was in front of the priest now, receiving Communion.

Only she wasn’t receiving Communion, either—the priest was saying the blessing over her, too, because her arms were also folded across her chest.

It didn’t seem like the sort of thing you could ask about. I felt like I’d invaded her privacy just by watching. So I didn’t mention it. But I couldn’t help wondering, as we started walking home. Elizabeth took out her pack of cigarettes and held it out to me. I hesitated, then shook my head. “Good choice,” she muttered.

We were both quiet for a few minutes, and I remembered our conversation from last week, how much she’d opened up to me about her mother.

“Could I ask you something else about—Ohio?” I ventured.

“Sure.”

“Well, I was just wondering. I mean, I don’t know how to put this, but I’m assuming—when your mom lived at Ahimsa House—she wasn’t Catholic then, was she? So, I was just wondering—how did you become—”