The Nowhere Girls(14)

After the service, Mom is like a rock star signing autographs for fans. She stands in front of the big, colorful mural decorated by Sunday school kids that says JESUS DIDN’T REJECT ANYONE—NEITHER DO WE. Half the congregation is lined up for a turn to talk with her, to shake hands and get a hug, to tell her how much they loved her sermon, to tell her how honored and grateful they are that she chose this church to be her new home. Grace still doesn’t quite understand how getting kicked out as an underling at a rural megachurch skyrocketed her mom to rock-star status, but here they are, and there she is, amassing her groupies. Dad’s standing beside her, as always her devoted handler. Grace is standing in the corner between the wall and the foldout tables of snacks, shoving cookies in her face.

“Hey,” says a very large teenage boy coming her way, the only young Black face in a field of white. “Aren’t you the new preacher’s kid?”

“Um, yes?” Grace mumbles, crumbs falling out of her mouth.

“You don’t want to be part of the receiving line?”

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Before she can think of an answer, the guy extends his big, meaty hand to shake. “I’m Jesse Camp,” he says. Grace hasn’t met a whole lot of people who make her feel petite, but he is definitely one of them.

“Grace Salter.”

“You go to Prescott High?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too. I’m a senior. Your mom’s pretty cool.”

“Thank you.”

“This must be really different from where you’re from, huh?”

“I don’t know. We’ve only been here a week so far.”

“I guess high schools are kinda the same everywhere, huh?” he says. “Same cliques. Same bullhonkey.”

“Bullhonkey?” Grace says, with what may be her first smile of the day.

“I figured the word I really wanted to say wouldn’t be appropriate in a house of God.”

“Yeah,” Grace says. “Same bullhonkey.”

“Cool.” Jesse grabs a cookie. So does Grace. They stand there in silence for a few moments, chewing. It is not an uncomfortable silence. He reminds Grace slightly of a teddy bear—endearing while not particularly attractive.

“My family used to go to a more traditional church when I was a kid,” he says. “Prescott AME? Across town? You know, the one where all the black people go? All ten of them.” He laughs at his joke. “My mom led prayer circles and everything. But then my sister—I mean, my brother—came out as transgender two years ago and it made my mom kind of reevaluate where she felt welcome. Mom didn’t like everyone calling her kid an abomination, you know?”

Grace nods. She does know. She knows all about a church rejecting someone. But why is this guy telling her all this over the cookie table?

“How many cookies have you had?” Jesse asks.

“Um, I don’t know?”

“Me neither. They’re not even that good, but I just keep eating them. It’s like the one thing I look forward to about going to church.”

Grace laughs. “Me too.”

“But now maybe I have something else to look forward to,” he says, smiling.

Grace chokes on her cookie.

“Are you okay?” Jesse says. He thumps her on the back with his pawlike hand. “Do you need some water? Here, have my lemonade.” Grace takes a sip from his paper cup of watery lemonade.

“I’m okay,” Grace says when the coughing subsides.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she says, but it’s only half true. She may not be choking to death anymore, but she might die of embarrassment. “Tell me about your brother,” she says. Changing the subject is always a good idea.

“He started taking testosterone and now he has a thicker mustache than me,” Jesse says as he swallows another cookie. “The only thing I don’t understand is the name he chose: Hector. I mean, if you get to choose whatever name you want, why the heck would you choose a lame name like that?”

Grace thinks maybe she’s supposed to laugh, but Jesse’s face is serious, so she says, “Oh?” instead. She feels both a need to escape this conversation and also a desire for it to never end.

“I’m sure it’d be way different if it was the other way around,” Jesse says. “If I decided I wanted to be a chick? No way my parents would change churches to support me and call me by my new name. My dad would kick my ass if I wanted to be a girl. It took a little time, but now he’s totally cool with having another son. Like how girls can wear pants, but dudes wouldn’t be caught dead in a dress? Total double standard, you know? Not that I want to wear a dress or anything.”

“Okay,” Grace says.

Jesse laughs. “Is it weird I’m telling you all this?” he says.

Grace looks at his big, soft face, into his warm brown eyes. “It’s a little weird,” she admits. “But I’m glad you did.”

“It just sort of came out.”

“It’s okay.”

“I’m kind of embarrassed.”

“Don’t be.”

“Do people tell you a lot of stuff? Because you’re the pastor’s daughter? Do they, like, think you can give good advice or something?”