Every Girl Does It(8)

“I said I was sorry,” she scolds while inspecting her perfectly polished fingernails.

Huffing in an unlady-like manner, I pretend to examine mine as well.

“So, was it as bad as I heard?” Her face holds no emotion as she waits for me to respond.

“Worse.”

“I’m so sorry, panda. I had no idea.”

That’s her pet name for me, panda. It makes me want to gouge my eyes out. Comparing me to a fat bear that sits and eats bamboo all day doesn’t boost my self esteem. She only uses it when she knows she’s in trouble, forcing me to feel even worse for making her feel bad. Manipulative friend.

I throw open my arms and welcome her hug, then laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“In hindsight, it was a comical situation when you think about it; especially the part where Preston punched him in the face.”

“Preston?” Her eyes go wide. “You don’t mean the Preston from high school? Please don’t tell me it’s that Preston?”

“Okay, it’s not that Preston,” I say unconvincingly.

Her face goes red as she laughs then chokes on her own coffee. “The one you turned down in front of the entire school and lied to? That Preston?”

Nodding my head, I try to figure out a way to change the subject. This conversation could turn into dangerous territory quickly.

“Well, does he at least still have those glasses?” She takes a sip of coffee and smiles.

Shaking my head no, I lead her to the computer to see Mr. December. Her face goes pale as she looks at me then back at the computer then back at me.

“Oh, dear.” Her response says it all.

I nod my head in confirmation as she scrolls down the page. “Oh, Amanda, look. You can buy the calendar.”

“Oh, I didn’t see that. Look a bird.” I point out my window and quickly click off the web page.

“I don’t see a bird, Amanda. What are you talking about?”

Shrugging, I go into the bathroom to get ready. It was time for Bible study and for church; I needed both.

“Brad said they’re doing baptisms today. Isn’t that cool? I know how much you like watching those.” She calls from the living room.

It’s true. The only time my high-strung, totally in control demeanor crumbles is one, when watching baptisms; two, when seeing commercials for stray cats and dogs; and three, when Leo dies in Titanic. Other than that, I’m strong as steel. Sighing with anticipation, I have to admit the day is looking better. What a great way to start a week!

****

What a horrible day! This is the worst day ever. Wait for it. Just wait for it. The baptisms I was so excited about? They included none other than Mr. December. Trying not to cry when I hear him read his testimony about getting his life on track and joining the local church, I eventually cave. I use all the tricks in the book, waving at my eyes, staring at the light, thinking about funny jokes. Nothing works. In fact I was such an emotional wreck that I had to leave the service and go to the bathroom. Not only was I embarrassed beyond belief, but upon exiting the bathroom, I ran into Preston. He was just getting ready to go into the men’s restroom next door to change out of his wet clothes. Don’t ask me why they do baptisms without swimsuits, must be a decency thing.

He asked if I was okay. He saw my tears, and bless his little infuriating heart, he wanted to know if I was sane. The poor guy saw me go from anger to pain to passing out to crying. I can’t get away from this beast of a man.

Snorting, I wave him off, dismissing him in an inordinately impolite manner. He takes a step to follow me then stops. His eyes turn to steel before he rolls them and walks into the men’s room.

I decide there’d be no harm in doing a double take as he passes through the doors, his shirt was glued to his body. The view was everything I wanted it to be and more. Then to my chagrin, he whips around and says, “You can stop staring at me now.”

I want to die. Where is the chariot, Lord? Come get me! Instead, Preston left me, mouth open, in the middle of the foyer in a panic. I don’t remember how I got back to my seat. Naturally, I went catatonic for a few seconds after his comment. Never had I met a man who could make me want to punch his face while kissing it. I hate him for it. I want to destroy him. I want to—

“Amanda?” Kristin’s voice interrupts my thoughts.

“What,” I whisper loud enough for the row in front of me to turn around with scowls on their faces.

“You’re hurting my hand,” she scolds.

Apologizing, I look down and release my grip. I fear I need therapy considering how much anger I’m feeling toward myself and Preston.

In theory, many of our pastor’s sermons were life changing, and normally I listen attentively. But today my heart just isn’t in it. Annoyingly, I keep seeing flashes of what Preston’s wet clothes looked like as they pressed tightly to his body. It didn’t help that I was looking around for where Preston sat. Did he not return to service? Why would he not return? Why am I so worried? He’s not even around, and I’m frustrated with him.

“Ahem.” Some old man clears his throat behind me. I shake my head and try to concentrate on the pastor. He needs a haircut.

“Ahem.” The man behind me really needs to get a cough drop. What is this person’s problem? Looking in the direction of the offending person, I almost choke on my gum. “Preston!” I say rather loudly as I realize Mr. Old Man is not Mr. Old Man at all, but my irritating fireman, clearing his throat, so I’d move my body, so he could sit.