“You never regain lost prestige by going where no one knows you,” my elders warned. I decided to fix my mistake. I had to get my name back. Tonight Lucy would be at choir practice — perfect chance to see her and beg for forgiveness.
I paced until the street lamps came on. I found a pile of blocks by a house and sat. The dusk had that nervous hush where everything seems possible and nothing is easy. I was rehearsing my lines when I saw him — that ugly boy, JK. I knew he went to the same church as Lucy, but I didn’t know he was a chorister. If his singing was any proof, then God had been stingy with talent.
He walked past Lucy’s gate and, minutes later, came out with a girl on his arm. They were close — talking, laughing, even hugging. I was about to move in, to teach JK his lesson, when I saw the girl’s face and froze.
It wasn’t Lucy.
I’d been ready to confront a cheater, but what I’d caught was JK with another girl. The shock made my legs go weak. JK saw me watching and said nothing. The girl seemed about to speak, but JK hustled her away. She’d probably seen me at the gate—either entering or running out. I didn’t wait to find out.
I marched to Lucy’s gate to tell her what I’d seen. I reached for the latch—then someone opened the gate before me.
Lucy stood there, decent and ready for choir practice. Her voice cut me like iced water. “You again? Still watching? Not enough, eh? Want to enjoy the show some more? Shame on you.”
Her words stung. After everything, to be insulted like this — I felt small and foolish. I started to turn away, ready to nurse my wounded pride at home. Then Lucy grabbed my shirt and pulled me back. She hugged me.
The embrace was tighter than the one at the hospital. I was stunned. One minute she pushed me away, the next she was clinging to me. Was I falling for a living contradiction? I told her to stop. I wanted to tell her about what I saw with JK. Would she be angry? Hurt? Betrayed? I didn’t know. I stood there with the story on my tongue, waiting for the right moment.
No comments:
Post a Comment