What Would Emma Do? Part 18

You aren't forced to listen to people do a neckline-to-hem breakdown of what dress they're planning to wear to the spring dance and be forced to act as if you care.

You don't have to worry about anyone catching you rolling your eyes when they talk about how great it is that Reverend Teaks is coming to town.

No one pressures you for part of your lunch, to borrow your favorite pen, or for the answers to the biology homework.

You can focus on the upcoming track meet and practice the sports visualization techniques Coach Attley keeps talking about.

Coach Attley was the only one who didn't seem to care about Reverend Teaks. He was completely focused on the big regional track meet on Sat.u.r.day. He hadn't had a kid get a track scholarship in his entire coaching career. If I got a scholarship offer from Northwestern, this would be his gold-medal moment. He scheduled extra practices for me and would find me in the hallways to pa.s.s me his latest strategy. He had been Googling nutrition sites and was coming up with all these food concoctions that he wanted me to eat. We had a debate about the pros and cons of drinking a raw egg shake on the morning of the meet. Coach Attley felt strongly that the rush of protein would give me energy. I countered with my view that projectile vomiting would certainly be an issue to forward motion.

On Friday I was sitting in the cafeteria (with my pariah circle of empty chairs around me), waiting for Coach Attley to meet me. He wanted to give me some kind of protein bar that he was certain was going to do the trick. I was so out of it that I didn't even know they were planning to announce the top three nominees for the king and queen court for the dance until Mr. Karp's voice broke out over the PA system.

"If I could get everyone's attention!"

The room turned to face the PA box wedged in a ceiling corner.

"I would like to announce the royal court for this year's spring dance, Undersea Adventure."

There was a murmur of voices in the cafeteria and a couple of girly squeals. I saw Darci reach up and pat her hair into place and do a quick swipe of her mouth with her finger. Nothing worse than accepting your scepter with tuna salad caught in your teeth.

"I am quite certain that this year's king and queen and the court will be a testament to our school. It has been a difficult few months for everyone, and I know all of us are looking forward to the celebration of our faith with Reverend Teaks tomorrow and the dance after that."

Another round of girlish squeals. Kimberly was basically crawling up Darci's side with excitement.

"Please join me in welcoming this year's royal court."

Darci sat straight up, her hand slightly extended ready to take the arm of her boyfriend Justin or perhaps so the rest of us could kiss it.

"Kimberly Ryan and Richard Naslund."

Kimberly flushed bright red and covered her face. Richard pumped his arm in the air as if he had won a major sporting event. Darci shot Kimberly a smile before turning back to face the speaker.

"Darci Evers and Justin Miller."

Darci stood up, but before she could take center stage, Mr. Karp announced the third couple.

"Joann Delaney and Colin Stewart."

There was a beat of silence where no one said anything. And then Joann let out a squeak. The girls surrounded her, jumping up and down. Colin shuffled over from the jock table and reached in to grab Joann. He held her hand. Joann was doing the full-on Miss America moment. She was crying, and one hand was over her heart. The crowd yelled for them to kiss, and Colin leaned in and gave Joann a peck on the cheek. The cafeteria erupted with cheers. I suspected Joann's recent ring had tipped the scale in her favor, although it was clear she never expected it. Joann was happier than I had ever seen her. I smiled. She deserved this. Based on everyone's reaction, she and Colin were a shoo-in for the king and queen.

The smile fell off my face. There was clearly one person who was not sharing in the joy of this moment. Darci stood to the left of the group. Justin reached her side, and she swatted away his hand. Her mouth was turned into a snarl and her eyes were glacial cold. I could see that she was breathing heavily, and if she had been a dragon I would have fully expected flames to shoot out of her nose.

"Oh my gosh! I just can't believe it!" Joann reached over to include Darci in the group hug.

The snarl on Darci's face morphed into a smile. The kind of smile that you see on psychos in horror movies.

"I'm so happy for you," Darci cooed. "It will be so much fun for all of us to be on the court together." Darci leaned in and hugged Joann. The crowd oohed and aahed. I could tell that everyone believed Darci, but I could still see her face. She might have been hugging Joann, but I could tell she was looking for a place to stick the knife.

33.

G.o.d, I know lately we haven't been on speaking terms, but please, please let me run well. It matters. It matters so much.

It was possible that Coach Attley was more keyed up than I was. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in a nervous riff and kept changing the radio stations. I couldn't watch him. It just made me, if possible, even more anxious. I stared out the van window as we drove out of town. The rest of my teammates were equally quiet. It was early; the sun was creeping over the giant white tent set up in the Hansens' field. It looked like the circus had come to town, only instead of a ringmaster, we would have the Reverend Teaks. A few news vans had arrived sometime in the night, and I suspected there would be more when the show went live. People were scurrying around and unloading folding chairs from a truck. There was a large satellite dish on top of a truck, turned toward the sky like a flower. I looked away.

The track meet was being held in Fort Wayne. When we got there the track was wet. It must have rained the night before. The rain would make it slick, harder to get purchase, less than ideal. I walked in slow circles as if I were lost. I felt like I needed to get my bearings. A group from another school was spread out on mats, doing their stretches. The meet pulled in ten different schools. There was going to be some serious compet.i.tion. I did a few stretches and kept walking.

The stands were starting to fill. A few of the schools seemed to have brought full sections of color-coordinated cheering squads. They waved hand-painted signs whenever someone from their school wandered past. There wouldn't be many people from Wheaton. The Spirit Squad! spent their hard-earned cheering abilities only on sports that mattered.

I searched the crowd to see if I could spot the scouts. I figured it would be asking too much for them to be wearing the distinctive purple Northwestern colors with a giant SCOUT painted on their jackets. I walked back to our team's bench, swinging my arms to get the blood moving. The voice on the PA announced that they would be starting with the long jump in just a few minutes. A few kids started moving in that direction.

"GO PROCTOR!" a voice yelled out.

I spun around and searched the crowd. My mom stood up and gave another whoop. I didn't know she had been planning to come. She had a giant foam WE'RE NUMBER ONE finger on her hand. I had no idea where she got it. Are there stores that sell nothing but foam fingers? She waved the finger wildly, and I found myself breaking into a smile. I gave her a wild wave back.

It was going to be okay.

My first race was hurdles. Coach Attley was on the sidelines screaming last-minute advice, which I couldn't even hear. I put my feet in the blocks and did my best to clear my mind. When the starter pistol rang out, I felt myself take off in a fluid motion. I was up and over the first hurdle. I could feel my arms and legs pumping, synchronized, my legs stretching out perfectly. I didn't dare risk a look around to see where everyone else was at, but I could tell no one was in front of me. I heard a bang as someone knocked over a hurdle, the clang of the metal as it hit the track. Someone was out of it.

I was up and almost over the last hurdle when it happened. The tip of my toe caught the crossbar and I fell to the ground, my hands sliding on the gravel. I saw someone pa.s.s me on the left. I pushed up and was on my feet in less than a second. Another racer pa.s.sed me as I tried to find my rhythm again. My breath was ragged, but I pushed forward, staring at the back of the person directly in front of me. I stretched forward at the line, barely beating that racer, but I could see that someone else had already won. s.h.i.t. I slowed to a walk, my hands on my hips. They stung, and when I looked down I saw they were bleeding. Great.

"You okay?" Coach Attley was at my side in a second.

"I lost," I wheezed.

"You came in second."

"Second doesn't impress scouts. No one offers the runner-up a scholarship. Second is losing."

"Second is second. You don't know what the scouts think. Let me see your hands."

I held my palms up. Coach Attley poured some water from his water bottle over them and I gave a hiss. He patted at the palms with a towel he was holding.

"Your hands are okay. We should get some Neosporin on them. None of the cuts look deep, mostly scratches. You twist anything? You popped up pretty quick."

"I was sure I could still win it." I felt tears gather in my eyes. I didn't know how to explain it, but I had been so sure that I would win. Everything was based on winning. Winning this race, winning the scholarship, winning a way out of here. I didn't even have a freaking plan B. I wouldn't say that I believed in destiny, but I believed in planning. Everything I had been working toward was based on the plan that I would win. I hadn't allowed myself to think I could lose. I didn't want to cry. Coach Attley was not a big fan of tears. He gave me a whack on the back that nearly threw me back down to my knees.

"You need to put this race behind you. You've got the hundred meters in about ten minutes, so keep walking around, make sure you don't stiffen up. Get some water into you too. I want you hydrated."

"Hurdles are always my best race." I didn't say the rest, but I was thinking it. If I couldn't win in hurdles, what were my odds in the other events?

"You mean, hurdles have always been your best. You've got another race in ten minutes. Today you might discover the hundred meters is your best. No looking back." Coach Attley looked around. "Okay, I've got to go check on Simpson. She's up next on pole vault. Pull yourself together. I'll be right back." Coach Attley gave me another whack and jogged off. Any more of these rea.s.suring whacks and I was going to end up bruised.

As I walked along the inner ring, I tried to figure out what went wrong. I never snag on the hurdles. Never. Up ahead I saw the girl who came in first. Her teammates were giving her high fives. Her hair was braided, with small white beads on the ends. They clicked and swayed together. I waited until her teammates left and walked over.

"Good race," I said.

"You too," she said with a smile.

"Right until I wiped out." I held out my b.l.o.o.d.y hands.

"Doesn't matter that you fell, it matters that you got up."

She gave me a smile and jogged off. I stood watching her for a second. I looked up in the stands, and my mom gave me a thumbs-up. Track wasn't her sport. It's possible she thought you were supposed to fall over. I shot her a thumbs-up back and made my way over to the other track while I drank water and tried to forget what had happened and the fact that the community college most likely didn't even have a track team.

The hundred meters is always a big event, and at a regional meet like this, the best runners always turn out for it. I wasn't surprised to see the girl who beat me in hurdles a few lanes over. We gave each other a nod as we lined up. My brain was racing, but when the pistol went off it was instantly blank. My vision narrowed, and I didn't so much run as I flew to the finish line. When I crossed the line, I knew I'd won it.

The first voice I heard clearly was my mom's, the second was Attley's, and then the rest of my team. I stopped and the team surrounded me.

"Looks like the hundred meters is your race after all, Proctor," Attley said, giving me another one of his back-snapping whacks. "There are some people who want to meet you."

Attley clamped his hand on my shoulder and led me over to the sidelines. A man and a woman stood there. He was holding a clipboard. They had to be the scouts. I rubbed my nose quickly and tried to stand straighter.

"Congratulations on the win," the woman said.

"Emma, these folks are from Northwestern."

"Go Wildcats!" I said, and they both smiled.

"We understand you're interested in our track program?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"We heard from admissions that you've been accepted to the university. Have you made a decision yet about whether you'll be joining us?"

"I'd love to, but it's going to come down to finances."

"Well, you keep running like this and maybe we can help you out with some of that."

I felt my mouth split into a huge smile. Was this it? Would they tell me if I had a full ride right now?

"She's my best," Attley said, standing proudly next to me. "She's got the drive and focus. I think you folks would be real lucky to get her."

"We'll be sending out scholarship letters in the next couple of weeks, along with the financial aid packages. We keep seeing times likes these in your next couple of meets and I think we'll send you a letter that means you'll be wearing purple next year."

I managed to wait until they walked away, but then I gave a yell. Attley even hugged me, which never happens. I searched the crowd and found my mom. I gave Attley a pleading look. We weren't allowed to leave the track oval during meets. Coach Attley was a big believer in either sticking together as a team or sitting in the stands with your friends. He didn't think people should do both.

"Aw, go on, go tell her," Attley said, still grinning something fierce.

My mom met me in the stairwell leading into the bleachers. She looked like she might cry. She held up the letter from Northwestern that I had left on the kitchen table that morning.

"Look at you," she said, giving me a hug. "You worked for this and you've earned it. I'm so proud of you, Emma."

I held on to her and tried not to think about Todd or the rest of them. It was a clear-cut, every-man-for-himself kind of situation. I had worked for this. I earned it on my own. I'd tried to tell my mom about the Barn and she hadn't believed me, I'd tried to convince Colin and he didn't want to be involved, everyone was blaming everyone else, Joann wasn't even really my friend anymore, and Todd wasn't willing to fix the problem any way except his way. I had done the best I could. I didn't owe anyone anything. Wishing everything could have worked out would be like wishing Tinkerbell would come and take you away from all your problems. A nice idea, but not reality. Still, I'd thought winning would feel better than it did.

It seems some prayers are answered, but you don't get to choose which ones.

34.

G.o.d, I'm thinking you might be more popular if some of the people who spoke for you weren't so, well, annoying. On the other hand, at least you have people who want to be your friends, which is more than I can say for myself.

I considered skipping Reverend Teaks's amazing Faith Forward road show, but it felt like a required activity in some way, or maybe more like a dare. Either way, I was going. I did indulge in several fantasies on how I wanted the show to go, however.

Reverend Teaks would lay his hands on someone in the crowd to heal them and they would keel over with a heart attack instead.

Reverend Teaks would swear to be saying what G.o.d wanted, or may G.o.d strike him dead, and then a bolt of lightning would shoot out of the sky and take him out.

A convenient plague of locusts would swarm over the tent (or frogs, or any other icky creepy-crawly creature) and cover it completely.

Through some freak technical difficulty, the live feed would cross with the p.o.r.n channel and pump that into millions of American homes instead.

60 Minutes or Dateline would show up with an expose proving that Reverend Teaks was some kind of secret s.e.xual pervert who molested dogs or maybe cross-dressing dwarves.

Outside the tent, people were milling about, and the scene had the feel of a rock concert. The TV crews were set up on the side, and reporters were interviewing people from the town. I could see the owner of Sheer Beauty doing her best to comment on the rise of teen violence, which was impressive after her years of inhaling perm solution, which had made stringing sentences together a challenge for her. A few of the kids from school were pushing and shoving to have their moment on camera and share how they survived the horror. I slipped past all of them and went in. The tent was almost full. It looked like a few people had come first thing that morning to nab the seats right at the front. The audience was mostly in rows of folding chairs, but in the very back were a few rows of bleachers. I slipped into a back row, scooting past a few people to take a seat on the aluminum bench.

If you looked at the stage, you would never imagine it was in a field in Middle of Nowhere, Indiana. The stage platform was covered in a dark blue carpet, and behind it were yards of drapes in a lighter, shimmery blue. On the side they had cordoned off an area for the choir, and across from them were the cameras. The choir was jostling for position, and I immediately spotted Darci. She had gone all out for the occasion. She had done her hair in a style that might best be described as "huge." Her hair had to be as tall as a toddler. She must have backcombed and used a case of hair spray.

A few of the girls from school, including Joann, walked up to the choir to wish them luck. Joann looked nice. I could tell she'd curled her hair. She was wearing a corsage, just like Darci and Kimberly, the only acknowledgment of their special status as spring dance royalty. I thought of trying to flag her down, but before I could even raise my hand all the way, I tucked it back in my lap. She wasn't going to sit with me. I fingered the track medal I had brought with me, flipping it back and forth in my hand. I had my win, and Joann was going to have hers. She deserved to be royalty; it suited her. I was sure that tonight she'd be crowned queen, too. It didn't matter if I thought the whole thing was stupid, what mattered was that she was my friend and it was important to her. I saw Darci start gesturing madly as if a crisis were at hand, and Joann reached for her purse. Whatever Darci needed, Joann would have it. Safety pins, asprin, Band-Aids, small snacks, possibly an outline from the UN on how to negotiate peace. Joann is that kind of person, always prepared. Darci took the purse from her, fished around in it, and pulled out a tube of lip gloss. When she handed back the purse, she made such a big deal out of it you would think Joann had lent her a kidney instead of a lip balm.

Suddenly the organ music started, and everyone hustled to get to their seats. A bank of hot lights behind us clicked on for the cameras. I could feel them giving off heat already. I was going to end up with a tan by the time the show was over.

Reverends Evers and Teaks came out on the stage, and the crowd burst into applause that nearly drowned out the organ. Reverend Teaks motioned for quiet, while keeping his best side to the camera. Behind the cameras was a fellow wearing a headset and holding up a giant sign that said APPLAUSE.

"Now, now, no need to glorify me, we come here today to glorify G.o.d!" Teaks roared out.

It was hard to tell if it was his inspirational words or the fact that the guy holding the applause sign was now basically jumping up and down in the universal sign language for "kick it up a notch," but the crowd roared its approval. Teaks held his arms open wide as if he was bathing in the adulation. He looked a bit orange, and there was a thin line under his chin where the makeup hadn't been blended in. Reverend Evers looked pale and pasty next to him. I suspected that on TV, Teaks would look great and Evers would end up looking like Voldemort's pasty younger brother.

"We come to you today live from Wheaton, Indiana. The heartland of America. And it is the heartland. As I've been among these people I have felt the beat, beat, beat, beating of their hearts, but instead of pumping blood, what they pump is faith. This town is doing its best to spread the faith they have to our entire nation. We came here because we can learn from the good folks in Wheaton. This isn't a town that worships Hollywood or rock stars. No, sir, this is a town that worships the only one true G.o.d. They are soldiers in G.o.d's army. They are not afraid to stand and fight for him. No, this is a town that puts its faith front and center. They put their Faith Forward!"

The crowd gave another cheer, and the producer gave a signal and the choir broke into their first song. They apparently were trying out some ch.o.r.eography. They sort of swayed right two beats, then left, then a quick clap in the center. It wasn't exactly a move that was going to catapult anyone to the top of So You Think You Can Dance. Despite this, one of the choir members was having trouble. She went right when everyone else was going left. At one point she b.u.mped into Darci, who nearly pushed her to the ground. I had the feeling that anyone who got in the way of Darci's camera angle today was going to pay big-time.

"I'm about to tell you a story, but it's not a Bible story. It's not a bedtime story. No! This story may scare some; it's a story of how Satan can find his way anywhere. He slinks in on the TV and in the records. He hides behind the idea of being politically correct. He whispers in our ears that maybe some things are okay. That it's okay to have s.e.x outside of marriage, that maybe it is okay to challenge what it means to be a family. He sneaks into the hearts of those who are too weak to fight him. And what gives people strength?"

The producer held up another sign off camera. This one said JESUS in giant black letters.

"JESUS!" the crowd yelled out. Say what you will about Wheaton, we sure could read.

"That's right! Jesus gives people strength, but there were people in this town who didn't worship our Lord. Oh no. They were not part of the heartland, for their hearts were black. A nation relies on its children as the future, and there were those here who wanted to cut down our future. Can we stand for this?"