Page 18 of A Ballad of Betrayal and Beauty

Then I see her. Maybe Ididpass out. Or maybe I died from heat stroke, because I’m clearly in the presence of something ethereal. Her hair glows like the sun, lit from behind like a fiery halo. As the doors shut, her pale skin comes into focus, the freckles that dance across her skin like the heavens above. Blue eyes like sapphires glance around as the girl and her parents head for a seat in the last pew.

I think my heart just started singing.

The girl sits down in her ruffled pink dress, then is promptly bumped to the side by her father, who seems to collapse with as much drama as possible next to her. He yawns loudly, burps, then lifts his dirty boots up onto the back of the pew in front.

The mother, who has similar copper hair to her daughter, seems unaware of the attention they’ve drawn and sits next to her husband before pulling out a compact mirror to reapply her lipstick. The girl, whose pale cheeks have turned the shade of a tomato, glances sideways at her parents and sinks into her seat.

As the reverend continues his sermon, the congregation refocuses on the front, but not without the scattered whispers that are no doubt because of the newcomers. It’s not until close to the end of the sermon that the girl finally meet my eyes and it’s as if life finally blooms. Her eyelashes flutter, and her cheeks turn almost the same pink as her dress. I grip the hem of my sleeves and sigh. Why couldn’t I be dressed cooler? Will she think I’m a total weirdo?

When the reverend clears his throat and raises his eyebrows at me, I shake my head, realizing I’ve missed my cue for the closing song of the sermon. I squint down at my sheet music—the words are jumbled and nonsensical, but I’ve memorized the entire book by now and can recognize the pattern of the notes. When I glance back up, the girl is smiling at me, her bright eyes sparkling.

I sing for her and think wildly that I would compose symphonies if only for her to speak to me.

When the sermon is over, I regret ever joining the choir, as I have to follow everyone back into the vestibule to change out of the ceremonial gowns. What if she’s gone by the time I get back out front? What if they were only passing through and I never see her again? I don’t even know her name.

Thankfully, no one interrupts me, and soon enough I’m bursting through the doors into the hall for the church social. All the adults stand around, gossiping and sipping coffee and tea, munching on cakes. I’m looking for golden copper hair and the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen. But . . . she’s nowhere to be found.

My face twitches. Did I imagine her? I thought I changed quickly enough. Maybe her parents were just super determined to leave right away.

There’s some chatter to my left, and I spot the girl’s parents over by the coffee cart. Her father seems to be adding something to his Styrofoam cup that isn’t cream or sugar, and I spot the mother stuffing her purse with muffins. If her parents are still here, she must be too . . . somewhere. But where?

The front doors are open, and a gentle breeze blows through. Despite the sweat still gathering on my skin, I head out into the blistering heat, the sound of cicadas and twittering birds leading me. And there she is. Sitting against a tree trunk in the shade, her legs stretched out in front of her and her head tilted back against the rough bark.

I roll back my shoulders and head over with a confidence I’m not sure I possess. When I approach and she doesn’t open her eyes, I clear my throat.

“Hi.”

She squints up at me with one eye. “Oh, hi.”

“Too hot in there?” I ask.

“Yeah. Too hot. Too stuffy. Too noisy.”

Her voice is like music.

She raises her eyebrows and I realize I haven’t said anything for a while. “Would you like to sit with me?”

I grin and nearly trip over myself as I sit next to her, our backs leaning up against the tree. Glancing sideways at her, I watch as her eyes close and she breathes deeply.

“It’s so much better out here, don’t you think?” she says with a sigh. “You’d think God wouldn’t want us to be cooped up inside when there’s so much beauty to enjoy out here.”

My eyes dart around, making sure no one is within earshot. “Careful who you say that to. Suggesting church outside is something I’d get the belt for.”

She turns to look at me. “That seems silly.”

I shrug. “Silly or not, it doesn’t make it hurt less.”

She nods seriously. “I know what you mean.”

Something sinks in my stomach. Does she get hit too? Before I can ask, she’s speaking again, and I’d never dare interrupt her.

“You won’t tell on me for my wild ideas, will you?” she asks.

I shake my head like it’s a rattle in the hand of a toddler. “No! No, of course not.”

She smiles wide, her bottom teeth slightly crooked. Perfectly imperfect.

“So,” I continue, “why haven’t I seen you here before?”

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