Page 16 of Theoretically Straight

Beams of orange late-day sun streak across the dirty stained-glass windows of the church. Parts of the walls are actively crumbling from the years of neglect, but the waivers on their website stated protective measures are in place to keep people from being hurt during the tour.

I don’t recall seeing anything about them covering possessions, though. Guess we’ll have to cross that bridge if we come to it.

“This place is a shit hole,” Wren says, pulling out their phone to snap a picture of the crooked steeple. “Good thing I’ve had my tetanus shot.”

Freddy paces back and forth along the trunk of Wren’s car, chewing on his thumbnail. “Why are we doing this again?”

“Because it’s fun,” I remind him. “Come on, aren’t you at least a little curious about this place? It’s been here forever.”

“Curious?” Freddy shakes his head. “Not in the slightest. Weirded out? Absolutely. Mybisabuelaused to talk about this place when we’d visit her in hospice. She went to school here when she was little. They ran a girls’ school out of the basement back then. Of course, that was, like, in the fifties, so who knows what kind of crazy shit actually went on. She was eight when that fire broke out, and it destroyed all the classrooms. She told us it was because this place was, like, a gate to hell, and the devil himself was trying to crawl through.”

Wren gives me a puzzled look. “Oh really? Because what I heard is that one of the nuns kept smoking behind the schoolhouse and flicked a cigarette into the bushes. But your story about a hell gate is much more entertaining.”

“Either way,” I say, stepping between Wren and Freddy and linking arms with them. “It’s an interesting story. Now come on, we need to get in line before our time slot starts.”

Freddy whines as we move towards the crowd of people lining the sidewalk leading to the stone steps of the church entrance. A faded wooden sign hangs crooked from a post, the faded letters spelling out “Saint Catherine of Bologna Catholic Church.” Now, I’m not exactly an expert when it comes to saints, but it wouldn’t surprise me if she were the saint of deli meats.

“Okay, so there was the fire in nineteen-fifty-two,” Wren says, pulling out their phone. “Then there was that dead body they found shoved into the confessional in seventy-four. Then, in the eighties, a kid went missing from mass one Sunday, and they still have no idea what happened to him. Was that everything?”

“You forgot the priest that hung himself in sixty-two,” I remind them.

“Ah, yes. We wouldn’t want to forget them, would we?” Freddy groans, shaking his head. “I’m starting to thinkBisabuelawas onto something here. This place is a nightmare.”

“Relax,” I try to comfort him as we join the line. “Harry went through the whole list on his video, and most of the stuff has been hella exaggerated.”

“Do you think he’ll end up doing an overnight stay here?” Wren asks.

“Who knows? I’m sure he’s got a lot more interesting places to visit than Specter, Georgia.”

The idea of Hudson coming here is honestly laughable. Let’s face it, there’s nothing particularly special about our town. Sure, it’s close enough to Atlanta to attract suburban families, but it’s also far enough away that there’s plenty of backward thinking leftover from the generations before us. In other words–Specter is a little behind the times.

“Group thirteen, please gather in front of the stairs!” A short woman calls from the doors of the chapel. “Your tour will be starting in about five minutes!”

“That’s us,” I say, dragging the others along with me as we pull away from the rest of the crowd. “Lucky number thirteen.”

Freddy rolls his eyes. “God, this is starting to sound like one of the terrible movies you make us watch, Wren. What’s next, one of the groups goes off on their own and ends up unlocking the door to hell? Then we’ve got demons running around everywhere, and if they ruin my date with Andrew tomorrow, I’m going to be really pissed.”

“Andrew who?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. Freddy hasn’t mentioned an “Andrew” before.

“Rhiner,” Freddy answers. “He asked me to go to the movies with him tomorrow after he gets out of church. I didn’t want to bring it up before, what with your fragile emotional state and all, but now you’ve dragged me to this terrible place, and I’m not so much worried about your feelings at the moment.”

I hold back a laugh. A date with Andrew Rhiner is not exactly something I would be jealous of, even in my current mood. The boy has the personality of a background character onFriends.

“I didn’t know Andrew was a Jesus Freak,” Wren says, looking up from their phone. “And he’s okay with the whole liking another boy thing?”

Freddy makes a face, going on the defensive. “He goes to one of those affirming churches. I don’t remember the specific denomination. They all run together after a while. But they have all the rainbow flags out front and go out of their way to show they’re not assholes.”

Wren nods, going back to their phone. “Good for him. If only they were all that cool.”

“It still feels kind of weird, though,” Freddy continues, turning his attention toward me as Wren is off in their own world. “I’ve never dated someone who’s into the whole ‘God’ thing. Do you think he’s going to be weird if I want to have sex?”

“On your first date? Yeah, I think that may freak him out.”

Freddy gives me a gentle shove. “Not on the first date, Cal. I’m not an animal. I’m talking eventually. If we last that long.”

“How the heck should I know? You’re talking to the world’s only gay virgin over here.” I hold up my hand before Freddy can interrupt, “I’m kidding. But it does feel like that sometimes.”

“You’re no help,” he says, crossing his arms.

---