Page 2 of Theoretically Straight

“Don’t drag him into this, Dad!” Grace snaps. “That’s completely unfair. He’s not an adult yet, so he doesn’t get to choose, but I do!” Her glare softens as her eyes meet mine.

“She’s right, Michael,” Mom says gently to Dad, then offers me a sympathetic smile. “Go on upstairs and finish getting ready for the day, sweetie.”

I briefly glance at Dad—an unspoken attempt to make sure I’m safe to leave—and he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Go ahead,” he sighs with a single nod.

I don’t need to be told twice. I swiftly dump my dishes in the sink and make my way upstairs to continue my Sunday morning routine. I can still hear the argument droning on until I hop in the shower, turning on some music to drown it all out.

As soon as I’m out of the shower, I retrieve my phone and scroll through my notifications, checking the socials to see if I missed anything. My group chats are quiet, Twitter is dead, and I only have a few dozen new likes on the TikTok I posted yesterday. The only thing new is a text message from the only person my age who still sends SMS messages.

Sienna

Good morning Theodore!! Happy Sunday! Can’t wait to see you this morning and tell you all about the trip!! <3<3

I roll my eyes and ditch my phone once again to continue getting ready for the day. After a heavy application of deodorant, I toss on some clothes—dark cropped blue jeans and a gray short-sleeve button-down shirt—and my trusty high-top gray Converse. It’s going to be insanely hot because it’s freaking September in Georgia, but I imagine my parents might object if I dared to wear shorts to church. I briefly check my reflection in my bedroom mirror one last time. Geez, I need a haircut—my black curls are dangling just above my eyebrows. I reach for the small tub of whatever hair product Grace insisted that I start using, rub it into my hands, and spread it through my hair. At least the curls are less frizzy, more defined, and not falling into my eyes. Good enough.

By this point, the chaos downstairs has ended, so I assume Grace has locked herself in her bedroom, and my parents have probably already left for church or are just about to.

I don’t think I’ve thanked You enough that I have my own car, by the way,I pray silently.So… Thanks again for that.

As I make my way down the stairs as quietly as possible, I hear my parents speaking in hushed tones in their bedroom. I grab a caffeinated soda from the fridge and clear my throat. “I’m heading to church. See y’all there.”

“We love you, Theo!” Mom replies. “Drive safe!”

“Love you, too,” I call back and head out the back door, already scrolling through my Spotify playlists in search of the perfect vibe for my fifteen-minute drive.

“Can I ride to church with you?”

My younger brother’s voice from behind me startles me, and I jump. “Holy sh–” I snap my mouth shut before I finish the expletive, recovering quickly. “Crap, dude, you scared me.”

Nathaniel is staring intently at his Nintendo Switch and can’t be bothered to acknowledge anything I have to say other than an answer to his request. I roll my eyes. “Sure, come on.”

Sundays are my least favorite day of the week, and I feel extremely guilty about it.

It’s not that I don’t love my church. Church is a lot like extended family members—I’ve known them my whole life, and I’m supposed to love them, so I do. They might not always be the most interesting and exciting people to be around, but they’re your family. It would be wrong not to love them, right?

And it’s not that I don’tlikegoing to worship God and learning more about the Bible every single week. Of course I like it—it’s all I’ve ever known. Sure, the lessons get a bit repetitive and boring sometimes, but doesn’t everything? I mean, it’s truly the least I can do to thank God for literally sending His son to die for my sins. I really have no reason to complain at all.

Plus, it’s easy. It’s routine. Going to church isn’t always fun or enjoyable, but it’s definitely not the worst way to spend my Sunday mornings. Most importantly, my presence at church means the world to my parents. Thanks to Grace, I have witnessed firsthand what it would be like if I decided to stop going to church. And quite frankly, I would prefer to skip that drama entirely if I can.

But sometimes—if I’m really honest with myself—I wish I could skip church like Grace, too. It would be nice to essentially have two full days between each week of school instead of just one. An extra day to sleep in? Or to hang out with my friends? That would be amazing.

But really, I shouldn’t even be considering the idea of skipping church. Just the thought of it causes that old familiar twist of guilt to curl in my stomach as I drive.

I’m beginning to wonder if becoming an adult—particularly a Christian adult—will primarily consist of feeling guilty all the time. Because, as a recent seventeen-year-old, that’s been a surprisingly big chunk of it so far. I guess I’ll have to see.

“I guess Grace isn’t coming to church anymore.”

Nathaniel’s gruff voice startles me again. He’s so freaking quiet lately, which is still a weird adjustment from his prepubescent personality. Only a few months ago, Nathaniel was a wildly energetic and hyperactive kid who was constantly chattering and making fart noises every chance he got. Now he’s suddenly reserved, calm, and generally apathetic. It’s creepy like someone body-snatched the real Nathaniel and replaced him with this freakishly tall boy with acne and social anxiety.

“Yeah, I guess not,” I finally reply.

“Is it because she’s going to college now?”

I briefly glance at Nathaniel’s face. He’s still deeply engrossed in his Minecraft game with no discernable expression apart from his new blasé exterior. “Maybe. I don’t know, Grace never really fit in at church anyway, you know?”

“Hmm,” is the only response I get, and the remainder of the drive is only soundtracked by Djo and Dayglow.

I find a parking spot as close to the exit as possible so that Nathaniel and I can make a quick getaway once church is out, and we start making our way to the Foundation—yes, the very trendy, cool name of our youth center. My phone buzzes in my pocket.

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