No. That can’t be right. She’s walking a path paved in stubborn prejudice and arrogant ignorance. And if I’ve learned anything about Jesus these past months, it’s that arrogance and bigotry aren’t his style.
Noah squeezes my hand. Bows his head. I scoot closer to his side and close my eyes.
Lord, we really need your help.Please, God. Please break through my mother’s stubborn heart. Make her see Noah for who he really is. Please. I’ll read my Bible every day. I’ll memorize two new verses every week.I know it’s stupid to bargain with the Creator of the Universe, but I can’t seem to help myself.Please, God. Please, just let me be with Noah.
Over the next few days, I pray more than I’ve ever prayed in my life. I think I may even be praying, in a silent, wordless way, as I walk out of the movie with Jenna Friday night.
Or maybe I’m just thinking.
Worrying.
About Noah meeting my parents.
“Did he text you yet?” Jenna asks.
“Umm . . . I’m too scared to check.”
“Give it over.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, pull my phone from my back pocket, and hold it out to her.
“Oh. Um . . . Yeah. He . . . did.”
I open my eyes. She’s wincing. “It’s... not good.” She turns the screen toward me.
It’s only four words.
Four words that pretty much cave in my world.
Noah:
I’m sorry. I tried.
My heart sinks into an abyss. I cut the night short, arriving home at 10:30 instead of my midnight curfew.
“It would seem you had a little communication problem with your boyfriend, Faith.”
I jump. Mom was waiting for me, just beyond the door. “What?”
“Give me your phone and your keys.”
“Why?”
“Because you told me you were going to the movies with Jenna.”
“Ididgo to the movies with Jenna.”
“And . . . ?”
“And what? We ate popcorn?” I hold out my hands. “After the movie, we went to Pizza Hut and gorged ourselves on breadsticks. Then I came home.”
“And when did you meet up with that Noah Spencer?”
“I didn’t.”
“You expect me to believe that? He came here to pick you up.”
“No, he didn’t.” I cross my arms. “Noah came here to talk toyou. He knew I was with Jenna.”