Fadeaway by E. Vickers (sight word readers TXT) 📕

a seat,” he says.

So I do because

the chair is close to the Kit Kats

and it looks like maybe he refilled the jar today.

“You haven’t been in here since

before you were baptized,” he says.

And I remember that he was the one

to baptize me,

to bury me under the water

but also

to bring me back out.

“I have been praying more since Jake left,” I say

because I know he will like that part.

“That’s good,” he says.

He tips the jar toward me,

and I reach in,

hoping it’s not a trap.

“I’m fasting,” I say,

and he nods.

“I am too.

But I thought maybe my fast

could count for both of us.

This is a day for us to do something

for your family.

For the rest of us

to take a little part of this

off your shoulders.”

“That’s a good idea,” I say,

even though I’m not sure

what he means about

the shoulders part.

Then he asks,

“Do you want to talk about Jake?”

“Yes,” I say

as I tear the wrapper open

and snap the bar in half.

Then I take a bite,

and we both wait

wait

wait

until finally he says,

“Jake…

…is a good brother, isn’t he?”

I think about that as I swallow my Kit Kat.

“You said

‘is’

and you almost said

‘was.’ ”

He nods.

“You’re right, Luke. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” I say,

and I mean it,

partly because

I’m reaching for another Kit Kat

and I want to keep things

good between us.

I’m still

just as hungry

as before.

“What do you think happened to Jake?” I ask.

Bishop Gregersen runs his hand through his hair

and lets out a long breath

as I down

one Kit Kat

after another.

“I don’t know, Luke.

I’ve been praying about it too,

and I just don’t know.

I wish I did.”

Now I have a fist full of Kit Kats

and a belly that’s even fuller, and

I’m starting to feel a little sick,

but I keep talking.

“The police think he ran away.

Some people think

he ran away

because he did something bad.”

Bishop Gregersen nods.

“I’ve heard people say those things too.

What do you think?”

“I don’t know,” I say.

And then I tell him the other part

that I wasn’t going to tell anyone.

“I’ve been praying to God

and Muhammad

and Buddha.”

I look down and twist the orange-red wrapper

of one of the Kit Kats I haven’t eaten yet

until the crunchy layers crush

when I say the next part.

“I’ve been praying to

the Force too.

I thought if God is real,

maybe He or She or It

wouldn’t care so much

about what I call Him or Her or It,

or maybe even which way I pray.”

Sometimes things make sense in my head,

but when I say them out loud,

they sound

so

stupid.

“But now I think

God isn’t answering

because whichever way is right,

the rest of the ways are wrong,

and that’s making God mad.

I’m making God mad.”

“No, Luke.

I don’t think anybody in heaven or on earth

is mad at you right now.”

I squeeze with both fists

until everything is ruined.

It feels good to crush something with my fingers

and let the dark side win for a minute.

Bishop Gregersen looks at the mess I’ve made.

And he slides the jar closer to me.

He really does.

Even though I already ate some

and ruined more.

And maybe that’s why I’m not afraid to ask him

what maybe I really came here to ask him.

“What if those people are right?” I ask.

“Will God be mad if Jake did something bad?

And then he ran away from it?”

Bishop Gregersen shakes his head.

“I don’t think so.

I think God feels a little like we do.

Like He wants to help.”

“So if God isn’t mad at any of us,

why isn’t anything getting better?”

“Maybe it is,” he says.

“Maybe it’s like Star Wars,

and we can’t see what’s going on

in that part of the story.

Maybe if we could flash to Jake’s part of the story,

we’d understand.”

I am glad he knows Star Wars

and even more glad

he might be right.

“Like Luke on the island,”

I say.

“How he wasn’t who he had been

or who he thought he needed to be,

so he left.

But then,

when it was time,

he came back.”

He nods. “Maybe like that.”

I hold the whole candy jar in my lap

and look down

until the wrappers all blend together

and my eyes fill and splash right down,

like filling an aquarium

with Kit Kats for rocks,

and I ask

one

more

question.

“If Jake ran away because he messed up,

can I still love him?

Even if he hurt somebody?

Can I still think he’s a good brother?”

Bishop Gregersen comes around the desk then.

Sets the jar back on the desk.

Takes the crushed candy bars

from each of my hands.

Puts a new Kit Kat on each of my palms.

“Whatever is wrong, God can make it right.

And Jake is one of the best brothers I’ve ever seen.”

He crouches down and looks right at me.

“Next to you, anyway.”

I slip those Kit Kats

into my pocket

and save them

for when I need them.

For now,

I am not so hungry

anymore.

The great thing about the weight room is that it smells like the Hulk’s balls. I mean, it’s not great when you first walk in, but after a while you don’t notice it anymore, and then when you remember what it first smelled like and realize that not only have you gotten used to it but you are contributing to something as unstoppably manly and powerful as the smell of the Hulk’s balls, you feel like you could lift a freaking diesel.

Technically, it’s a coed weight room, but last year they finished the new weight room in the annex. I’ve been to that weight room—it’s smaller, but the equipment’s new, and it doesn’t smell nearly as much.

Anyway, some unspoken rule has the girls going over there while the guys stay here, tucked underground with tunnels and storage closets that probably only creepy Caruso knows his way around. So I don’t even think twice before I go up to the mirror and pull down my waistband to check out a bump on my butt. Upper cheek, and I’m pretty discreet about it, so nobody else in the room even gives a crap.

What is this thing, though? Ingrown hair? Huge ugly butt zit? On anybody else, it would be disgusting, but when you find stuff like this on your