(John 13:7)
Sarah stretched her body, a cascade of cracks running down her back and shoulders. She hadn't moved in nearly two hours, mesmerized by the television as she watched Lilo & Stitch. As the credits began to roll, she thought:
Time to return to reality.
She changed the channel.
The image filled the screen: the news was showing, in brutal detail, the aftermath of the tornado that had struck southern Marston and parts of Moore exactly one month ago. Flattened homes, collapsed schools, stores reduced to rubble, farms and churches torn apart by the fury of the wind.
Men and women wandered through the wreckage, covered in dust, open wounds on their skin, dried blood on their clothes. Some carried children in their arms; others, animals.
The official death toll stood at seventy-nine, with dozens more injured.
Watching it broke Sarah's heart.
"I don't understand how God allows this," she thought.
Sarah was devout. Her faith ran deep and steady. But sometimes, the world threw tests at her that shook even the firmest beliefs—if only for a moment.
"Sarah, dinner's ready. Wash your hands and come eat," her mother called from the kitchen.
Lynn, Sarah's mother, was a woman devoted to her family. Always attentive to her sixteen-year-old daughter and to Nebraska, her three-month-old baby.
"Sweetie, eat before it gets cold," Lynn said to her husband, Jim.
Jim Ellis had his plate in front of him, untouched. He was focused on his notebook, scribbling down thoughts.
"I can't right now, Lynn. I need to come up with a solid sermon for Sunday. Today's didn't go as well as I hoped—I saw it on their faces," he said without looking up.
"I liked it, Dad," Sarah offered with a shy smile.
Jim looked up for the first time in several minutes and smiled back at her.
"Thanks, sweetheart."
"Jim, eat," Lynn said again, this time more firmly.
"Alright, alright," he relented, placing the notebook on his lap and picking up his utensils.
"People say I've got bad luck," he said with a half-smile as he started eating. "They make me the new pastor, and two weeks later, a tornado destroys half of Marston."
A brief silence followed.
"But I don't see it that way," he continued. "This is a blessing. It's God testing me. Pastor Henry always talked about hell, about the final judgment. But I… I want to talk about hope. That's what people need now more than ever."
Sarah looked at him with admiration. Listening to him was inspiring. To her, her father was a beacon—a bright, steady figure, someone worth following.
And deep down, she had only one wish: to be like him. A leader. A preacher.
Someone who could guide lost souls back to the Lord.
Monday – First Day of School
September 1st
The morning air was crisp. Breathing it felt like cleansing your lungs of everything bad. Students gathered in small groups, laughing and chatting about their summer break—where they went, whether they stayed home, how the tornado had affected them...
Sarah, on the other hand, sat silently. At her desk, she went unnoticed. Her clothes didn't help her stand out either—it was 2008, but she looked like she'd stepped out of 1965.
She wore a cream-colored button-up shirt with rolled-up sleeves, a pale green skirt that reached mid-shin, and matching sandals. She was pale, thin, and in the cold light of early September, she looked even more translucent.
Perhaps the only thing that stood out about her was her hair—long, reddish, tied back with a simple band. The only redhead in the family.
"Thanks for the genes, Great-Grandma Nancy," she thought.
She was tall too—five foot eight—with the potential to join the volleyball team, build some muscle, make friends...
Ugh. There was no time for such nonsense. There were more important things to do.
She was completely absorbed in her notebook. Since her father had become the new pastor of Peace on Earth Church, she had taken on a mission of her own: teaching Sunday school. She wanted to be the best, to leave a mark on those kids, to guide them down the Lord's path.
Her mind buzzed with ideas—crafts, games, trivia, so many stories to tell...
But how to tell them?
Many of them were far too harsh. She couldn't just jump into the story of Sodom or Job's suffering. She needed tact. Strategy. Empathy.
"Pssst… Sarah. Hey, Sarah…"
The voice pulled her out of her trance. Next to her sat her only friend—maybe the only person who spoke to her naturally—Luke Andersen. He was sixteen, lanky, a bit taller than her, and his usually pale skin now bore traces of sunburn. His brown hair was cut in a bowl shape, giving him a comical look, as if his head were too big for his body.
They had met as kids, in Sunday school. Their parents, unwaveringly devout, never missed a single service. Luke believed in God, sure, but not with the intensity Sarah did. His true passion was photography.
"I didn't even see you come in," Sarah said, lowering her notebook.
"I know. I said 'hi' three times."
"I was focused on—you know what." Sarah held up her notebook. "Sunday school."
"I don't know how you put up with those kids. I just wanna—" he made an exaggerated gesture as if strangling an invisible child "—anyway, check out what I bought."
He pulled a shiny camera out of his backpack.
"It's the Sony Alpha A900. I almost had to sell a kidney to get it."
"Whoa, and it still has the tag."
"This beauty's gonna get me into The Truth newspaper. I'll be the youngest photographer in Marston."
"You could take pictures this Sunday. Maybe one will make it into the editorial."
"Sarah, my sweet, naïve Sarah…" Luke gave her a mock look of pity. "Pictures of churches, weddings, old people sitting on benches… don't sell. The editorial wants tragedy, drama. Morbid curiosity sells."
"You could go south, to the ruins. Document the reconstruction…"
"There are tons of photos of that already. It was national news. I just want things to go back to normal. I'm sick of seeing the tornado on cereal boxes. I want new stories."
"This is Marston, Luke. Nothing interesting ever happens here. Face it: the tornado is the biggest thing you're going to get."
"You don't see it yet, but things are changing. A new era is coming. A big shift."
"Pff. Sure, you blockhead."
Just then, the teacher entered, dropping her folders and supplies onto her desk with a dull thud.
"Everyone to your seats. Come on, it's a simple command—even a chimpanzee could understand it."
Laughter filled the classroom.
Ms. Italia was a legend at Waybright High. At forty-nine, she'd been teaching there for over two decades. The daughter of an African American father and an Afro-Ecuadorian mother, she had a sharp sense of humor and a natural authority that kept even the rowdiest students in check.
"Let's not get all sentimental," she joked. "Yes, I know, it's nice to see you all again. Even you, Coleman."
More laughter.
"As you may have noticed, there are lots of new faces this year."
Sarah blinked. There really were faces she had never seen before. Many of them. Even the boy sitting directly in front of her was a stranger.
"Maybe Luke was right… things are changing around here," she thought.
"As you know, the tornado destroyed several schools—one of them being Marcy High."
"Thank God!" someone shouted from the back. The whole class burst into laughter, even the teacher.
"That's why Waybright has taken in a number of students from there. I was told to introduce them one by one, but come on, it's not the '90s. Socialize, people. So-cia-lize."
She clapped a few times for emphasis.
Recess
Trays full of food paraded through the cafeteria. Against all odds, the food wasn't bad—actually, it tasted pretty good. Burger, fries, an apple, and a Sprite.
The first days were always like this: decent meals, at least while the back-to-school impression lasted. Maybe keeping up good food for a few months would help students think less about the destruction the tornado had left behind.
Sarah and Luke sat alone at a table. It wasn't the first time they spent recess that way; by now, it was routine—just the two of them. Not even the wave of new students seemed capable of disrupting their destiny of social isolation.
"Do you think I should have the kids build Noah's Ark out of popsicle sticks? Or maybe tell the story of Job using puppets?" Sarah asked while eating and writing in her notebook at the same time.
"Why is it such a big deal? Are you sure those kids even understand half of what you're saying?" Luke replied, taking another bite of his burger.
"Of course they can understand God's word. You just have to find the right way to explain it," Sarah said with conviction. "Don't you remember when we went to Sunday school?"
"I remember once they asked us to draw what we thought God looked like. Everyone drew a man on a cloud with a halo… but you drew a sun with an eye in the middle."
"Well, I can't picture God as some bearded old man floating in the sky," Sarah said, giving him a skeptical look. "He's not that. He's everything. He's part of something bigger."
"Yeah... well, that got your parents a talking-to."
"They weren't mad. Dad understood what I meant. He knows who God really is."
"Look… you know what I think?" Luke said, wiping his hands with a napkin. "You should stop talking about religion all the time."
"You're asking me to deny God?"
"I didn't say that. Listen, to the church adults you're some kind of child prodigy. But to the rest of the teenagers... you're the weird religious girl."
He placed a hand on her shoulder.
"It's not about denying God. Just... socialize a little. Talk about other stuff. Make some friends. One day I'll be so busy working for La Verdad I won't have time for anything."
"Pfff, that's if you ever find anything interesting to photograph in Marston," Sarah replied, munching on a fry.
"I already told you, Sarah. Big changes are coming. Huge ones!" Luke said as he walked away, camera in hand.
"Nonsense. Just more nonsense," Sarah thought, and went back to her notebook.
Even in the bathroom, she couldn't stop thinking about her lesson plans. She was fully focused.
What did I wish Sunday school had been like when I was a kid?
What things did I wish I'd known back then?
What Bible story could help shape good-hearted people?
Sarah thought and thought. She was the youngest Sunday school teacher. She couldn't fail. She had to prove she was the best, that she could change those kids' lives. She wouldn't disappoint her father. She wouldn't disappoint God.
"Damn it!" she screamed in her head, and shoved the bathroom door open with force.
"OW—shit, my damn arm!" a girl cried out.
Sarah snapped out of her thoughts in a split second. In front of her stood three girls from the volleyball team. The door had slammed into the arm of Abigail Jones, one of the star players.
"Oh my gosh... I-I'm sorry, Abigail. I didn't see you. It was an accident," Sarah stammered.
"What the hell is wrong with you, Ellis?!" Abigail barked.
"I thought religious girls were pacifists... or some shit like that," Lizzy, her friend, mocked.
"You know me, I would never do something like that. I was distracted," Sarah tried to explain, sweat starting to bead on her forehead.
"Sure! Focused on this notebook," said Bridget, the third girl, snatching it from Sarah's hands and flipping through it. "What the hell is this? A list of who's going to hell?"
"Give it back, Bridget! It's personal!" Sarah pleaded, trying to reach it. But all three girls were tall—close to six feet.
"Hell no! I wanna know if I made the cut," Bridget laughed.
"B, toss me the notebook," Abigail ordered.
Bridget threw it across the room. Sarah had no chance of catching it. It landed right in Abigail's hands.
"Girls... come on, let's be reasonable. We're sixteen, some of us even seventeen. We're not kids anymore," Sarah tried to reason.
"You're right, Ellis... but you picked the worst time to mess with us," Jones said.
"So now what?" Lizzy asked.
"I have an idea," interrupted a voice from one of the bathroom stalls. "How about you give her notebook back and then get the hell out?"
A cold silence swept over the room.
"What the hell did you just say?" Abigail growled. "Come out and say that to our faces!"
The sound of a door unlocking was followed by every eye turning toward it.
A girl stepped out calmly, confidently. She walked to the sink and began washing her hands as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. She had brown skin, stood about five-foot-ten, straight black hair, and a defined, athletic build. Definitely a sports type. Her dark eyes were intense, full of resolve. No makeup.
She wore a gray top, yellow shorts, matching yellow Converse, and a blue hoodie.
She flicked water from her hands onto the floor, then turned to face the three girls. Without realizing it, Sarah had instinctively stepped behind her.
"Well, here I am."
"I knew it. You're not from around here. You're from Marcy High," Abigail said, scowling. "I don't know how things worked there, but here it's different."
"Speak for yourself. For me, it's the same. And I'll act the same."
Their locked eyes sparked tension—an unspoken war.
"Son of a bi—"
"Wait, Abigail. I know this chick," Lizzy cut in. "You were trying out for the softball team, right?"
"Does it matter now?" the girl asked.
"Yeah. I saw you earlier. You did join."
"So what?"
"We're athletes too," Abigail chimed in. "And between athletes, there's one important rule: we don't mess with other athletes from school... even if they deserve to get their face smashed."
She tossed the notebook back to Sarah.
"Your God didn't abandon you this time, Ellis," Bridget mocked.
The three of them turned and left.
The newcomer turned to Sarah.
"You okay?"
"Yeah... I... um... thank you," Sarah stuttered.
"No problem," the girl said, drying the sweat from her forehead with a paper towel.
The fear of a possible fight was gone... but now Sarah felt a different kind of nervousness—and it had everything to do with her.
"I wanted to say…"
"They gone yet?" a voice called from the bathroom entrance.
"Definitely gone," added another.
Two girls peeked in—pale, short, emo-styled. One had green-dyed hair, the other purple.
"Thought those three would never leave," said the green-haired one.
"And we really need to pee," added the other.
They walked past Sarah and the girl without much interest.
"And if it's not too much trouble..."
"Which it won't be..."
"We're going to use the bathroom."
"For quite a while."
Each girl entered a stall, slamming the doors shut in perfect unison.
Sarah tried to pick up the conversation again.
"Um… what I wanted to say was…"
"There's nothing to thank me for," the girl said. "Just don't go slamming doors into people again. We got lucky this time."
"Oh, right… yeah, I'll... definitely avoid that."
The girl gave her a small smile and began walking away.
What a situation... Sarah thought, watching her leave.
She washed her face. Her body temperature was high—but it wasn't a fever. Probably just the stress.
As water dripped from her chin, she noticed something on the floor: a bracelet. It had a name engraved on it.
It's hers. I should give it back.
She didn't think twice. She rushed out of the bathroom.
"Did you catch the romantic tension between those two?" asked one emo girl from the stall.
"It's visible from Jupiter," replied the other.
Sarah moved quickly through the halls, dodging students, desperately searching for the girl. She turned left—nothing. Then right—still nothing.
Where the hell did she go? How could she vanish so fast?
I'm not going to see her again. It's over.
She pushed through the noise—laughter, shouting, chatter. Took another hallway. Still no sign.
Why didn't I ask her name?
Just as she turned around to head back to her locker, she stopped dead.
The girl was there.
Looking at her with the same calm, nearly unreadable gaze. Sarah stepped back, startled.
"Were you looking for me?" the girl asked. She didn't sound angry—just curious. Her voice was firm, yet soft.
"Yeah… I… I found this on the floor..."
Without warning, the girl raised her hand and brushed something from between Sarah's cheek and ear.
Sarah froze. She felt the soft touch of her fingers, and a shiver ran down her spine. Her whole body tingled.
"Sorry," the girl said. "You had a dead moth in your hair."
She held the tiny insect between her fingers. "Seen a few around. Is that normal?"
"Um… yeah… yeah. It's normal at the start of the school year."
"Better than the rat infestations we had at Marcy High," she said with a shrug.
Sarah handed her the bracelet.
"I found this. Thought it was yours."
"Oh… this actually…"
"And I also wanted to say what you did was… really brave. You looked fearless, like you could totally take them. Seriously… seriously, it was so cool."
"Well, first of all… this bracelet's not mine."
"It's not?"
She flipped it over, showing Sarah the engraving: Abigail.
"It's that bitch's," she said.
"Oh… I didn't notice. I guess I'll give it back later."
"Maybe... or maybe not," she said, and without hesitation, tossed it into the nearby trash can.
"But we made peace with them already."
"No. They made peace with me, not with you. They never apologized for what they did. Screw them. I hate injustice."
Sarah's eyes sparkled at those words.
"And second… I was scared. Those three could've easily beaten me senseless. But sometimes you just gotta be brave, trust... or something like that."
"Yeah. That reminds me of a story I read," Sarah said.
"Oh? Which one?"
Lucía had her hands in her hoodie pockets, her body leaning slightly toward Sarah. She was listening.
"A story about…" Sarah hesitated. Luke's words echoed in her mind like a warning:
"It's not about denying God. Just talk about other things."
She got it.
"A story about Spiderman. I read it years ago."
"Oh… yeah, I like Spidey," the girl replied. She turned to go. "Anyway, see you around."
"Wait!" Sarah grabbed her arm. "What's your name?"
"Don't you remember? We're in the same class."
"We are?" Sarah blinked.
"You've gotta start looking around more, Sarah," the girl said with a warm smile. "I'm Lucía Peña."
Lucía walked away, melting into the crowd of students. Sarah didn't stop watching her until she turned a corner and disappeared.
A deep happiness filled her. Something real. Something she'd only felt in church... or when talking to her father.
She reached her locker. Opened it mechanically. Still had Lucía on her mind.
She touched my cheek.
She remembered the touch of her fingers. The way she held her hand.
A feeling she couldn't explain.
In the small mirror inside her locker, she noticed her cheeks were flushed.
She touched her face. It was warm. But it wasn't fever.
That jolted her out of the trance. Her eyes widened, as if suddenly realizing something she didn't want to face.
And then, it hit her.
No, no! This can't be happening. Not to me.
Her thoughts spiraled like a violent tornado. Words, arguments, defenses trying to form a shield. A denial.
It's just admiration. That's all. I think she's cool. Really cool. That's it.
Still frozen, still at war with herself.
God wouldn't allow this. I've never felt anything like this. I like boys!
Maybe now she understood why she'd never liked Robert Gardner, the Greek-god cliché of a jock.
This is the enemy's doing! It's Satan! He's confusing me, corrupting my mind!
And Sarah tried. She really tried.
I'm not… I can't be this. I…
"Hey, kid," a dry voice interrupted.
It was the janitor.
"Recess ended ten minutes ago."
Sure enough, she'd gotten lost in her head again, forgetting the world kept moving. She was alone in an empty hallway.
And then, without meaning to, the answer she'd tried so hard to bury came rushing out—clear, loud, undeniable.
I'm in love with a girl.
There was no way to deny it anymore. There was only one way it could come out in the real world:
"AHHH, SHIT!"