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THE MOMENT THE EMPOWERMENT KIDS EMERGED from the basement and stomped through the house with a noise like thunder, Roland’s resolve to speak to Peter and reveal the truth he’d discovered had hightailed it out of here. And when Tessia had started trash-talking the Fire Starters to a group that seemed to agree, he’d felt like the apostle Saint Peter warming his hands by the fire, hoping no one recognized him as a follower of Jesus.
But he’d also figured things out. Tessia’s false accusation made it all clear to him. “Okay, now I understand.”
Marshall, who stood two feet away, turned and gave a little headshake. He looked Roland up and down as if shocked that he’d dared to speak.
The heat from the imaginary fire he stood warming himself by intensified. He hadn’t meant to say it aloud. He sure didn’t want to explain it to anyone. Why should he? Tessia didn’t have to agree with him on anything. She didn’t have to like what the Fire Starters believed. She had her own version of truth.
Flames from the imaginary fire flickered and snapped. He could almost hear Pilate saying, “What is truth?” while he gazed upon Truth in the flesh.
Peter turned toward Roland too. “What?” he mouthed from a distance. He stood just inside the circle of kids, while Roland stood outside.
Tessia continued insulting the Fire Starters. Brice stood glowering at her. Was she buying it?
Nothing, he almost said . . . like Saint Peter denying Jesus, like Pilate doubting Him, like the disciples who walked away because the teaching was too hard to accept. But no . . . he didn’t want to be them.
“I understand now,” Roland said, loud enough for everyone to hear. A tingling sensation ran down the back of his neck. Okay, if he had to explain it to everyone, he would. “I know who did it, and I know why.”
With scrunched eyes and confusion on his face, Peter shook his head. Shadows and candlelight gave him a humorous look, distorting his features. “What are you talking about?” he mouthed to Roland. The Empowerment kid next to Peter glanced, but then Tessia said something rude to Brice, and the kid turned back to them.
Marshall even turned away.
“You don’t know me. You don’t know what I want.” Brice inhaled a deep breath, her nostrils flaring—air compressing before combustion. Then she became a bolt of lightning or an arrow loosed, lunging forward, striking Tessia with her shoulder, ramming her back.
Roland tensed, tempted to step in and break it up. But they’d stop soon, right? And they weren’t his friends. Tessia’s friends had the greater responsibility to break this up.
Tessia grappled to push Brice away. One hand to Brice’s face, the other to her arm, Tessia gained a bit of distance.
But Brice wasn’t having it. Like a bull ready to charge, she leaned toward her opponent. And Tessia leaned toward her. A split-second later, they crashed together in a violent hug. They shuffled around the room, their arms snapping to new positions to get the upper hand. Twisting, grunting, stumbling, they dropped to the floor.
A sick this-can’t-be-happening feeling overcoming him, Roland found himself rocking toward and away from them. Someone needed to do something. Someone needed to stop this.
The kids formed a tighter circle, drawing together as they watched the fight, backing up when the fighters got too close. Whispers and even chuckles rose up here and there as Tessia struggled to pin Brice to the floor. Didn’t anyone care? Wasn’t someone going to stop them?
Movement in the circle of kids, over where Peter stood, made Roland look. Fists clenched, Peter curled his arms and gritted his teeth. His gaze connected with Roland’s, and an unspoken communication passed between them.
Shirking off the desire to have someone else step up, Roland pushed Marshall aside and rushed toward the fighters, racing with Peter. Eyes on Tessia, the wrestler on top, he slammed his good knee to the floor and snaked his arms under hers and around her shoulders.
Tessia struggled against him.
Roland heaved, using his body weight to yank her off Brice.
As if connected by a rubber band, Brice lunged toward her, stopping only as Peter’s arms wrapped around her waist from behind.
Half-sitting now, Roland dragged Tessia back another foot.
“Get off me,” Tessia spit over her shoulder, her fingernails digging into Roland’s arms. “Let me go.”
“No more fighting,” Roland said, his mouth close to her ear. He’d never restrained a girl before, and the sooner he could let go, the better.
“Fine.” She dug her fingernails deeper into his wrists, but her posture relaxed.
Fairly certain she wouldn’t jump back into action, Roland slid his arms out from under hers and scooted back another few inches. The impression of her fingernails on his arms remained. His heart thumped hard and his leg hurt a bit, but he didn’t think he’d twisted it. Suddenly aware that several kids stared at him, he wished he had something to grab onto to get back up.
Peter and Brice stood up together, him holding her upper arm. She jerked her arm free of his grip and leaned against the wall, panting.
Shifting to a better position, Roland planted a hand and prepared to pivot onto his good leg and somehow get to his feet. Then a hand appeared in front of his face.
Marshall stood before him, head tilted to one side, reaching down to help him.
Roland hesitated then he took the offered hand and let Marshall yank him up. “Thanks.”
“Any time. And I mean that.” He gave a squirrelly grin.
“It’s time for you to go,” Brice growled to Tessia.
“No.”
Weariness washing over him, Roland glanced at the dark ceiling where shadows and candlelight fluctuated in strange patterns. A burst of rain pelted the back window. A waxy, smoky odor wafted through the air, carrying a hint of something stale. Hadn’t they had enough?
His conscience told him now was the time, but resistance kicked in. He’d have to say things they wouldn’t want to hear. Pictures from the saint book came alive in his mind. Saint Alban . . . he only had to drop a little incense to a false god and he wouldn’t have been scourged and beheaded. Saint Paul of Cyprus . . . he refused to desecrate a crucifix and was burned alive. Saint Joan of Arc, steadfastly faithful to the will of God despite her young age . . . every apostle except for Saint John, who lived a long life. Groups of saints. Old saints. Young saints. Every one of them willing to die for their faith, to speak for the truth despite the difficulty.
Images of saints flashed through his mind and then stopped on Nicholas Pieck.
And a noose was thrown over the rafters inside a barn. “I would rather endure death for the honor of God than swerve even a hair’s breadth from the Catholic faith.”
He wore the brown Franciscan habit, the clothing of a mendicant friar.
The crowd jeered. The noose was lowered into place.
Eyes on the noose, Nicholas opened his arms and welcomed death.
In a sudden rush of thoughts, Roland’s perspective switched to Nicholas’ perspective. He saw what the saint saw. His eyes weren’t on the noose. They were on Our Lord. He saw Jesus scourged and bloody, hands tied and head crowned with thorns. “Behold the Man.” Love for Christ made him welcome the sacrifice.
Roland snapped back to the present. Tessia and two others huddled around Brice, speaking to her, trying to convince her to join them and embrace her differences. Everyone else watched.
“Listen!” Courage shot through Roland’s veins. He turned and scanned faces, making eye contact with anyone who looked at him. “I’ve got something to say.”
Tessia shot Roland a scowl. “You can stay out of it. You have no say.”
Roland strode to the middle of the room, intensely aware that everyone watched him. A voice in his head told him to be quiet and return to a shadow, but a louder voice said he had to speak. “Yeah, I know. My opinion doesn’t matter ’cuz I’m one of the privileged. I’m straight, white, male, and a Christian.”
Marshall’s shoulders slumped, and he flung his hands up with a look of defeat.
“And you’re rich.” Tessia propped her hands on her hips and tilted her head. “So, really . . . just shut up. This is between us and Brice. You can go home.”
“I’m not ready to go home yet.” One hand at his side, Roland propped the other on his hip and shifted the weight off his sore leg. “You were trashing my religion, so I’ve gotta say something. But before I do, leave Brice alone.” He made a sweeping gaze, wanting to make eye contact with as many kids as possible, finding their eyes cold. “All of you. Why are you trying to make her do something she doesn’t want to do? I mean, Empowerment is all about respecting people regardless of differences and beliefs, right?”
“You show up at two meetings . . .” Hands still on her hips, eyes dark and challenging, Tessia moved toward him. “You don’t know what we’re about. Some people have a hard time accepting who they really are. They need extra help. And that’s where Brice is.”
“That is not where I am.” Brice spit out a bad name and jerked toward Tessia, but Peter grabbed her from behind again.
“Secondly,” Roland continued, “leave my faith alone. Leave my Church alone.”
Mumbling went around the room. Tessia huffed. “Yeah, a church with all male leaders, half of them corrupt hypocrites, the other half cowards.”
The scandals he’d heard in the news made him angry too, but he wasn’t about to deny his faith or leave the Church because of it. “Listen, people sin and fall short—even priests and leaders—but it doesn’t mean the Church is wrong. It doesn’t change the truth that’s been passed down from Jesus. It just means we’re all sinners, in need of a savior.”
“Right,” she said, her tone incredulous. “Guys like you, you’re the problem. You’re the reason some people feel bad about themselves. You think you’re right about everything and everyone else is wrong.”
“That’s not true. But I believe some things are wrong. You want me to change my beliefs or at least hide them. I can’t do that.”
“People like you need to change your beliefs.” She raised her voice. “They’re wrong.”
“Says who?”
“Says everyone that your belief system judges. That’s who. Why do you think it’s okay to tell other people how they should live?”
“I don’t tell anyone how to live their life. I told you what I believe. You didn’t agree so you shut me down.”
“Preach it, Roland.” Peter let out a laugh and pumped a fist in the air, garnering a few ugly looks.
Encouraged by Peter’s support, though he was likely the only person in the house who did support him, Roland went on. “You don’t like it, but the Catholic Church has been teaching the same thing for 2,000 years, and it’s not going to change for you. Every generation is entitled to the full truth. And it’s the Church’s job to bring it to them, not to change the truth to make every generation happy.”
Tessia groaned dramatically. “Everything changes. Times change. People change. Your Church needs to change too. It’s outdated.”
Roland shook his head, feeling an inner strength he’d never felt before. “People change and times change. But God does not change. The truth doesn’t change.”
Everyone fell silent. Even the rain seemed to stop.
Since they all stared at him, and some didn’t appear entirely hostile, he continued. “So your group, Empowerment, you want to build a more tolerant culture that doesn’t leave anyone out. I like that. I’m all for that. But you threw me out of Empowerment because you don’t agree with my beliefs. Does everyone have to agree?”
More silence.
“I don’t have to agree with everything you believe to treat you with respect”—he shifted his gaze to Marshall—“or to be your friend.”
Marshall blinked rapidly. Then he dipped his head and smiled as if Roland had been flirting.
“People who respect diversity should also respect diversity in thought and ideas. No one should be afraid to speak their mind.”
“But you judge people.” Tessia’s tone softened.
“No, I don’t. But I do judge actions. If you’re going to listen to your conscience, you have to. That’s different from judging a person.”
“No, it’s people like you with your stereotypes and biases that—”
Roland stepped into her space. “Don’t even go there. I know what you did.” Now, he had to do it. He had to accuse them all. He turned away from her for a second to convict Marshall with a glance too. “You want people to believe that we’re like the KKK or something. You want to create the appearance of hostility where it doesn’t exist. You wanted Brice to think she needs you and that no one with the Fire Starters could possibly be her friend.”
“Wait, what are you talking about?” Brice took two long strides toward Roland.
“But it’s not true.” Having one more thing to say before answering her question, Roland turned in a slow circle and made eye contact with everyone who looked at him. “You are all welcome with us, even if you don’t believe what we believe. Even if you do things we don’t agree with.” Turning full circle, he locked gazes with Tessia now, ignoring the hate on her face. “But don’t expect us to keep quiet about it. Because it doesn’t do anyone any good to hide the truth.”
Brice grabbed Roland by the neckline of his shirt.
Startled by her aggressive touch, he lost his voice and his mouth fell open.
“What are you talking about? What did they do?” The look in her eyes said she realized it now too, but she needed to hear him say it.
“No one vandalized your house because they don’t like you.” He lifted a hand to indicate the kids all around them. “They vandalized your house. They burned the tree. They wrote those words on the garage.”
“What?” said a few different kids, shock in their half-whispered voices. Kids glanced at each other, then almost everyone turned toward Tessia.
Roland squirmed. Okay, maybe he was wrong, and it wasn’t the entire Empowerment group.
Brice stared for two full seconds, her gaze shifting between his eyes, the gears in her mind putting it all together. Then she released his shirt and turned to Tessia. “You . . . did that?”
Stepping backwards, Tessia shook her head. “I-I don’t know how to reach you, Brice. We were all so close before . . . before your sister died.”
“So, you burned a tree in my yard?”
Gasps went around the room. And grumbled comments of disapproval, one of which Roland made out. “Wow, that’s low.”
“You needed to know the discrimination that exists,” Tessia said. “People can be mean to someone who’s different.”
“Right. And these guys came out to my house to fix everything. None of you lifted a finger to do anything.” She shot a few angry looks around the room. “In fact, you’re the ones trying to label me, make me think everyone’s against me, that somehow I’m a victim. I am not a victim.” She turned to Peter. “Come on. Rain’s stopped. Let’s go change that battery.”
Peter and Brice strode to the kitchen. The group broke up, several kids moving to comfort Tessia, others moving to the front window or to a friend.
Marshall approached Roland, who still stood in the middle of the room. “I respect what you said, Roland.”
“Thanks.”
“And I want you to know”—he dipped his head and peered up at Roland, shadows and candlelight distorting his features—“I didn’t agree with what Tessia did.”
Having just found his own voice, Roland sympathized but couldn’t leave it at that. “You still went along with it. It was your gas can. Sometimes you have to speak up.”
“I did speak up.” He lifted his hands, palms up and shifted his weight rhythmically. “That’s why we came up here. But even that night, I mean, I told her I didn’t want any part of it and it was a bad idea. But I couldn’t stop them. Then the next day, at school, I told her she needed to tell on herself, at least tell Brice and try to clean up the mess, make things right. Of course, she wouldn’t, and she threatened to blame me if I told on her. I still kept trying and she finally agreed to tell Brice.”
Marshall bobbed his head from side to side. “That’s what this was supposed to be, but apparently Tessia changed her mind again. I don’t think she would’ve told Brice if you hadn’t . . . well, I guess it’s good that you figured it out. It’s all out in the open now. Better that way.”
“Yeah. Sorry I judged you. I guess I figured everyone with Empowerment was in on it, but I shouldn’t have jumped to that conclusion.”
“I forgive you.” Marshall batted his eyes.
A smile came to Roland’s face. He admired Marshall’s courage in standing up to Tessia. But a few loose ends bugged him. “So, hey, were Tessia and her cohorts responsible for the fish in that girl’s locker and those ‘outcast beware’ posters?”
Marshall shook his head, his lips twisting to one side. “No way, but I think I know who did.”
“Who?”
“You know Gavin Wheeler in our speech class?”
Roland nodded, not surprised.
“I saw him and one of his buddies making the signs in the bathroom. He ducked into a stall, laughing, when I came in.”
“Oh, figures. So what about the rock through Caitlyn’s window?”
Marshall pursed his lips then he glanced at the ceiling and sucked in a breath. “Yeah, sorry. That was Tessia’s idea too. I accidentally let it slip that you found the gas can and she . . . didn’t like that you were snooping around.”
With a breath to push back his irritation, Roland gave him a stern look. “You guys could’ve hurt somebody. Caitlyn has little sisters and brothers, one’s just a baby.”
“Oh, crapola.” His hand shot to his forehead, guilt and a hint of fear in his eyes, like maybe he regretted having admitted it. “I-I didn’t want her to do it but she . . . did anyone get hurt?”
“No. But still.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” He lifted his hands. “Never again. I’m taking what you said tonight to heart, Roland. I’m not going along with things anymore.”
Letting every trace of anger pass, Roland smiled. Whether Marshall kept that promise or not, it was a start.
Marshall started to walk away. “Hey, I saw your ride drop you off and leave. Do you need a ride home?”
“Are you offering?” Roland couldn’t believe it. Even after all he said, Marshall had no hard feelings.
“Yeah. I mean, I didn’t drive but you can ride with us.” He pointed to a tall boy who stood a few feet away from him. The boy nodded, his expression showing he also respected Roland.
“Thanks.” Roland pointed to Peter. “I’ll make sure Peter gets his car running, head back with him, but I appreciate the offer.”
Marshall smiled and walked off with the tall boy, toward a group near the kitchen island.
The front door creaked open and the chatter lessened.
“Hey,” Tessia shouted and everyone silenced and turned to look.
With battery in one hand, Brice stood by the open front door, Peter—with the toolbox—behind her. The calm outside indicated that the rain had stopped or at least lessened to a sprinkle.
Tessia stepped away from her circle of friends. “We’ll stick around until you get Peter’s car running. Just in case.”
Her hard expression fading, Brice nodded then stepped outside.
Shifting the toolbox to his other hand, Peter gestured to Roland, indicating that he was going with her.
Roland nodded.
While the group by Tessia still carried on with a bit of emotion, the tension had gone. And no one paid any attention to Roland now.
He took a deep breath and exhaled, feeling at peace with himself. Happy to be unnoticed, but more than happy that he’d spoken up.
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