Chapter 7

I waited to read the note until after I got home from school. I didn’t want to read it in public in case its contents turned out to be, you know, emotionally disturbing or something. I went into my bedroom and shut the door, then sat down at my desk, unfolding the piece of paper one crease at a time, my hands shaking almost as much as they had when Mr. Glick popped that quiz. Sparkly blue handwriting took up the entire page. I scanned to the end, expecting to see a signature that said Lauren. After all, Lauren Baker was the one who had handed me the note. She must have written it, too, right?

But no. It said no such thing. In fact, there was not one but two names written at the end of the letter: Liza Taylor.

Liza Taylor? Had written me a letter? Me? Josh Sundquist? There was no way this was real. It was too good to be true. I looked up from my desk and out the window, and then at the door, as if I expected someone to jump out and say that I had been pranked.

But the door remained closed and my room remained quiet. I took a deep breath and dove into the note, savoring each word, each sparkly handwritten letter.

Dear Josh, it began. As I read, my mind kept interrupting me with screams of Is this really happening?

The letter went on to explain that she knew we had not met yet.

(Um, seriously? She knows who I am?)

But that she was really looking forward to meeting me because, see, her Bible study leader from Young Life had told her all about me, about how I had been diagnosed with cancer as a child, how I had lost my leg.

(Wait, what? She already knows my secret? All hope is lost!)

Her Bible study leader also told her how my faith in God had gotten me through such a difficult time, and how that faith continued to sustain me today.

Liza Taylor concluded by saying she was inspired and impressed by my faith, and it just really encouraged her to know that, like, another one of her classmates had such a great relationship with God. She hoped we would be able to meet soon.

It was signed simply Liza Taylor.

I read the entire note again and again, soaking up every word. It was like taking a shower under drops of bliss. All the happiness washed over me, soaking through to the bone. Liza Taylor had written me! She wanted to meet me! She was impressed with my faith!

Not only that, but she already knew that I had one leg—which I was a little weirded out to discover, since most people at school didn’t know yet—and even with this knowledge, she still wanted to meet me. My disability did not reduce her opinion of me; in fact, based on the note, it seemed like it actually made her think more highly of me.

That Liza Taylor was in a Bible study was itself a shocking development. Liza Taylor Smith was a Christian! Just like me! Which meant… I could date her! She could be my first real girlfriend!

No sooner had the thought entered my mind, however, than the Rule returned to smack me in the face: No dating until you are sixteen years old.

Mom and Dad had made an exception and allowed me to date Sarah Stevens because she was a family friend. They knew her. She and I had grown up together. But they didn’t know Liza Taylor Smith. That she was in a Bible study would not be enough to convince them. To Mom and Dad, she was just some random girl from public school, meaning she was most likely a corrupting seductress or closet Wiccan, Bible study member or not.

I sighed and stared out the window. I was so close! So close to not only meeting Liza Taylor Smith, but dating her! I mean, it said it right there in the letter. She wanted to meet me.

That’s when I got an idea. I might not be allowed to go on dates, plural, but maybe I could persuade Mom and Dad to let me go on just one. Specifically, to the homecoming dance. It was coming up in a couple of weeks. And since homecoming was a special occasion, closely supervised by chaperones, maybe they’d make an exception to the no-dating rule and let me attend.

I suggested as much at dinner, and they agreed to pray about it. That was a start, at least.

The next evening I brought it up again.

“So, what about homecoming?”

“We can discuss it after dinner,” said Dad.

I was eager to hear their answer. “Why not now?”

Mom and Dad glanced at each other.

“Not in front of your younger brothers,” said Dad, nodding at Matthew and Luke.

It wasn’t until dinner had been finished, the dishes cleared, and my brothers ushered safely out of earshot into the family room with the door closed that I got my answer.

Dad began, “I’m sorry, Joshua, but we have decided not to make an exception”—my shoulders slumped and I let out an exasperated sigh—“to our rule. You’re not allowed to date until you’re sixteen. And that includes school dances.”

“But why does it matter? It’s just a dance. I can ask some girl…” Obviously, I would not be asking some girl—no, I wanted to ask a very specific girl with three words in her name, but no use telling Mom and Dad that. “… as a friend.”

“We just don’t think it’s safe,” Mom said.

“Safe? Like I’m gonna pull a muscle while dancing?”

“No.” She looked uncomfortable.

“What then?”

Dad jumped in. “We’ve heard that a lot of girls get… um…”

I raised my eyebrows.

“Well…” Dad was struggling.

“Yes?” I demanded.

“Pregnant. At the homecoming dance, that is.”

Mom’s eyelids widened slightly at the mere mention of the p-word, the ultimate embarrassment for any Christian parent, a sin that brought irreversible shame upon any good churchgoing family.

“Oh, come on!” I said. “Pregnant? You think I’m going to have sex at the dance?”

“Keep your voice down, please,” said Mom, nodding her head at the door to the family room.

“No,” said Dad. “We do not think you will. But we don’t want to put you in a place of temptation, either.”

“A place of temptation? Dad, there are going to be, like, hundreds of kids there. How could I possibly get someone pregnant?”

“Maybe before or after—”

“I can’t drive!” I interrupted. “You are going to have to drive me to pick her up and drop her off anyway. In between that we’ll be at a dance chaperoned by, like, an army of teachers and parents!”

“True,” Dad conceded. “I guess you will be supervised.…”

Mom gave him a look.

“But that doesn’t change the fact that you aren’t allowed to go,” added Dad, returning his tone from thoughtful back to this-is-our-final-decision.

“Dad, this is completely absurd.” I directed my arguments at Dad, because he was the less strict one. If someone budged, it would be him, not Mom. “You were the one who explained to me where babies come from, remember? I don’t recall learning anything about babies coming from people dancing. It’s not going to just accidentally happen at the dance.”

“Joshua, you are too young to understand, but hormones can be very powerful.”

“Explain it. Explain to me how my date could get pregnant.”

“Teenagers with hormones can be very creative,” he said. “I don’t know, exactly. Maybe in a classroom or something. You sneak off with your date—”

“Are you being serious right now? This isn’t a joke?”

Dad put his hand up in a stop sign. “That’s enough. Our decision is final.”

“Ugghhh! You guys are ridiculous!” I pulled my chair from the table as violently as I could and hopped over to my crutches, which were leaning against the wall. I stormed out of the room and went to my bedroom and slammed the door. Sliding open my nightstand drawer, I lifted out the note from Liza Taylor. Then I crumpled it up and threw it on the floor.