Tuesday night, I dressed carefully for Institute. I hadn’t talked to Matt since I dropped him back at his house after our Laguna escapade, but he texted me three times on my shift Monday night. The first time he wanted to know what went on the ultimate grilled cheese sandwich. I sent him the list. The next message read, It works a lot better when you make it, which didn’t exactly inspire hope that he’d remembered our lesson. The final text . . . well, that one I saved.
I pulled it up and read it again. Does Wednesday seem kind of far off all of a sudden?
Granted, Matt didn’t profess his undying love, and I didn’t want him to, but it felt good to know he was looking forward to our surf lesson as much as I was. Not that surfing sounded great at the moment, considering my long, unsnapped wipeout streak. But hanging out with Matt again in any circumstance held some major appeal. I grabbed my scripture tote and headed for Old Testament class.
Since I was a bit early, I had my pick of seats. I chose a desk in the middle and flipped open my scriptures so I could review the assigned sections for tonight’s class. Not two minutes later, I felt a slight jostling as someone took the seat next to me. I looked up to find my good friend Megan settling in, beginning the tedious process of lining up her colored pencils. Two seconds later, her quiet friend slipped into the seat on my other side with an apologetic smile. Megan was employing a little strategy of her own, it seemed, ensuring that no matter where Matt sat, it wouldn’t be next to me. Nice one.
“How are you, Mary?” I asked.
“It’s Megan,” she corrected me. Brrr, the chill was back.
I turned to her friend. “I don’t think I ever caught your name,” I said.
Before she could answer, Megan interrupted. “That’s Laurel,” she said, and her tone implied I was stupid for asking.
“Hi, Laurel,” I said, and offered my hand for a shake.
She smiled wanly and took it but didn’t add anything else.
Deciding that was a dead end, I stifled a sigh and turned back to my scriptures. Maybe I should skip the review and read scriptures about loving my neighbors instead, and then work really hard to liken the verses to myself before I accidentally knocked Megan out of her desk.
Another minute passed while I ignored the scritch of Megan sharpening every one of her pencils with a CTR-shaped sharpener. Where did she even find such a thing? I felt my nerves winding tighter with every turn of the sharpener, but I kept my eyes on my begats and showed no reaction. I turned a page, crackling the paper as loudly as possible. Megan’s scritching picked up speed. I dug in my purse for a pack of cherry passion Tic Tacs and shook one out, satisfied with the distracting rattle of the candies as they bounced around in the container.
I turned to Laurel. “Would you like one?”
She shook her head and shrank a little, possibly trying to become invisible. I turned back to my Bible and noticed out of the corner of my eye that Megan had just picked up her last pencil. The tension leaked from my shoulders now that the end was in sight. Refocusing on my reading, I found my place and got about a third of the way down the page when a distinct snicking sound froze me. She couldn’t possibly be . . .
I turned slightly. She is! Megan was sitting right there, clipping her fingernails not eight inches away from me. I hate that sound. I stared, appalled, as a sliver of nail sailed over to land on my desk. My involuntary whimper caught her attention, and she followed my gaze to the offending fingernail now garnishing chapter four of Leviticus.
“Sorry about that,” she shrugged. And then left it there.
She left it there!
Unsure how to handle this enemy encroachment, I gingerly picked my scriptures up, climbed over a reddening Laurel, and headed for the garbage can, where I disposed of Megan’s nail clipping. Then I blew on the page, although I’m not sure why. Can you blow cooties off something?
I marched back to my seat and examined it for more stray fingernails before I sat down. This time I turned to the Ten Commandments and read number six over and over. “Thou shalt not kill, thou shalt not kill.” Snick. Aargh! I concentrated on not flinching. Snick. Don’t flinch. Snick. Don’t flinch. Snick. Don’t flinch.
Just when I could almost hear the sound of my last nerve snapping, Sister Powers walked in and Megan put her clippers away. I breathed out, long and deep, but as quietly as possible. I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of a huff. As soon as Sister Powers arranged her materials on the podium, she welcomed everyone and beckoned Laurel up to “play” the piano. This time Laurel hit the button and the opening bars of “The Spirit of God” tinkled out. I kept one eye on the hymn book and one eye on the door, looking for Matt. I’d given up by the time the hymn drew to a close and we bowed our heads for prayer, so I nearly jumped out of my skin when we all murmured amen and a voice from over my shoulder whispered, “Boo.”
I whipped around to find Matt seated behind me. He grinned at my surprise and that little tickle burbled in my chest somewhere, that Matt Gibson phenomenon I couldn’t seem to stifle.
Megan gave Matt an enthusiastic wave, which he returned with a cool nod. My smile for him grew wider. I turned back around to focus on the teacher, who directed us to the first scripture of the night. Even with Megan’s “help,” by the time Sister Powers was done connecting all the dots, I had a slightly better attitude toward the Old Testament. I guess I’d been looking for a better way to relate it to my life, and Sister Powers’s lesson offered a good strategy.
As soon as the volunteer for the closing prayer said amen, people were out of their seats and mingling. I stayed put, waiting for Matt to find his way over. Megan hopped up and pushed her desk out of the way so she could walk straight back to him instead of talking to him over the back of the chair. It gained her about twelve inches of proximity, but in her rush (and I was totally giving her the benefit of the doubt here), she accidentally shoved her desk into mine and knocked my scriptures and purse to the floor.
“Sorry,” she said. “Do you want me to help with that?”
No scenario existed where I would ever ask Megan for help, so I waved her off and crouched on the floor to pick up the scattered mess. “I’ve got it,” I said.
Matt stepped forward through the gap in the desks to help instead, squatting down and fumbling with the loose papers that had flown everywhere. Megan was stewing over our shoulders, foiled in her attempt to snag Matt’s attention. Deciding to make her own opportunity since none presented itself, she leaned over and tugged on Matt’s shirt sleeve. “Hey, Matt, I’m thinking of buying my neighbor’s surfboard. Can you come check it out for me and tell me if it’s a good deal or not?”
“Now?” he asked, surprised.
“Yeah, I tied it to my car out in the parking lot.”
Wow. Give the girl some credit. She dragged a surfboard all the way to Institute to create an excuse for getting Matt alone. Well played.
He looked at me apologetically, but I smiled to let him know it was okay. When he stood, Megan took his arm and asked him questions as she led him out of the room. I turned back to my mess, not at all annoyed. Megan could talk used surfboards all she wanted to with Matt, but he was taking me out surfing in the morning and that’s all that mattered. I reached for another stray program, and without a word, Laurel slipped to the floor and began picking up odds and ends to help me. There was still a lot to pick up even though Matt had thrown away a decent pile for me on his way out. I smiled my gratitude, and when she handed me a small stack of miscellany, I shoved everything back into my scriptures and climbed to my feet.
“Thanks,” I said.
She nodded and smiled in return but didn’t say anything, just slipped from the room. I stared after her for a minute. Interesting girl. She had such a pretty face, but being so quiet, she kind of blended into the background as Megan’s faithful shadow. A shame, considering I got the distinct impression she didn’t always enjoy Megan’s antics, either.
I passed Megan and Matt on the way to my Jeep, grinning at Matt’s look of longsuffering patience as Megan gesticulated toward her beat-up surfboard. He caught my grin and scowled, but I didn’t feel at all repentant and smiled even wider as I cranked the ignition and drove away.
A minute later, a text dinged on my phone. I checked it at the next stoplight and laughed out loud at Matt’s message. You are so going to pay for that tomorrow morning. Be ready at 8.
I couldn’t wait.