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Caitlyn
As Caitlyn rubbed a sheet of sandpaper against a patch of drywall mud on a wall in the dining room, she pondered the goodness of God. A few days ago, the Finns were worried about making the dates on their house contracts. Now all that had changed. In addition to Peter, Roland, and Caitlyn, a good number of Fire Starters came to help. In fact, so many people had shown up to work on their house that Mr. Finn walked around in a state of near shock, not sure what to do with himself.
Caitlyn’s motive for helping wasn’t as pure as others, like Roland and the Fire Starters—and even Jarret, who seemed unbelievably kind all of a sudden—but she considered this opportunity a gift from God.
Like a dream-come-true, she had worked by Roland’s side for the past three days, staining doors, painting walls, and raking dirt in the back yard. It had made her feel shy, being so close to him. But one of the principles of courtship was to develop friendships, right?
Of course, if he ever actually wanted Caitlyn for his girlfriend . . . then what? Panic. Would he have to ask her parents’ permission? Would they have to spend their time together playing Monopoly with her sisters? Oh well. One step at a—
“Hey.”
Caitlyn turned to see Jarret West standing directly behind her.
He wore a fluorescent orange tank top, ripped jeans, and a blue bandana over curly hair. Drywall mud streaked his stubbly jaw and his forearms. The first day they came to help, Jarret told everyone he’d spent most of his time at the Finn’s taping and mudding drywall and how he’d developed an impressive skill in such a short time. Mr. Finn agreed with Jarret’s boastful self-appraisal, adding that Jarret had almost singlehandedly mudded every room in the house once the professional drywall installers had shown him how. Of course, Mr. Finn had something nice to say about everyone’s work. Caitlyn couldn’t imagine anyone doing any wrong in his eyes. He was so happy to have the help.
“Is something wrong?” Caitlyn said.
Jarret nodded, one eyebrow cocked, his expression saying she should know better.
Caitlyn glanced at the wall she sanded, not sure what it should look like. It was her first sanding job.
He laid his hand on hers, the one holding the sandpaper, and made her sand the wall in a circular motion. “You can’t go side to side. You make ruts that I’ll have to go over with more mud. Go round and round.”
Caitlyn swallowed hard, wishing he’d take his hand off hers. Where was Roland? “Okay. I got it.”
He let go, and the hint of a smile passed his lips. “Good.” His gaze dropped to her skirt and stayed there as he spoke. “Ain’t you got any jeans? You’re a little dressed up for dirty work.”
“I’ve got jeans.” She found herself saying, “They’re new though, and I’ve never really worn them before. My best friend gave them to me for Christmas last year.”
She should’ve just said yes. She didn’t owe him an explanation.
Jarret chuckled. “I’m sure you’ve got something other than a dress to wear here.”
Caitlyn looked at her skirt. Tan with pale flowers and a few bleach stains, made of thin, woven cotton, it hung down past her knees. She’d bought it over a year ago from a second-hand store, not realizing it had a big slit in the side. But it was so comfortable she kept it anyway. “It’s a skirt, not a dress, and it’s old. I wear it around the house, especially when I clean.”
“You’ve worn a skirt here every day. What’s wrong with jeans?” His upper lip curled on one side. He probably thought she was strange.
“Nothing. I just don’t wear them.” Why should she have to explain herself to him? So she only wore skirts and dresses. So what? If she wasn’t the only girl in the dining room, he probably wouldn’t even be talking to her.
His gaze bounced all around her face then lingered on her mouth.
Did she have something on her lips? Powder from sanding maybe? She wiped them and checked her finger. White drywall dust covered her entire hand, except for the tip of her finger. She huffed, knowing she’d just transferred white powder to her mouth.
He smirked and reached toward her face. “Want me to get that for you?”
Irrational panic swelled inside her. “No!” She backed into the wall. Then facing away, she wiped her mouth with the inside of her t-shirt neckline. When she turned back, Jarret was already stooping over a bucket of drywall mud on the other side of the room.
Deciding to check her face in a mirror, she dropped the sandpaper, wiped her hands on a rag, and headed for the bathroom.
Pushing the door open with her hip, she stepped into the cool, dark room and sighed. The lights flickered on automatically. The workers had finished the bathroom first. With its bright walls, shiny white porcelain, sparkling fixtures, and pale turquoise tiles around the tub, she could stay in it all day.
She looked herself over in the huge, spotless mirror over the sink. Fine white dust covered her hair and top. Not wanting to mess up the bathroom, she let it stay, but she did wash her mouth and hands. Then she stepped from the peaceful bathroom and set out in search of Roland and Peter.
Caitlyn strolled back through the entryway, avoiding the dining room, and passed through a group of chatty, giggling girls in the kitchen.
Before she rounded the corner, Peter’s voice came from the family room. For some reason, she stopped and listened.
“I tell you he’s out there hitting on her.”
“I’m sure she can take care of herself,” Roland said. “What’re you worried about?”
Caitlyn dared to peek. The family room looked great, having received a final coat of warm blue paint and new beige Berber carpet yesterday. Roland faced the far window and scraped off new-window stickers. Peter stood on a ladder, holding a little bucket and a small paintbrush, touching up the creamy trim.
“Worried? I’m not worried,” Peter said. “I’m just saying. You’ve never admitted it, but I can tell how you feel about her. You really don’t care if Jarret hits on her?”
Caitlyn sucked in a breath and withdrew from view. Were they talking about her? Peter could tell how Roland felt about her? How did he feel about her?
“He can try all he likes. He’s not her type,” she heard Roland say, his tone confident. “Is he? You’ve known her longer than me. I don’t think she’d like a guy like him.”
The ladder squeaked. “Well, why take any chances? Do you like her or not?”
“Sure, I like her.”
Caitlyn’s heart leaped. Then she heard Peter say, “Why not make her your girlfriend before someone else does? She’s not exactly ugly. Clumsy, yes. Silly, sure. But not ugly.”
Heat slid up her neck. She glanced into the kitchen to make sure no one noticed her spying.
Peter thought she was pretty? Really? In all the years they’d known each other, growing up as close as siblings, he’d never once hinted that he thought she was pretty. In fact, he always made fun of her appearance, comparing her long red hair to Raggedy Ann’s and saying she was thinner than a toothpick. He had an endless supply of rude comments about her.
Roland spoke again, and Caitlyn’s heart sank. “I’m only fourteen. I’m not ready for a relationship right now.”
“Well, maybe she is. Maybe she wants a boyfriend.”
Roland made no audible reply, but Caitlyn didn’t wait around to hear more. Tears threatening to burst forth, she took off for the bathroom again. Roland didn’t like her like that. He didn’t want her for a girlfriend.
Caitlyn closed the door behind her, hid her face in her hands, and fell onto her knees before the light clicked on. Before the first tear fell.