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Caitlyn
The school bell rang. Caitlyn groped under her desk for her books while everyone else bolted for the door. She should’ve gathered her things sooner, but she couldn’t copy down the homework assignment fast enough. Was she the only one in history class who did homework?
She arranged her folders, notebooks, and science and history textbooks into a neat stack, hugged them, slung her purse strap over a shoulder, and scooted for the door. The West boys had returned from Mississippi, but she had yet to cross paths with any of them. She couldn’t wait to see Keefe.
As she stepped through the doorway, her history book slipped out of place. She glanced at it and . . . Bam! She smacked right into someone.
“Oh, sorry.” She backed into the door and looked up. “Keefe!”
She hadn’t seen him in nearly a month, and he looked different: a little taller, his hair longer. Curls surrounded his gentle face. But his brown eyes still glowed with sincerity. He gave her a pleasant smile, bent towards her, and stuck out an arm.
She leaned forward to hug him but found his arm wrapping around her books. “Oh.” She backed into the door again, embarrassed.
“I missed you,” he said, still smiling and now holding her books on his hip. “You on your way to study hall?”
“Oh. Yeah.” A frown threatened to steal her smile. Why hadn’t he hugged her? It felt like the natural thing to do after having been apart for so long.
They strolled side by side, kids rushing past them.
“I can’t wait to hear about your trip.” Caitlyn finally mastered the ability to smile.
“Yeah.” He glanced. “Maybe we can talk in study hall.”
“Or you could come over for dinner.” She meant to work up to the invitation, not just blurt it out.
“Um, I don’t know.” He glanced again as they rounded the corner. “Not tonight. I’ve got something . . .”
“Oh.” Her face warmed. “It doesn’t have to be tonight. My parents said, well, you know, you can come over sometime.”
“Yeah, that sounds nice.” He stepped into the cafeteria, study hall after the lunch times, and led her to a table against the far wall.
She sat across from him. “The Fire Starters meet tomorrow. We’re organizing a spring card party for senior citizens. If you want to—”
“I don’t know. I-I can’t.” Keefe shook his head, his brows drawing together. He turned away, his gaze bouncing from face to face as kids filled up the study hall.
Caitlyn opened a notebook and flipped to a blank page, trying to keep from looking offended. He didn’t seem to want to do anything with her. Didn’t he miss her? She glanced. “So, uh, is something wrong?”
“No.” His eyes snapped to her. “You got my letter, right?”
“Yes.” She’d read it at least a dozen times. It had made her feel close to him. Was there something in it that explained his cold attitude? There was that one part . . . “You have something to tell me? You said you’d tell me about it when you got back.”
“Yeah,” he breathed. “I uh . . .” He glanced over his shoulder at the exact moment Jarret strutted into study hall. Jarret acknowledged him with a nod but sat at a table clear across the room.
Keefe bit his lip, rested his arms on the table, and fidgeted with a ring on his little finger. “I um . . .” He leaned toward her, smiled, frowned, and finally whispered with his eyes on his ring, “It’s like this: every day when I pray, sometimes I’m not praying, I get this feeling.” He glanced. “It’s so strong, overpowering at times. It’s like—”
“No talking.” Mrs. Packwood tapped her bony finger on their table and narrowed her heavily made up eyes. “This is study hall. Get out some work.”
Caitlyn cracked open her history book. She had pages to read, questions to answer, terms to write . . . Not that she intended to do them now, not with Keefe here. Keefe had brought nothing with him, so she slid her open notebook to him.
He gave a look to show his appreciation then snatched her pen. He scribbled something down, ripped the page out and folded it once. After a glance over his shoulder, he slid the page to Caitlyn.
She opened it and read: God is trying to tell me something. It moved her to see a guy so open to God’s inspirations. He’d given his heart to the Lord, and it affected every aspect of his life.
Lifting her eyes, she found him staring at her. “Trying to tell you what?” she mouthed.
He took the paper back and wrote something. Sliding the paper to her again, he smiled, almost playfully. His note: I don’t know. But He won’t leave me alone.
Wow. God really wanted something of him. Keefe had told her that before. Maybe she needed to make a sacrifice. She pulled the pen from his hand and scribbled a note on the bottom of the page, but she folded the paper before he could see it. Did she really want to give this to him? She’d written it on impulse, hadn’t thought it through, didn’t even like the idea—
He reached across the table and put a finger on the note, ready to take it. She did not release it. He looked at her. She gave a look to show her uncertainty. Then she let the note go.
He slid it to himself and flipped it open. His gaze swept across the note, once, twice, three times. His cheeks flushed. He pressed his lips together. Then he looked at her and shook his head.
Holding his gaze and trying to appear strong, she nodded. He might not have liked it, but he probably knew she was right.
Her note: Forget about me. Focus on God. If the Lord had been speaking to him with such intensity, he needed to dedicate himself to listening. They could see each other in the future.
She took the note and added: We’ll still be friends. You need to do this. And I understand. Though the thought of not seeing him disturbed her, she refused to show any emotion. She wanted to be strong for him. Would she be able to keep her resolve?