Monday morning was another scorcher. Beneath my white tank and navy capris, my stomach was full of butterflies when Mr. Swan dropped us outside Benedict’s. The sun glinted off the glass doors, and the bronze handles had already heated from the morning sun. I pulled open the door, and Megan and I paused a second, breathing in cool air and letting our eyes adjust to the overhead lights. Groups of kids hung out around the lobby, some standing and talking, others sitting against the walls and listening to iPods or texting before assembly started.
As if there were a Devon sensor in my head, I glanced toward the far wall. He stood next to Peter Burrows, laughing about something. He wore a T-shirt as black as his hair over gray board shorts and black tennis shoes. I wasn’t sure if black was a color, or every color, or the absence of color, but it was definitely his color. Before I could look away, his head turned and our eyes met. He smiled.
Holy crap.
Just when I decided he really wasn’t all that great looking, he had to look like that. Megan and I walked toward the auditorium, but my heart thumped like we were sprinting.
“Did you catch that smile?” Megan said, under her breath.
“Unfortunately.”
“He’s hot for you.”
I shook my head. “He’s just hot.”
Megan led the way down a row toward the back, and we took the middle seats—good for people watching. I saw Devon come in with Peter. They sat next to the aisle in the row in front of us.
“He’s looking around,” Megan said, nudging my shoulder.
“Who?” I asked, even though I knew she meant Devon. I knew he was looking around because I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off him.
“I’ll bet he’s looking for you.”
Before I could deny it, Mrs. Clancy cleared her throat into the mic. I cringed. She did it every morning—it was like starting the day with the croak of a dying frog.
“Good morning,” she began. “Welcome to week two of camp. I will quickly run through announcements, as I have a special treat for you this morning.” She said it with her usual puckered-lip scowl, so it was hard to feel too excited.
She launched into her update, and Megan leaned toward me. “Is that woman ever happy?”
“If she cracks a smile, her whole face might crumble,” I whispered back.
Megan giggled, then clapped a hand over her mouth.
As soon as she’d read through the announcements, Mrs. Clancy cleared her throat again. Megan and I cringed in unison.
“Now for our treat,” she said. “We will close today’s assembly with a song of praise led by the Christian Society’s very own Stephen Kayle.”
I watched a man climb the steps, a guitar in his left hand. He had thinning blond hair and a round face. He waved at us and grinned. “Good morning, campers. I’m Stephen. Please stand and join me in song. You all know this one—it’s our Lord’s Prayer.”
I stood slowly, and gave Megan a pointed look. No, we don’t all know this one.
She shrugged. What can you do?
Guitar chords thrummed low and tinny from the podium. Stephen adjusted the mic, then began pounding out an upbeat tempo. It was pretty catchy, I had to admit. The music poured out from overhead speakers, and kids in front of us started clapping and swaying to the beat. I looked around. More swaying.
“That’s right,” Stephen called out, “let the Spirit move you.”
I squeezed Megan’s arm and asked, “Does he mean the Holy Spirit? Because there was nothing in the syllabus about dancing with the Holy Spirit.”
Megan laughed. “Just fake it.”
Stephen started singing, and I recognized the prayer as soon as he said, “Our Father who art in heaven.” I didn’t know all the words, but I’d heard them before on TV shows, and probably from Grandma Taylor.
After a slow start, the sound of voices built. Stephen beamed and strummed louder. I picked at my fingernails and waited for the magic word—Amen—because that would mean The End. Only, Stephen looked like he was just warming up.
That’s when I realized the swaying had changed. Suddenly, everyone was swaying together like some kind of line dance. And instead of Amening, Stephen had launched into the beginning again. Oh no. The girl on my left swayed my way and shot me an irritated look when our hips bumped. I wasn’t in sway mode.
I didn’t want to be in sway mode.
I looked at Megan. She gave me a helpless shrug, and swayed.
Then, I don’t know why, but I looked at him—Devon—and sucked in a sharp breath. He was swaying and clapping—and looking at me. He smiled. At me. I smiled back. Then he looked away and I looked away. I could feel the heat of a blush on my cheeks, and hear my heart thud louder than the music. It took me another second to realize I was clapping.
And swaying.
The girl on my left smiled at me. Like now we were swaying buddies. Christian buddies. What was I supposed I do? Tell her I was only fake swaying? How stupid would that sound? So I wobbled a smile back at her.
And then Stephen thrummed the guitar strings with a huge sweep of his hand and sang, “Ahhhhmennnn.”
Thank God. I looked up then, a little guilty. Sorry, God. You know it was a fake sway, right? No Spirit involved, I promise.
“You are excused,” Mrs. Clancy announced.
The auditorium filled with a wave of voices and the scuffle of eighty kids reaching for their packs. But there was an energy still thrumming through the air like the guitar music. Like the music had connected everyone.
Well, almost everyone.
It was like being in a crowd of kids when someone tells a joke, but you don’t get the punch line. You laugh with everyone else because you don’t want to look out of it. But you still feel out of it. I was glad to follow Megan through the double doors and back into camp mode. When we hit the lobby, I took a deep breath. The air felt cooler out here. Like I could breathe easy again.
Groups of kids veered off down the different hallways, and for a minute we had to concentrate on dodging traffic. Once we hit our hallway, Megan grabbed my arm and pulled me close. “Did you catch Devon giving you the eye? Because I did.” She dipped her head so she could look over the edge of her glasses and bat her eyelashes. “As an expert in sizzle, I can tell he’s falling for you. Big time.”
I shook my arm free. “He is not falling for me.”
“He might be,” she said. “Instead of grilling him with questions, I’d be searing him with my lips.”
I groaned. “When did you come up with that one?”
“This weekend. I’ve been saving it.”
We reached my classroom door. Hers was farther down—I could see Anna sitting on the carpet with a book in her hands.
“I’ve thought about this over and over,” I said. I ticked off the points with my fingers. “One: Mrs. Yeats is a nice lady. Two: she’s intelligent and sophisticated. Three: nice, intelligent, sophisticated ladies do not hate an entire race.”
Megan adjusted a plastic pink flower she’d pinned to her raspberry top. “If you say so.”
“As soon as I get a chance, I’m going to ask Devon to explain.”
“Really?” Her eyes shifted to look over my shoulder. “Then here’s your chance. He’s headed this way.”