The next morning, Brian knocks on our door to wake us up. It’s a nice change from banging his stupid wooden spoon against a pot.
“Hey guys, I was hoping we could have a little chat before Prayer Circle,” he says, taking a seat at the desk by the window. The four of us turn to face him from our beds.
“So I guess you heard the police found Rhonda last night,” he starts.
“They did?” Randall says. “We slept right through it.”
“Spare Jesus the lie, Randall,” Brian says. “I could hear your breathing from the common area.”
“Didn’t I say you breathe loud?” Martin says to Randall.
“The point is,” Brian breaks in, “Bishop wants to send a message to Rhonda that we care for her. But that we’re not going to put up with her antics anymore.”
“How does he propose we do that?” Paul asks.
“The counsellors are asking all campers not to speak to Rhonda for the next twenty-four hours.”
“Can we wave hello?” I ask.
“No. We don’t want you to communicate with her at all. No acknowledgement that she is there, even if she asks you to pass the salt in the mess hall. Bishop feels that seeing how it feels to be cast from the flock might bring her to her senses.”
“That’s kind of harsh isn’t it?” I ask.
“That would push me over the edge,” Martin says.
“Rhonda gave everyone a scare yesterday. And she may have hurt the reputation of the camp. Her actions can’t go unpunished,” Brian stands up. “Now can we all agree to this course of action?”
Paul, Randall, and Martin all agree not speak to Rhonda. I just nod my head and move my lips. I can’t actually say that I’ll do it.
A half hour later we gather outside. Campers are making their way to the Prayer Circle, yawning and wiping the sleep from their eyes. I stand between Randall and Paul. Randall smiles at me and takes my hand. I feel him squeeze it a little as if he’s trying to make me feel better.
Paul takes my hand in his. We try not to look at each other for too long in case someone gets suspicious. Prayer Circle is the only time we get to hold hands. That’s it for public displays of affection. Martin is on the other side of Paul staring straight ahead at nothing.
I see Rhonda approach the circle. Hands close on each other, locking her out. Rhonda walks around, looking for a spot to join in, like the odd person out in a game of musical chairs. No one lets her in.
I let go of Paul’s hand to create a space for Rhonda. Randall yanks on my arm and gives me a nasty look. I match it with one of my own. A moment later I feel Rhonda’s hand take mine. Her face is sunburnt. She looks like hasn’t slept.
Brad narrows his eyes at me from across the circle. The look on his face reminds me of the one on my father’s the day he found out I was shopping with Mike. Brad begins the morning prayer. Before I bow my head, I notice a few mean glances shot my way by the other campers.
“Thank you,” Rhonda whispers when the prayer is over.
“Adam! Can I have a word with you?” Brad shouts. He is marching in my direction.
“You better go,” I tell Rhonda.
“Don’t get into trouble on account of me,” Rhonda says.
“Too late.”
The next thing I know, Brad has his arm around my shoulder and I’m being led away.
“Didn’t Brian tell you not to speak to Rhonda?” Brad asks between gritted teeth.
“He did,” I say. “But I felt the Christian thing to do would be to forgive Rhonda. Everyone makes mistakes. Don’t you?”
“We’ll see what Bishop has to say about this,” Brad says.
“What about breakfast?” I ask.
“Breakfast can wait!”
Brad takes me inside the lodge to Bishop’s office. He knocks on the door. “Bishop, we have a problem.”
“Another one?” Bishop says with a sigh. “Come in.”
“Wait here,” Brad goes inside alone. Bishop sounds defeated as Brad tells him what happened in Prayer Circle.
“Send him in,” I hear Bishop say. Brad holds the door for me. “Have a seat, Adam,” Bishop is still in his pajamas. “Now what’s this about you speaking to Rhonda?”
“Bishop, you should have seen the look on her face when we wouldn’t let her join the circle. She looked like a puppy at the dog pound.”
“That was the point of her punishment!”
“But Jesus tells us to forgive people for their mistakes.”
“The time for forgiveness is for Jesus to decide, not you.”
“The more I learn about Jesus, the more confused I get. The Bible seems to say one thing. But you, my parents, and my pastor, all say something else.”
“We’re adults, Adam. We know more about the world than you do. You have to trust us.”
“Are you going to tell my parents about this?”
“I have to,” Bishop says sadly. “What you did was a sign of weakness. If you can’t be trusted to follow one simple rule, how are any of us to believe you can control your urges?”
“It’s not the same thing.”
“Tell that to your pastor the next time you see him. Something tells me he’s going to agree with me. I’m going to let you off with a warning, but I’ll be keeping my eye on you. It’s for your own good.”
“Thanks, Bishop,” Somehow I manage to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
“You’re welcome.”
The jerk actually accepted my thanks for not punishing me for being human. The longer I stay here, the more I realize I don’t belong.