Free Donut Days by Lara Zielin Page A

almost fine,” I said. I wished I could tell him that my mom had shed bucketfuls of tears over the prophecy, sobbing until she was weak. I wished I could tell him that my dad had gathered us all together as a family and herded us into the living room, asking us to pray until our hands and knees left deep indentations in the carpet. But neither of those things had happened. Instead, my parents were still keeping me out of the loop, both of them determined—at least to my face—to pretend nothing was really wrong. But what they didn’t know was that the plastic, impersonal way they were “believing God” and “pressing through” made me feel worse than if they’d taken all the dishes out of the cupboard and shattered them against the kitchen floor, one by one.
    “Well, for what it’s worth, I think your mom is a great pastor and this whole ‘no women preaching’ thing really blows,” Jake said.
    “This ‘no women preaching’ thing?” I asked. It came out meaner than I had intended.
    Jake shrugged. “I don’t know what else to call it.”
    Actually, neither did I. It was hard to call it anything, like trying to fit the power and the glory of the Son of God rising from the grave and conquering evil forever into two words: The Resurrection. Did it really do the event justice?
    I stared at Jake’s face and, despite all the changes, saw that it was the same honest, kind face it’d been when he was a dork in high school. It reminded me that Mr. O’Connor and all his money had done a lot of good for Living Word Redeemer over the years. Their funds had built a library and a kids’ center. My dad got a new pulpit, and Mr. O’Connor had even given us a brand-new Nissan Maxima when our old Ford Escort had broken down and we didn’t have the money to fix it. There was also the fact that our families were friends—or at least used to be. In the early days of the church Mrs. O’Connor and my mom used to bake together in our kitchen for fund-raisers, laughing and gesturing at each other with flour-covered hands while they kneaded dough and flattened pie crusts. For years, Mr. O’Connor and my dad had a standing breakfast date together two days a week.
    “That’s nice of you to say about my mom,” I said to Jake, tapping my coffee mug with my fingers, “that you think she’s a great pastor and all.”
    “I do,” said Jake, nodding. “And that’s why, you know, I’m here. I think you—I mean, your whole family—you’re all good people and you don’t deserve anything bad. I’ve always thought that, but I guess I have to admit I was surprised when you called. I wondered, after all summer, why now ?”
    Because you were the only one I could talk to. You’re the only one I could trust. I opened my mouth and said, “Because I am so totally at a loss with all this church stuff. I just really needed a friend.”
    I could have imagined it, but I thought I saw a flicker of disappointment flash over Jake’s face. Was he hoping I would say he was more than a friend?
    “Well, yeah,” Jake said, leaning forward in his chair. “I agree with you, it’s pretty nuts. Especially now, after your mom’s sermon about Adam and Eve.”
    “You were there tonight?” I asked, incredulous. “I didn’t even see you.” I wanted to slap a hand over my mouth as soon as the words were out since, dur, I wouldn’t have recognized him even if I had seen him.
    “Yeah, I was,” Jake said. “I heard it all.” He folded his hands together and suddenly seemed nervous. He looked around.
    “What?” I asked. Watching him, I felt an unease creeping into my gut. “What’s going on?”
    “Okay,” said Jake, taking a deep breath, “the truth is, I kind of have something to tell you. I was planning on doing it a while back but—well, you know. We weren’t exactly talking.”
    I nodded. “What is it?”
    Jake leaned even farther in and I could smell his after-shave. I nearly toppled off my chair. “I heard that the church