Free Losing Faith by Denise Jaden Page B

ever have deep conversations, but this one feels so forced.
    He stares into his stew, and I’m not sure if he heard me.
    I look down and blurt out in one big breath. “Hey, that Pastor, uh, Scott, the youth guy, he said something at the service about Faith not being in youth group much lately.” I spin my spoon. “Do you know what he meant by that?”
    “Hmm?” Dad clears his throat. “I don’t think he said that, honey. You know Faith’s been, or was …” His tone is annoyed, probably because I asked a question that forced him to answer. He clears his throat again. “She was always involved with youth. You know that, Brie.”
    He’s trying to shut down the topic, I can tell, but I’m not ready yet. Just saying her name, I realize how much I need to talk about this. About her. “Yeah, but Pastor Scott said—”
    “I’m sure you misunderstood, sweetie.”
    His jaw tightens, he picks up his bowl and spoon, and heads for the sink. He clanks his bowl on the counter and walks out of the room.
    I wish I’d never asked.
    Halfway through cleaning the stew pot, the phone rings. I hope it might be Dustin or Amy,even though they’ve never called on the home line. But I wonder if my cell’s turned on. I dry my hands and head for the handset on the kitchen wall. On the fourth ring, I pick up and say hello, but I guess I’m too late because a click sounds on the other end. Then silence. Out of habit, I scroll through the caller ID.
    Missed Call. 6:37 PM
    E. & T. Lockbaum
    Tessa. I drop the phone on the kitchen counter and hug my arms across my chest.
    What does she want from me?

chapter EIGHT
    Plan F: Find my long-lost social life.
    The next day at school, I catch Amy in the hallway. The first bell rings, and I can tell she’s in a hurry, but I grab her by the shoulder anyway.
    “Hey.”
    “Oh, hey.” She glances around like she’s trying to find an escape route.
    Maybe the whole dealing-with-tragedy thing is too much for her. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t find her at lunch yesterday.
    “I’m okay, Amy. You don’t have to avoid—”
    “I’m not avoiding you,” she says, way too fast. “The bell … Henderson hates it when I’m late.”
    I run alongside her. “No, not just today. We haven’t hung out since before Evan’s party.” I know that’s mostly my fault, but at school it should be easy enough to get back to normal. I’m trying to make it easy.
    “Oh, that. Yeah, I guess I’ve just been busy.” Her eyes don’t leave the hallway in front of her, but even from her profile I’m sure I see the guilt. “Have you talked to Dustin?”
    She’s changing the subject. “No, not really.” It’s hard to talk with saliva in my ear. But I don’t say that. Amy would be way disgusted. She fiddles with her books, itching to get away, but instead I offer a solution. A way to make up for leaving me at the hospital. “You could be there for me now,” I say in just a murmur, like it’s a subliminal message.
    She stops suddenly and faces me. “All you can think of is yourself.” She points a finger at my chest. “Did you ever consider maybe this has nothing to do with you, or your sister who you didn’t even give a shit about until she died?” She turns her head so I can’t see her eyes.
    Stunned into silence, I back up a couple of steps. I know I pushed her too far, pushed her into defensive mode, but did she really just say that?
    She takes my retreat as an ending to the conversation, spins, and stalks off to her class.

    History class: always a great opportunity for thinking, doodling, and writing bad poetry. Mr. Clancy, Clairvoyant Clancy, knows I need a break, a chance to process. He told me so yesterday, but today when he says it again, I can’t stop thinking about Amy’s words.
    Once I’ve calmed down I’m not all that surprised that she went from zero to bitchy in 2.7 seconds. What I am surprised about is how her words hit home. Maybe I didn’t give a shit about Faith until she