Free Her Name in the Sky by Kelly Quindlen Page A

receive ashes, feels Father Simon thumb the ashes into a cross-shaped pattern on her forehead, hears the words— Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return —murmured all around her.
    She returns to her pew and tries not to touch her forehead. To her left, Joanie and her mom seem unfazed by the ashes: Joanie picks at her nails and her mom closes her eyes in prayer. But Hannah cannot resist raising a hand to her forehead and pressing her fingers against the mark there. When she draws her hand away, her fingers are tainted with dirty charcoal. She does not look up at the Crucifix.
     
    She still feels unsettled when they get home from Mass. Her mom pours herself a glass of sweet tea and goes into the study to check her e-mail. Hannah and Joanie shuffle around the kitchen, making themselves chicken salad sandwiches, Joanie chatting about how funny Luke was at the party last night.
    Hannah pours herself a glass of water. Just as she’s about to take a sip, she remembers, with a jolt, how it felt to kiss Baker.
    No , she tells herself, blocking the feelings. You don’t want that. No.
    She plops down on the couch with Joanie, trying hard to feel carefree, trying not to look back at the memory she just discarded in the kitchen. Joanie turns on the TV, scrolls through the guide, and chooses an E! True Hollywood Story episode. 
    “So what are you gonna give up for Lent?” Joanie asks at commercial.
    Hannah takes a bite of her sandwich to buy herself some time. She drinks another sip of water.
    “Nothing,” she says.
     
    She falls into an uneasy sleep that night, her face buried in her arm and her body sweating under the heavy comforter. She sees Baker’s eyes again, dark and deep and startling, and then she is awash in the tactile memory of kissing her last night. Her body starts to ache all over—her chest aches, and her stomach aches, and, most concerning, the area between her legs aches. She tries to shut it down, to think of something else, but she wants to give into it, she wants to feel that mystical experience again.
    She wakes, hours later, in terror. She sits straight up in bed with her heart sprinting in her chest. Her face and neck are damp with cold sweat. She sweeps the back of her hand across her forehead and remembers, with the force of a stone slinging down into her belly, that she had been dreaming about God. 
     
    School resumes on Thursday. Hannah’s esophagus burns with nausea as she drives into the parking lot and spots Baker’s car.
    But Baker steps out to greet her with her usual smile. “So get this,” she says, launching into conversation before Hannah can even fully look at her, “Charlie has figured out how to open doors with his paws.”
    Hannah hesitates for only a pocket of a moment, recognizing the offering for what it is. This is normal. We can be normal.
    “That’s crazy,” Hannah says, her voice sounding only slightly affected. “What’d your mom say?”
    Baker’s eyes relax. “She’s freaked out. Worried he’ll get into her china cabinet or something.”
    “That’s ridiculous,” Hannah says, her voice sounding normal as they walk into the building. “If she understood Charlie’s personality at all, she’d know he has no interest in frilly ceramic china.” 
    Baker laughs. “Exactly.” 
     
    The hallways are subdued, with most people talking lazily to their friends or whining about how they want to go back to bed. The bell rings to get to first block, but while the freshmen scurry to heed it, most of the seniors just roll their eyes and drag their feet to their classrooms. Even the teachers seem reluctant to be back: Mr. Montgomery makes no effort to hide his yawning, and Madame Rowley, Hannah’s French teacher, leans against her doorframe and chugs a 24-ounce coffee as students walk by. There’s an unspoken agreement that today and tomorrow don’t count as real school days because they comprise a two-day workweek coming on the heels of a five-day