Free Riven by Jerry B. Jenkins

remember a specific injury.
    The puzzle of Ravinia was always with him. What had he and Grace done wrong? How had they failed her? How would God bring her back? Thomas had always believed and taught that God wooed unbelievers but chastised His own when they strayed. He dreaded that for his daughter.
    And then there was also the coming confrontation with Paul.
    Thomas hated the word confrontation almost as much as he hated the activity itself. He imagined himself straightforward and firm when he knew he was right, but the truth was, Grace was better at these things. She was slow to anger and usually diplomatic, but she was not afraid to speak her mind when she felt it important. Thomas had good intentions, but he always seemed to think of a better way to have said something long after it might have been effective.
    There was no getting around it though. If he didn’t start standing up to Paul, his life would quickly become miserable. Such long-term grief would be much worse than the sharp pain of a brief encounter where he stood his ground. Thomas jotted a few notes on what he wanted to say and how to say it. Paul was expected at 2 p.m.
    Forest View High School
    Brady Darby felt like a Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s court. He had never read the Mark Twain novel, assigned in English the year before, but the title had amused him, and the class discussion had given him an idea what it was about. Now he could really identify. In a matter of forty-eight brief hours, he had become the talk of the drama department.
    He still looked the same, smelled the same, dressed the same. But suddenly he was no longer invisible to the larger culture. Usually, except for the occasional peek or sneer, aside from the negative attention on the bus every morning, normal kids looked right through his type—if they looked at all. Of course they were afraid of him, and that suited Brady fine. He scowled and snapped and blustered enough to keep them at bay.
    But now it seemed a lot more kids knew his name. He was no longer able to trudge through the halls with his eyes cast down, because everywhere he went someone was sure to call out, “Hey, Brady! Go, dude! Birdie, man! Way to go!”
    Brady was fully aware of glances from girls who used to turn up their noses at him. This he didn’t get. Were they really interested or just curious? Had he had become a novelty, some sort of a mascot? Brady wasn’t sure what to make of it all.
    Most bizarre was that Agatha had stepped in front of him while boarding the bus that morning and forced her big body down the narrow aisle to where a young girl sat alone. “You,” Agatha said, pointing, “move back there. Brady and me are sittin’ here.” And the girl had moved.
    Brady found himself strangely grateful to have enough room to sit, though Agatha took most of the bench. But he also felt conspicuous. He had long since lost any interest in her—which had been private and solely carnal anyway. She leaned against him and whispered, “You gotta tell me if it’s true you wore the gold suit home on the activities bus.”
    “So what?”
    “Why didn’t you change?”
    “None ya.”
    “Say what?”
    “None ya business.”
    She turned and stared out the window. Finally she turned back. “Whatever became of us, Brady?”
    “There was never any us, ” he said.
    “You could have fooled me.”
    “Then I fooled you, Agatha.”
    “I hate you.”
    “Grow up.”
    Just after lunch Brady was summoned to Clancy Nabertowitz’s office and enjoyed the stares as he headed that way.
    “You seem really into this,” the teacher said.
    “I am. Still learning, but it’s fun.”
    “Where are your books, Brady?”
    “My books?”
    “Your textbooks.”
    “Oh, uh, in my locker.”
    “I saw you come in this morning empty-handed.”
    “Yeah, I didn’t have homework, so I left ’em here.”
    “You need to know, son, that your landing this role has become noisy. Everybody seems excited about it.”
    “I