Bridge to a Distant Star (28 page)

Stephen tugged the cap back on and returned to his usual scowl. Jammed his hands into his pockets and proceeded toward the dorms, taking large strides with his long legs. Michal had to scurry to catch up with him, judging an apology was a must. “Sometimes I say the dumbest things. I just talk, without thinking. Know what I want to tell people when I do that?”

He glanced up, the sulk a little less severe. When he didn’t say anything, Michal took his silence as encouragement to continue.

“What I want to say, you know, is that I didn’t grow up here. I don’t read social cues like I should.” She laughed, an abbreviated sound signaling frustration rather than happiness. “I really am clueless sometimes.”

She could barely hear Stephen mumble, “I feel clueless all the time.”

“Oh, no. You’re not, not at all. Like in class? Some of your answers to Dr. Rosenburg? Wow.”

“You’re a good student.” Stated simply, as fact. He kicked another stone, starting the game again.

“Not like you. I work hard. But I can tell it comes a whole lot easier for you.”

Somewhat defensively, Stephen interjected, “Oh, I work hard too. It’s why we’re here. To learn and go on to serve God. In churches or on the mission field.” His eyes lit up as he held her gaze confidently for the first time. “Wasn’t the chapel speaker great today? I thought he was inspiring.”

Michal hesitated a moment, taken back at the juxtaposition to Allistair’s thoroughly negative appraisal. “Yeah, he was. Good.” She nodded her head. “Yeah, I liked him.”

“What he said about dating and missions? Boy, I absolutely agree. And about having kids?” Suddenly cognizant that he was staring at a girl, talking about having children, caused him to take a turn feeling embarrassed and he looked away. “I mean, you’ve got to … um … you’ve got to put God first. Don’t you think?”

“Oh, yes. Absolutely.”

“I mean … you’re going back to the mission field, right?”

Michal nodded vigorously. “As soon as I graduate. I’ll need to raise support first. But afterward, as soon as I can.”

“If you got married and had kids? You’d send them to boarding school, wouldn’t you?”

“If God called me to. I mean, I’d have to trust God to take care of them. And if that’s the only way we could reach the unbelievers there in Ethiopia, sure.” She knew all the phrases to say, the right responses. “I mean, after all, my grandpa did it. My dad and then me and my sister and brothers.” Michal held out her arms, palms up. A pantomime of surrender. “So my kids—if I ever have kids—well, they could … would need to probably … go too.”

Stephen turned to her with a look of awe. “It must’ve been an incredible experience to be at a boarding school. Every single day … such … such closeness with each other. Fellowship and studying God’s Word, growing closer to each other because of your parents’ commitment.” He reached out to lightly touch her arm, a movement resembling a fan fawning the object of his devotion. “I just can’t … can’t imagine what a blessing that must’ve been.”

Uncomfortable, noticing a strange prickly feeling on the back of her arms, Michal stammered, “Oh, don’t. Really. You know … we all do what God’s called us to, right?” They’d arrived at Michal’s dorm. She looked up at the window of her room, wondering if anyone were watching.

Stephen stared earnestly into her eyes, intensity animating his features. “I just thought it was great Reverend Coleman reminded us about the seriousness of what we’re doing. The reason we’re here, you know? That we’re preparing for service in the church or on the mission field—and we’re not here for silly games. Like sports or other stupid stuff. Dating games. I think we students need to get our priorities straight, don’t you?”

“Yeah, that’s true.” Suddenly more serious, Michal’s nod became adamant. But then the silence between them—the awareness they were simply standing there, staring into each other’s eyes—made them uncomfortable, shy. They both looked away, Michal to poke at a buried rock with the toe of her sandal while Stephen reached up to pull the cap down lower on his forehead.

Michal was startled when Stephen blurted out, “Can I ask you a question?”

“What’s that?”

“How’d you get a name like Michal?”

She laughed. “That’s the second time today …” and caught herself, just in time. Remembering who had asked earlier, someone she didn’t want to talk about. “My mom thought I was going to be a boy, and she liked the name Michael. So, she changed the spelling a little.”

“Like Saul’s daughter. Destined to become David’s wife.”

Michal grinned up at him, appreciating his height and the quick recognition. “You’re good. Not everyone remembers that.”

Blushing, he refused to meet her eyes, taking his turn at kicking a rock.

“Well, I’d better go,” Michal said. “Speaking of getting our priorities right, I’ve got plenty of work to do.”

Stephen hunched over even more, if that were possible. He continued to concentrate on the rock, an excuse to keep his gaze downward. “Yeah, me too. Nice to talk with you.” He ventured a quick glance, caught her eye for a split second. “Um, see you around. Bye.”

And then he did an abrupt about-face, hustling down the walk like he was running from a fire. Never venturing a glance behind.

Michal smiled at his retreating back, amazed at what had just transpired.

A waste basket was wedged in the door of the suite to capture the cross-breeze as several of the girls gathered in the suite’s lounge. They were stretched out on the chairs and couch, a couple on the floor with backs against the tired-looking furniture. Laughter broke out as Michal walked in, just as Jessica demanded, “Pass the popcorn, will you? Geez, you guys are hogging it all.”

Michal noted all but one of her suitemates were there—Jenny, Samantha (Sam, as they generally called her), Jessica, and Ruth—plus two from the adjacent suite, Lauren and Amy. Beth was noticeably absent.

“Hey, Michal. What’s with you?” Ruth asked, narrowing her eyes at Michal’s expression. “You’re lit up like the stoplight at Main Street. So what’s up?”

“You won’t believe it. Do I have a story to tell you.”

Jessica—her mouth full of popcorn—simply patted the couch, motioning for Michal to sit next to her. She held out the bag of popcorn.

“No chips?” Michal complained, grimacing. “Beth and I haven’t had anything but popcorn for ages. I can’t stand another kernel.”

“That’s all we’ve got left too,” Ruth groused. “What can I say? It’s time for spring break. Time to go home, raid some cupboards, replenish the supplies.”

“And speaking of Beth, does anybody know where she is?” Michal asked. Frowning, resigned, she reached for a handful of popcorn, unable to resist the smell after all.

Everyone’s head was shaking. “She wasn’t in our Romans class,” Sam offered. “Second time she’s missed this week. Dr. Shaw didn’t look happy about it either.”

“I’m getting worried about her,” Michal said. “Seems like she just wants to stay in bed all the time. She’s skipping chapel too—has a ton of cuts, she told me.”

“She’s puttin’ on the pounds. Definitely added the freshman fifteen,” from Samantha.

“Samantha.” Michal shot her a glare, determined to be loyal, defensive of her roommate.

“That’s not kind, Sam,” Jessica lectured, and then laughed, as Samantha took that moment to stuff her mouth with a large fistful of popcorn. And then watched a good portion fall all over the floor.

“Frankly, I want to hear Michal’s news before I get back to studying.” Jenny glanced at her watch, sucking in her breath. “Two thirty. Geez, how did it get that late already? Can you give us the condensed version, Michal?”

“Well, Allistair asked me to go to the basketball game with him tomorrow night.” Gasps and exclamations all around. “And when Stephen Jones takes off that wretched stocking cap and smiles …” she drew out her words in dramatic fashion, holding everyone’s attention, “he’s got really nice blond hair. And dimples.”

Comments and questions came in a bombardment.

“Allistair asked you out? No way.”

“I’ll tell you what’s no way—no way I’m believin’ that about Jones.”

“Jones gives me the willies. Seriously.” Samantha formed an L shape with her fingers, held it to her forehead. “Loo-ser. Jones is a big time loser.”

“He actually smiled? Stephen Jones smiled? Didn’t know he had it in ’im.”

“Oh, Michal. Allistair?”

“You’ve got to wear some of my clothes, Michal. Something really cool. Do your hair. And makeup. Let me do it.” Samantha, who’d been sitting on the floor, was now up on her knees and had inched forward so she was at Michal’s feet.

“I’m not going.” Michal’s voice was calm. Nonchalant. She shrugged her shoulders, crossed her arms over her chest, and relaxed back against the couch.

Again they all talked in unison, still in disbelief. But arguing now, incensed.

“What? Who in their right mind would turn down …?”

“Michal would—that’s who.”

“You’ve got to go out with him, you idiot.”

“She’s not serious. You’re teasing, right? You are teasing us, aren’t you?”

Michal chewed on a nail, thoroughly enjoying their exclamations of displeasure, taking her time to answer. “Actually, no. I’m being serious. Allistair is … well, not as spiritually mature as I thought he’d be. In comparison? Stephen seems so much more mature.”

Stunned silence.

Michal started to inch forward, pushing herself up from the couch. “You know, I’d better get busy studying—”

Jessica grabbed her on the one side; Samantha and Lauren moved to hold Michal down on the other. “No way you’re leaving until you explain yourself. You think you’re dropping a bomb like that and then disappearing on us?” Lauren exclaimed.

“What bomb?” Beth stood in the doorway, appearing disheveled and worn-out.

All eyes turned to look at her, taking in the noticeable change in Beth over the last few months. Her hair looked wild. Bright red, it generally had a wiry, refusal-to-be-tamed unkemptness, but it appeared she hadn’t even attempted to calm the unruly curls that day. And it was dull, mostly devoid of the luster they’d all been envious of last fall.

Like Michal, Beth usually didn’t use makeup. But the dark shadows under her eyes and the hollows under her cheekbones—if Beth had gained weight, her face certainly belied it—cried out for concealment. Otherwise, her complexion was an unhealthy, pasty white.

Usually more meticulous about her clothes than Michal, today Beth was wearing a wrinkled, blousy top several sizes too big, and she hadn’t bothered to tuck it in. Instead, it hung out over a pair of jeans that were also ill-fitting, bunching awkwardly around her hips. The bottoms of the jeans dragged on the ground—getting frayed and filthy from the red clay of the area—completely hiding her shoes. If she had any on.

The word
wretched
popped into Michal’s mind, and she immediately felt ashamed.

“Are you okay? Beth, you look awful,” Samantha burst out. Michal shot her an angry look, silencing any further comments.

“What’re you talking about? What bomb?” Beth sounded defensive.

“I was telling them about my conversations with Allistair. And Stephen Jones,” Michal explained, searching Beth’s face. She stood up, taking her roommate’s hand. “Come on, Beth. I think you look plain worn-out.” Michal guided Beth tenderly, opening the door to their room and gently pushing her through. Over her shoulder, she offered, “We’ll talk more later at dinner.” To their loud protests, she reasoned, “Hey, I needed to study anyway. I’m sure you all do too?”

Michal received an assortment of groans and grumbles in response. A pillow was launched in her direction, though she easily dodged it. But they all got up and reluctantly filed into their respective rooms.

Only Samantha seemed to intentionally delay, waiting until everyone else had gone before whispering to Michal, “Hey, I’m sorry I said that. To Beth.” She lowered her eyes. “Will you tell Beth I’m sorry? That I didn’t mean anything by it?”

Michal squeezed her friend’s arm. “Beth knows that, Sam.” She lowered her voice. “I think we’re all concerned about her. I know I’ve been …” she let it trail off, unfinished, shaking her head. “See you when we go to dinner?”

“Later.”

Michal watched her go into her room and then turned to look at Beth. She was stretched out on her bed, facing the wall again.

“Did you want to talk?” Michal ventured. “Or just sleep?” Beth took in a deep breath, let it out slowly.

“I’m just tired. I think I have some kind of flu thing again.”

“Want me to call the nurse?”

“No.” Beth rolled over to face Michal, her face a mask of alarm. Realizing she was overreacting, she intentionally calmed. “I just don’t want to bother anybody when it’s nothing at all, really. I’ll feel better after a good night’s sleep.” She suddenly brightened, sat up. “Know what I really need?”

This was the Beth Michal had instantly taken to when they’d first met, the roommate who was full of mischief, a prankster. One who always found something to laugh about—even in the worst of situations.

When Michal had been devastated by a C on her first paper for Dr. Brown, Beth had thrown her into stitches with a perfect imitation of the professor. The way he sucked in his bottom lip when making a point. How he’d rub his bald head, smoothing the few strands that still grew on an otherwise barren landscape. The way he used his index finger to push up wire-rimmed glasses on his long bony nose.