Looking for Cassandra Jane (The Second Chances Novels) (15 page)

“You’re my sister now, Cass,” she said with wet eyes. “I’m so glad for you. I can’t wait to write and tell Joey. He’ll be so pleased.”

As she drove me home I felt pretty certain that Jim wouldn’t be quite so pleased. But I knew I had to tell him all about this. And perhaps Jesus was calling on him too. It could happen. And so like grasping a little lifeline I held on to the slim hope that Jim would ask Jesus into his heart too—after all, hadn’t he given up drinking and such? Maybe he was ready for something like this. I prayed for Jim during the remainder of the day while I did my chores at the Glenn’s and then got ready to go to the football game that night.

Of course,
I thought to myself as I walked back over to the school where I would catch the activity bus that would take me to the football game in a town twenty miles away.
Why, of course, Jesus wants to save Jim too
—
that’s probably why the two of us became such good friends in the first place. And then after Jim sees the light
(as I remembered hearing Pastor Henry say)
Jim and I can continue to date and have a good time together.
And this is exactly what I prayed for as I walked through town. Yet even as I said these prayers I sensed a shadow of doubt hanging all about my words. That would be just too good—too amazing and unbelievable! Especially for someone like me—someone who always seemed to come by everything the hard way. Why should anything change now?

And as it turned out I was exactly right.

Twelve

M
y grandma used to say
you can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear and I suppose that’s a little how I felt that night when I figured out Jim and I were history. At the time I probably tried to flatter myself into thinking it was simply the result of me becoming a Jesus freak, but underneath all that I felt like a social failure—sort of like Eliza Doolittle gone wrong.

It was almost Homecoming week and naturally Sally Roberts had been nominated as one of the contestants for Homecoming Queen (I heard she nominated herself). But as fate would have it (that very day, during seventh period, while I was sitting in Sara’s car turning myself into a Jesus freak) Sally Roberts had somehow coerced Jim into agreeing to be her escort at Homecoming next week. I came by this information quite innocently enough during halftime in the girls’ rest room (behind a closed stall door) as Sally and her cheerleading buddies adjusted their makeup and sprayed on perfumes that smelled like a rancid mixture of overripe strawberries and lilacs and chattered like magpies in front of the big mirror above the sinks. Just before I opened the door I heard Sally’s high-pitched little-girl tone that always made my skin crawl. “And Jimmy Flynn’s going to escort me!” she squealed with delight. My fingers froze on the little latch that held the flimsy plywood door closed and I sucked in my breath and waited.

“How’d you talk him into that?” asked head cheerleader Julie Miller.

“I consider it a mission of pure mercy,” said Sally in what had suddenly turned into a haughty tone. “Don’t you know I’m saving him from turning into poor white trash just like that Maxwell nerd he’s been seen with late—”

Well, that was all I could take. I threw open the door and stepped out, then instantly wished I hadn’t. Their conversation ceased as I walked past them, my jean jacket brushing against the blur of their red-and-gold uniforms. I headed straight for the sink. Focusing my eyes on the water I quickly washed my hands, not even glancing up into the mirror, not wanting to see their perfectly made-up faces reflected there. Other than the sound of water and a toilet flushing, the room was hushed, but I could feel their eyes burning mean, dark holes into me. I saw Sally toss a challenging look my way as I moved past her. But she said nothing, only smiled smugly, victorious, as I exited the stuffy, perfume-saturated room.

I never did return to the stands that night. Instead I walked around the somewhat deserted town that didn’t look all that different from Brookdale and wondered what was the real meaning of life. I did believe that I’d given my heart to Jesus that day—but for what reason? I wasn’t entirely sure. Why did Jesus need my heart in the first place? And now it seemed somewhat defective—what would Jesus want with a broken heart?

After circling the town I found myself back at the high-school parking lot and the game still only in the beginning of the fourth quarter. So I slipped into the activity bus, went clear to the back, curled up on the cold, hard, vinyl seat, and cried myself to sleep. When the bus finally returned to Brookdale High, I walked straight home—not bothering to wait outside the locker room for Jim. I wondered if he’d miss me. I hoped he would. Still as I walked toward the Glenn’s house I felt strangely and unexpectedly encouraged. For some reason it no longer felt as if my life were completely over. Something had changed in me. And although I felt slightly mystified by all this, I wondered if it might actually be Jesus. Could he be doing something in my pitiful little life? It seemed possible.

Now if I’d been a normal girl, living a normal life, I might’ve thought up excuses to hang around the kitchen the following day expecting the phone to ring. But as it was I had no phone of my own and wasn’t allowed to use the Glenn’s phone for incoming calls (sometimes I could sneak an outgoing call if Mrs. Glenn wasn’t around) so Jim didn’t even have my phone number.

Maybe this was a relief of sorts, for I felt no distraction as I went about my Saturday chores, only a sort of hopeful numbness. And when I got done I returned to my room to do my homework and play my guitar. I even had the clarity of mind to write a little song about Jesus coming into my heart that even to this day I still sing sometimes.

Did I feel bad about being dumped for Sally Roberts? Well of course! But I now realized it wasn’t going to be the end of my life. I think for the first time I really understood deep down in my soul (well, maybe it was just a brief and fleeting glimpse) that I couldn’t fully depend on earthly people. Somehow I figured that eventually everyone would let me down in one way or another, maybe not intentionally, but sooner or later it would happen. After all I’d had a rather full history of being let down—why should I suspect anything would ever change?

But during this same flash of insight I also realized that Jesus would never let me down—somehow I just knew that I could count on him. And I think I really believed it—at least during that moment in time. Unfortunately we don’t always grab on to and really adhere to the things we truly believe. Or perhaps we simply grab on to them too tightly, and then, like grains of sand in a doubled-up fist, they trickle through our fingers and disappear altogether. Sometimes faith can be kind of slippery like that I think.

On Sunday afternoon I went outside to rake the soggy maple leaves from the parking strip along the street (the last activity on my weekend “chores list”) when I noticed a bright yellow car coming toward me. And then I saw someone waving from inside and realized it was Sara in her VW bug. She parked in front of the Glenn’s house and climbed out. “I was hoping I’d catch you,” she said. “I forgot to get your phone number and when I tried one from the phone book, it was disconnected.” She glanced up at the Glenn’s house. “Nice place, Cass.”

I suddenly realized that she really didn’t know anything about me and was just assuming that this was where I lived with my family. So I leaned the rake against the tree and sighed. “This isn’t really my house, Sara, I just live here and do housework for them.” I couldn’t bring myself to use the term
foster home
since it hardly seemed a fitting description of the arrangement we had going on here.

“Oh.” She looked slightly puzzled. “Well anyway, I came by to see if you want to join us tonight—for what we call a rap session.”

“What’s that?”

“Oh, just a bunch of us that get together and talk about Jesus and God and spiritual things and stuff. It’s not related to any church or anything. And it’s pretty laid-back. We all bring pop and chips and stuff, and then we sit around on the floor and just rap together for as long as we want. It’s at my house tonight. Want to come?”

I shrugged. “I don’t have a car. Do you live very far from here?”

“I’m only about six blocks away. But I can pick you up if you want.”

“That’s okay. I’m used to walking pretty much everywhere.” So she gave me her address and phone number and I promised her I’d come.

“So are you doing okay, then?” she asked me, concern showing in her blue eyes. “I mean, now that you’ve got Jesus in your heart, are things going okay for you? You seem a little down.”

I shrugged again. “Well, it hasn’t been exactly easy. Jim and I are broken up now—well, at least I think we are. I haven’t actually seen him in a couple days.”

“That’s probably for the best, Cass. Especially since he was pushing you, you know. Now you can just get all that much closer to Jesus.” She smiled brightly, reminding me of an ad for toothpaste—the Colgate girl.

But I sensed despite the perky smile she was sincere. “Yeah, I was kinda thinking the same thing,” I tried to sound more positive, “and I even wrote a song about Jesus, and I can play it on my guitar and…” I looked down at the leaf-covered ground, suddenly wondering why I was going on like this, telling her all about the song that was so personal to me.

“Cool,” she said. “Maybe you can share your song with the group tonight.”

“Oh no, I don’t think—”

“Oh, come on, Cass, you’re not supposed to keep your light under a bushel basket, you know. And it’d be really neat if you sang—everyone would love it. We always sing songs in the beginning. Some kids bring their guitars and we really get down sometimes.” She tugged on my arm. “Now listen, I want you to bring your guitar and your Bible—you do have a Bible, don’t you?”

I nodded dumbly.

“Okay, then, it’s settled. And on second thought I think I should swing by and pick you up. No sense in you walking and lugging your guitar six blocks when it’s supposed to rain again tonight. I’ll come by around six-thirty.”

I explained to her about the Glenns and my “no visitors” rule, then showed her my back entrance where she could knock on the door.

“Cool!” Then she turned and waved. “See ya then!”

I finished raking the mushy leaves and returned to my room, where I practiced my little song again and again, worried that I’d make a complete fool of myself in front of this group of Jesus freaks. Why I was so worried about impressing these kids that I had only six months ago completely put down and disdained was a pure mystery to me. But for some reason it mattered now.

Sara picked me up as promised. “Now let me warn you, my parents aren’t exactly saved. I know that probably seems weird since I’m having this thing at my house, but I figure the influence will be good for them. But I just want you to know that they smoke and drink and cuss and stuff—and so if you think you’re coming to some goody-goody churchy home, then you’d better be forewarned.”

This actually made me laugh. “Well, I doubt there’s anything your family could possibly do that would shock me. I’ve pretty much seen it all. My dad was well-known as the town drunk and now he’s in prison—or maybe he’s out by now. But it was his second time, so I don’t know.”

“Wow, what did he do?” She actually seemed impressed.

“He beat me up while he was under the influence.”

She glanced over at me as she pulled into the driveway. “Man, I knew your family had some problems, Cass, but I didn’t realize it was anything like that. That sounds pretty exciting.”

“Exciting?” I felt my brows arch. “It’s pretty gross, if you ask me.”

“Well, I know. But it’s just not your everyday small-town story.”

“I guess ‘everyday’ people should be thankful for that.”

I had to admit the rap session was pretty cool. I couldn’t believe how warm and friendly and genuine the kids seemed—it’s like I suddenly had this huge group of friends who accepted me just as I was. I didn’t even mind playing my song for them, and everyone said they really liked it.

It was so strange—kids from all walks of life were gathered in this one place and yet there was this unity. I knew that only Jesus could do that. And for the first time ever, I think I felt almost completely at home. It was amazing.

A guy who’d graduated a couple years ago and was now taking a correspondence Bible course was obviously leading the group. His name was Scott Jones but his friends all called him Sky. (Sara said it was because his eyes were sky blue, but Joe Allen, a guy with a witty sense of humor, jokingly said it was because he was such an airhead.) Anyway, Sky directed the group during the discussion and his deep spiritual beliefs and religious convictions became increasingly apparent to me. You could just tell that Sky really wanted to serve God.

I stayed late to help Sara clean up and asked her about Sky and how he’d come to be such a strong Christian. “Oh, you and Sky have some things in common,” she said as she placed a tumbler in the dishwasher. “His dad’s an alcoholic too, and there’s been a lot of violence in his home.”

“Does he still live at home?”

“No. He’s got a place of his own—a dumpy little trailer over by the railroad tracks. But he says he’d rather be there than living in his parents’ home where they fight all the time.”

“Yeah, I can understand that.”

“Well, I should warn you that half the girls in the group think they’re in love with Sky.” She laughed. “I try not to be one of them—although he is awfully good-looking, don’t you think?”