The Right and the Real
Read The Right and the Real Online
Authors: Joelle Anthony
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
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Copyright © 2012 by Joëlle Anthony.
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Published simultaneously in Canada. Printed in the United States of America.
Design by Marikka Tamura.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
Anthony, Joëlle. The Right & the Real / Joëlle Anthony. p. cm.
Summary: Homeless after her father kicks her out for refusing to join a cult, seventeen-year-old
Jamie must find a way to survive on her own.
[1. Cults—Fiction. 2. Self-reliance—Fiction. 3. Homeless persons—Fiction. 4. Fathers and daughters—
Fiction.] I. Title. II. Title: Right and the Real.
PZ7.A6283Ri 2012 [Fic]—dc23 2011013312
ISBN: 978-1-101-56184-3
1 5 3 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
This book is dedicated to
Linda Anthony—
for encouraging both my love of the theatre
and my passion for writing.
The Brouhahas,
for walking every step of the way with me on this story.
And Victor Anthony—
for everything.
chapter 1
THE TIGHT COLLAR OF THE BRIDESMAID DRESS
didn’t help my bad mood. I stood in the dark supply closet, my body tense and the odor of bleach stinging my nose. Josh’s familiar footsteps sounded in the hallway, and then there was a flash of light as he slipped inside and shut the door behind him.
“Jamie?” he whispered.
“I’m here.” I reached out and pulled him to me, taking some comfort in the softness of his kisses and the taste of warm, minty Chapstick, but after a few minutes I couldn’t do it anymore. I pressed my face into the front of his dress shirt.
“You okay?” He rubbed the back of my neck. I shook my head against his chest. Usually, kissing Josh sent tingles through my whole body, but tonight I barely registered he was there. “You’ll have to come out pretty soon,” he said. “The ceremony starts in ten minutes.”
His mouth found mine again, and I mumbled through the kisses, “I can’t let him marry Mira.”
Josh squeezed me tighter, but instead of reassuring me, it made me angry, and I pulled away. “It’s all your fault,” I told him. “I never should’ve come to this stupid church.”
He leaned his body into mine and I gave in and let him hold me. He was so warm and comfortable. Maybe we could stay in the closet forever. Maybe if no one could find us, they’d put the wedding on hold. Maybe…oh, who was I kidding? And why was I taking solace in Josh when it really
was
because of him my dad was getting married tonight?
“It’s your fault,” I said again, but my voice was muffled against his chest.
“I know…I know.…”
A light tapping noise made us both jump, and the closet door opened a crack. “Josh, I know you’re in there,” Derrick said. “Mom and Dad are looking for you.”
“Is anyone around?” Josh whispered to his brother.
“Nope. You’re good,” he said, “but hurry up. They’re gonna start soon.”
Josh tried to pull himself away, but I clung to him. “I can’t do this.”
He stroked my back. “Come on, Jamie,” he said. “It won’t be that bad.”
“How can you say that? It’s going to be horrible.” I wanted to hit him, but I sagged against him instead. He opened the door and led me into the hallway. Derrick was gone, but the Teacher stood there, looking benevolently at us both.
In a normal church, the Teacher would be the same as the pastor or minister, but here the congregation was supposed to consider him Jesus. Seriously. Jesus. I know…insane. That should’ve been my first warning the people here were crazy. Actually, when Josh asked me to a church dance for our first date, and all the teenagers were dressed in clothes they’d obviously ordered from
Amish.com
, I should’ve known
there was something odd about his church, but did I care? No. And why not? Because someone besides the drama boys had finally noticed I was alive. And not just anyone, but Josh Peterson, the hottest guy in the twelfth grade.
For the first three years of high school, I’d spent all my time in the theater department. My best friend, Krista, and I had made our own funky clothes, colored our hair with streaks of blue, worn black lipstick, and put holes in our fishnets on purpose. But over the summer between junior and senior year, I’d landed the part of Peter Pan at a professional theater downtown, and I’d had to cut off all my crazy hair. And once it was gone, I’d seen something I hadn’t noticed before.
I was pretty.
My naturally light blond hair framed a face with perfect skin, sparkling blue eyes, deep dimples, and straight teeth. For the first time, I saw
all
my potential as an actress. Not only could I sing, dance, and act, but I had a fantastic and very marketable all-American look, perfect for commercials. And as it turned out, also perfect for landing the star football player as a boyfriend.
The fact that the church was super conservative actually made it kind of fun at first. Since Josh’s parents hardly ever let him go out on real dates, I’d joined Bible Study and Youth Group, and after meetings, we’d made out in every dark corner of the church. We’d spent so much time locked away in closets that, when we were apart, it was how Josh’s body
felt
against mine I remembered, not so much how he looked. The thickness of his neck under my small hands and the feel of his rock-hard shoulder muscles when I caressed them—these were burned into my memory. And his smooth skin against my face,
except for the spots he missed shaving, which were prickly and left red patches on my skin.…Sometimes, I actually had to think hard to remember his eyes were hazel, because I hardly ever spent any time gazing into them.
Meeting in secret was fun. And it wasn’t like we
had
to do it; it just sort of made the whole thing more thrilling. Except for times like now, when someone caught us. Then it was kind of embarrassing.
“Ahhh…young love,” the Teacher said. “I hope you were showing Jamie proper respect.”
“Yes, sir,” Josh said. “We were just talking.” He blushed from his neck all the way up to the roots of his blond flattop. I needed to give him a few acting lessons.
“Good,” the Teacher said. “You two better run along. It’s almost time for the wedding.”
That sobered me up quickly, and again I felt stupid for being so clueless about the church and its members. The Teacher looked like he was trying to pass himself off as one of those drawings you see on cheap Christmas cards featuring Jesus—wispy brown hair, a long white robe, and leather sandals.
He’d gone into his office, and Josh and I were still standing there when, like bees leaving the hive, twenty-two bridesmaids in dresses just like mine swarmed out into the hallway from one of the meeting rooms. Sarah, the ceremony coordinator and queen bee, drove us all toward the lobby. “You go take your seat, young man,” she buzzed at Josh. “Places, bridesmaids. Places.” She reminded me of a stage manager in the theater, but this was no play—this was a real wedding. In fact, it was twenty-three real weddings, and one of the couples was my dad and his fiancée, Mira.
Sarah lined us up in the lobby, and one after another, we walked
down the center aisle. More than five hundred members sat on folding chairs under blazing fluorescent lights, staring at us. One of the freakiest things about this place was the way everyone looked alike. Women in pastel yellows and lavenders, men in dark suits, kids dressed like miniature versions of their parents, right down to purses and ties. Throughout the auditorium (I couldn’t call it a church—partly because it’d once been a grocery store), big TVs showed the service to the people sitting in the back, and video footage of us in our hideous flowered dresses splashed across them. I’d watched plenty of recordings of me on stage in plays or singing, and I usually liked seeing myself on a big screen, but not like this.
I wanted to run away, but some tiny part of me hoped Dad would look into my eyes at the very last minute and see what he was doing to me…to us. If I didn’t go to his wedding, he didn’t stand a chance of ever getting out from under Mira’s thumb, or the control of the church, so I kept walking, my hope dying a little more with each step, the cheap white flats pinching my toes.
I took my place in the front with the other bridesmaids. You’d think someone besides me would clue in that a group wedding was not only impersonal, but a little disturbing too. I swallowed hard to keep back a sudden sob. All the ceremony and rituals at this church freaked me out, not to mention my new stepmother-to-be and her fanaticism. Mira acted very sweet and innocent, but I’d seen the crazy glint in her eye more than once when she talked about the Teacher and how he was going to save us all from hell and damnation.
And the whole reason we were here was my fault. I wanted to blame Josh for getting me involved in the first place, but I was the one who let Dad come along with me to a Sunday service. Stupid, stupid me. For years he had dragged me to every house of worship
imaginable: Catholic, Baptist, Jewish, Mormon, Lutheran, Unitarian, Jehovah’s Witness, and one where they did yoga and meditation, but called it Spiritual Redefining. He never attended more than two or three services, though. This was the first time something had stuck.
Before my grandpa died last year, he explained the whole church fascination was because my dad was searching.
He’s unhappy,
he’d said,
because he couldn’t help your mother.
My parents had met in rehab and, against the advice of everyone at Alcoholics Anonymous, especially their sponsors, they’d dated anyway. According to my dad, who has almost nineteen years clean and sober, they’d been good for each other. At least until I was about three and Mom started missing the party life.
The wedding march blared, loud and long, momentarily snapping me out of my misery. As I watched the twenty-three brides, all in identical white dresses, my stomach churned. Tonight was what they called a Ceremony Night. Besides the group wedding, new members and anyone over thirteen who hadn’t done it already would take the Pledge of Loyalty. I’d read it, and it was nothing more than an archaic vow where members agreed to be ruled by the Teacher and disciples. At the Right & the Real Church of Christ, they called what amounted to elders “disciples.” All of them wore white robes with sandals and had beards like the Teacher.
The brides had lined up by height, and elegant, petite Mira led the way. She’d pulled her dark hair back in a severe bun, and meticulous makeup hid the lines in her face, making her look younger than forty-four. I couldn’t believe my dad wanted to marry someone five years older than him. I thought men liked
younger
women.