Condemned

3 | Sam

Okay, so, I could have had a job right out of high school in my stepfather's church—Grace Fellowship of Norfolk. Amos is the pastor and the salary he offered me—my bribe to stay home—was nothing to frown upon.

I'm not opposed to working there, someday. But I'd want to do more than answer the phones, bored and longing for some handsome, affluent, securely straight, relatively normal, non-violent, devout Christian to sweep me off my feet. As of the night we'd say I do, I'd be barefoot and pregnant for two decades, and "work" would, of course, be optional.

Easier said than found. No boy in my age bracket has ever had more than a few checks in the required boxes. Unless someone new and amazing walks through Grace Fellowship doors—like Christ himself—I'll have to lower "our" standards, or this "dream" will never become a reality.

I'm actually not that picky about men or lifestyle, but my parents are. To make everyone happy, we'll have to compromise somewhere, and for me, this starts with a normal college experience. "Home" means different things to different people, and I'll never appreciate that unless I explore my options.

If I ever accept a job at Grace Fellowship, I'd like to be a counselor of some sort, and I'd need a psych degree for that.

It could be worse. I'm sure there are more challenging degrees to obtain. At Winchester University, however, the first-year curriculum is designed to weed out anyone who isn't both smart and hardworking. There's so much material to review, in class and on our own time, and the tests are tricky. There's not just "right" or "wrong" but degrees of rightness. Choose the best answer, and so forth...

I bombed my first quiz—our only grade so far this semester. It was eye-opening. I learned a lot from this mistake, but was it enough?

After clicking "submit" on my midterm, I gather my stuff. About half the class has left already. I'm usually one of the last to leave, so I take this as a good sign. And If I do okay on this, the quiz won't affect my grade that much.

I leave class smiling. The test wasn't as bad as I expected. It's my last class of the day, too. And it's Friday, finally. The worst week of my life isn't over, but the class part is, and it's like a little nip of salvation.

My smile fades when I see Hadlee, my cheer captain. She's hard on the freshmen, regardless of their talent and dedication, nosy and meddlesome, and thinks her "advice" is gospel and should be heeded accordingly.

Her eyes widen when she sees me—this isn't just a random encounter in the hall—and she's carrying a cheap bouquet of flowers. "Wow, Sam. I barely recognized you." This is not a compliment, I realize, as she takes in the sloppy bun and scans down to my well-loved flip flops and peeling pedicure.

I'm wearing an oversized Winchester U hoodie and black leggings that aren't skin-tight. I didn't have the time or inclination to do much with my hair. I didn't put my contacts in, either. Because of the purple half-moon under my eye, the nerdy black glasses are a must anyway.

I don't want attention or sympathy. I just want to move on. And blend in today.

Only the fanatical exist in "cheerleader mode" at all times, and they aren't always well received. So, I try not to let Hadlee's judgment get to me. She has enough power over me as it is.

She attempts to hand me the flowers. "These are for you."

"Aw, Hadlee, that's so sweet. You shouldn't have," I say, making no move to take them from her.

She rolls her eyes and gets a little more forceful. "They're from Ted."

"I know who they're from. You can tell him that I don't want them." I stroll past her, hoping that'll be the end of it. Knowing Hadlee, it won't be, but for a second, it's nice to pretend.