Saving Maddie, page 5
I nodded. “I won’t see her anymore.”
And just like that, I lied to my mother for the first time.
A few wrinkles shot into Mom’s forehead. Maybe she could hear the untruthfulness in my voice. “You’re not … interested in her, are you?”
I shook my head a lot harder than necessary. “Of course not.” Lie number two. “I’m just worried about her.”
The frown disappeared from her face. “Let me know if you want to talk—about Jennifer or Madeline or anything else.”
Mom left, and I returned to the graphic novel.
It was quite simple, lying to my mother. In fact, it was so easy, I wondered why I had waited until now to do it.
chapter 4
One day later, I stood outside Yvonne’s Coffee Shop. Although it was almost ten o’clock at night, the high humidity and nonexistent breeze made it feel like noon.
I tucked Madeline’s book underneath my arm, wiped my hands on my jeans, and entered the coffee shop, which was almost empty. Madeline sat in the corner, scribbling away on a notepad.
She narrowed her eyes as I approached. “Joshua, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be out trying to convert the masses?”
I held up the book. “I came to return this.”
“I gave it to you. I already read it, remember.”
I somehow found the courage to step closer to the table. “I just wanted you to know, I really liked the book. It made me think.”
That made her eyes soften. A little. “Really? Or are you saying that because you know it’s what I want to hear?”
Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. “Maus is an amazing book. It was so … real. I never knew a graphic novel could be so powerful.”
“And you said it was just a comic book.” She finally smiled. “It just proves you can’t judge a book by its cover.”
I took her smile as an invitation to sit down. “I spent all afternoon reading.” I pulled some folded sheets from inside the book. “I even wrote an essay on it.”
“You wrote me an essay?” She snatched the papers out of my hand and crammed them to her face. “Is this how preachers’ kids pick up girls nowadays?”
“I’m not trying to pick you up,” I said, trying to ignore the great view I had of her chest. “And the essay isn’t for you, it’s for my class. I just figured you’d enjoy reading it.”
“Do I look like I get my kicks from reading book reports?” Then she cocked her head and laughed, loud enough that the handful of people in the shop glanced our way. “Actually, I do like reading essays. I guess I’m a closet bibliophile.”
I sat there, unsure how to respond.
“A bibliophile is a book lover,” she said.
“I would have figured that out eventually.”
“I bet you thought it had something to do with being into porn, didn’t you. Of course, that doesn’t mean a bibliophile isn’t into porn.”
Good Lord, did she just say that?
Then the smile vanished from her face. “Seriously, did you write this paper thinking I’d forget our last conversation? Because if you think—”
“I promise, I just want to talk about the book.” I held up my empty hands to try to show how defenseless I really was. “Well, maybe we can talk about some other stuff as well, but I won’t bring up anything about you going back to church.”
Her frown stayed in place. “I don’t know, Joshua.”
I focused on her mouth. She wore the same purple lipstick as before, which gave me an idea. “How about this?” I spit on my palms, rubbed them together, and then crossed my heart. “I promise, we won’t talk about anything you don’t want to discuss.”
Madeline’s eyes flashed open. “You remember that?”
“Of course. Don’t you?”
“Well, I …” She ran her fingers through her hair. “That was such a long time ago. How old were we?”
“I was five when you taught me. And I didn’t want to do it at first, because—”
“—because you thought you could get cooties from it!” She slapped the table. “I can’t believe you remember that!”
For a second, Madeline looked like she did five years ago—full of smiles and laughter. “Do you …” I cleared my throat. “Do you remember the last time we made that pledge?”
Madeline dropped her gaze. “By the blackberry bush.” She traced her finger along the rim of her cup. “Of course I remember.”
“We promised we’d write each other.” If I was braver, I would have grabbed her and forced her to look at me. “And we did, for a while. Then one day I wrote you, and you never wrote back.”
“I know—”
“So then I wrote you again. And then again after that.” I shook my head. “Finally I got the hint.”
She looked up. “Joshua, I didn’t mean for you to take it like that. I wanted to write you, I really did.” She fingered the cross hanging from her neck. “Things got so busy. So complicated …”
I could almost see her words dissolving into the air. “Well, here’s your chance to make it up to me. Read my essay and tell me what you think.”
Her eyes twinkled. “How can a girl refuse an offer like that?” She turned to the paper but quickly looked back up. “You want a cup of coffee or something? Maybe tea?”
I gagged at the thought of another bitter cup of coffee. “I’d better pass.”
“Try this.” She pushed her cup across the table. “I think you’ll like it.”
I picked up the cup—whose lip had been marked with numerous purple smudges—and peered at the seemingly endless well of coffee. It looked a lot lighter than the stuff I had drunk before. Finding a lipstick-free spot on the rim, I took a sip and was surprised by how smooth it tasted. “Hey, this isn’t so—”
“Shhh. I’m reading here.”
I continued drinking Madeline’s coffee while I watched her read. Her lips moved ever so slightly as her gaze floated over the paper. I stole a glance at her notebook. I couldn’t tell what she was writing—maybe it was poetry, maybe it was song lyrics. Whatever it was, she was composing it with purple ink.
She looked up from the paper. “You could do better.”
I was a little hurt. “You think? I spent three hours working on that paper.”
“Then it sounds like you wasted a lot of time.” She handed the report back to me and took her cup. “If I wanted a play-by-play account of what happened in the novel, I’d read CliffsNotes. What I want to know is what you thought about the novel. How’d it make you feel? What was it telling you?” She pointed at my paper. “All that report is doing is regurgitating someone else’s thoughts.”
I stared at the paper. Three hours down the drain.
“Don’t feel so bad.” She rose from the table. “Let me grab some more coffee. Then we’ll really figure out what’s rattling around in that head of yours.”
* * *
One hour and two cups of coffee later, I felt like Madeline and I had dissected every page of that book.
During the entire conversation, Madeline’s voice jumped around like a boxer. One second, she’d be jabbing at me with questions. Other times, she’d lay one of her own views on me like she was going for a knockout.
When I read the book, I had only seen the words and pictures on the page. But with Madeline, everything took on an entirely different meaning.
It was amazing. She was amazing.
“This was fun,” she said after finishing the last of her coffee. “You need to read the second book of the series. Then we can really talk.”
I looked into my cup and was sad to see that I had finished as well. I pushed it to the side. “So I gather this means you’re glad you didn’t kick me out?”
She grinned. “Maybe I was a little harsh the other day. It’s just that I’ve been burned by so many people….” She shook her head. “Ah, never mind. What’s done is done.” Then she grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’m really glad you came by. I forgot how easy it is to talk to you.”
And maybe it was because of the way her skin felt against mine, or the way her smile seemed to radiate joy, or maybe it was the vanilla scent that lulled me into a false sense of security, but I was suddenly hit with a brilliant—and utterly stupid—idea.
“Hey, if you’re not doing anything next Friday, maybe we could go to a party together.”
Madeline slid her hand away from mine and twisted her mouth into a half smile, half frown. “Joshua Wynn, did you just ask me out?”
“No, of course not,” I babbled. “It’s just that Tony’s girlfriend is having a big party for her seventeenth birthday….”
“Thanks, but I think I’ll pass. As much as I like hanging out with you, I figured we’d just get coffee every once in a while. Maybe watch a good movie or something.”
I quickly nodded. “Yeah, I’ll probably skip the party as well.”
“Joshua, you will do no such thing.”
“But—”
“Let me guess—you always feel out of place at house parties. Everyone’s drinking and laughing, while you stand in the corner, trying to blend in with the furniture.”
She was dead right, and I hated her for it. “Thanks for making me sound even more pathetic.”
She patted my hand, and I had to admit, her touch made me feel a little better. “Think how I felt when I moved to Norfolk. I was a church girl, plus I didn’t know anybody. It was almost six months before I was invited to my first real party.” Madeline rose from the table, her hips exposed again thanks to another pair of gravity-defying jeans. “Sometimes you have to force people to see you differently. If not, you’ll always be the good preacher’s kid.”
I followed her to the counter. “And how’d you pull off getting people to see you differently?”
Madeline kept her back to me. “I’m not really a good example of what to do.” She glanced at her watch. “Wow, I didn’t realize how late it was. I need to clean up before my ride gets here.” She walked over to the wall and flicked the light switch. Automatically, the few people left in the café began packing away their books and shutting down their laptops.
“Creepy how they do that, isn’t it? Kind of like Pavlov’s dogs.” She finally looked at me. “Thanks for stopping by….”
“Since I’m already here, why don’t you let me drop you off at home?” I didn’t want the night to end. I refused to let the night end. “Really, I don’t mind. It’ll save your aunt a trip.”
“I’m not going home. I’m hitting the town tonight, although the nightlife here is extremely lacking.”
“Oh, so you’re going on a date tonight?” I pretended to study the menu so I wouldn’t have to look at her. “It’s just that it’s so late….”
“It’s only eleven o’clock. And I wouldn’t call it dating—it’s nothing that formal. Frank and I are just going to … hang out for a while.”
I squeezed my hands into fists, allowing my fingernails to cut into my palms. I liked the word dating so much better.
She went behind the counter. “Where do you usually take girls when you go out?”
I laughed. “I’m the last person you should ask about going out.”
She looked me up and down, and my pulse jumped into overdrive. “A nice guy like you doesn’t have a girlfriend?”
“Had one. We broke up a few months ago. Actually, it was more like she dumped me.” Just saying it out loud made me feel like a fool. “Maybe you remember her. Jennifer Dowling—”
“Jenny Dowling? Really? I never would have pegged her as your type. She was way too quiet. Too meek.” Madeline leaned over the counter. “So what happened? Why’d y’all break up?”
I turned away from her. Did she even realize how low that tank top dipped?
“Well, come on,” she said. “I don’t have all night.”
I shoved my hands into my pockets. “She broke up with me because I …” Good Lord, I couldn’t believe I was saying this. “She broke up with me because I wouldn’t have sex with her.”
Madeline’s face was stuck somewhere between shock and laughter. “She asked you to sleep with her and you said no?”
“Well, it wasn’t exactly like that. Jenn decided she wanted to have a more physical relationship. Only problem was, I didn’t realize this until after she broke up with me. After she had sex with someone else.”
Madeline’s face twisted into a full frown. “That’s a real shitty thing for someone to do. She should have at least talked to you about it.” She circled the counter and planted herself in front of me. “But the real question is, if she had asked, would you have slept with her?”
The scent of vanilla and coffee overpowered me. “I don’t—I mean …” I backed up a little. “We’re Christians. We’re supposed to wait until we’re married.”
“Because Lord forbid what would happen to someone if they decided to have sex before they got married.” Madeline waved a finger in my face. “I can only imagine what you think of Jennifer now.”
Even though I had her beat in height by almost half a foot, it felt like she was towering over me. “I mean, yeah, I’m mad at her, but I don’t think Jenn’s a horrible person. I just wish she had been honest with me.”
“Maybe she tried to talk to you about it. Maybe you just weren’t listening.” She crossed her arms. “You don’t know how hard it is to talk about things like sex with someone so … good.”
I shook my head. “I’m not as righteous as everyone thinks I am.”
“Is that so? Well, Mr. Preacher’s Son, let me ask you this: Why do you think it’s so wrong to have premarital sex?”
“Well, the church believes—”
“See, this is the same problem you had with the essay. You’re regurgitating someone else’s opinion.” She poked my chest, over my heart. “I’m asking you what you feel. In here.”
Madeline’s repeated jabs made it hard to concentrate. “It—it doesn’t matter what I think,” I stammered. “The Bible is my moral blueprint. It’s what I have to live by.”
“What is that—some line you heard from your father?” She jabbed me one last time, then moved away. “For your information, the Bible doesn’t even say that premarital sex is wrong. All it talks about is sexual immorality.”
“But clearly sexual immorality includes premarital sex.”
“Again, why? Because some preacher told you so?” She grabbed a black plastic bin from the counter and began busing one of the nearby tables. “Listen, if you want to say that premarital sex or drinking or cursing—or whatever—is wrong, that’s fine by me. But right now, you sound like all the other mindless sheep in the church, willing to follow their pastor anywhere, even if it’s off a goddamn cliff.”
“First of all, I’m not some mindless sheep. Second, it’s a pastor’s job to lead parishioners—to help them to interpret the Bible. In the book of Jeremiah—”
“You don’t have to quote the verse, Joshua.” The way she was throwing plates on top of one another, I was sure one of them was going to break. “All I’m saying is, preachers are just men, just like anyone else. They can make mistakes. They can be wrong.”
I paused a few feet away from Madeline. I wanted to be angry, to continue arguing with her, but it wasn’t me she was mad at—that much I could tell.
“Madeline, does this have to do with why you stopped going to church? Was your father … wrong about something?”
“How about wrong about everything.” She placed another plate in the bin, this time much more softly. “Sorry for yelling at you. I tend to get really riled up sometimes.”
“It’s okay.” I took a step toward her; she took two steps farther away. “Hey, I can stick around a little longer, if you want to talk,” I said.
“Not much to talk about.”
“Are you sure—”
“I hate to be rude, but I’m going to be late if I don’t get this place cleaned up.” She walked to the farthest corner of the room. “You’d better go home.”
I watched Madeline bus another table. “Um, okay. I guess I’ll see you later.” The only response I got was the clanking of coffee cups.
I headed toward the door. Maybe Mom was right. Maybe Madeline wasn’t ready to—
“Joshua,” she said, so soft that I almost didn’t hear her.
I stopped and turned. She had moved by the window—there was just enough yellow moonlight filtering through that I could catch her face. “I’m really glad you liked the book,” she said. “Come by the shop later on this week, and we’ll talk more. Okay?”
I nodded. She had invited me back. For tonight, maybe that was good enough.
chapter 5
The last thing I wanted to do was pull myself out of bed the next morning. For the first time in months, I’d gone a full night without dreaming about Jenn.
Unfortunately, my dreams were now frequented by a girl even more unattainable than my ex-girlfriend.
I glanced at the leather-bound Bible sitting on my desk. I hadn’t even made it through my nightly prayers before my mind had drifted to thoughts of Madeline. Thoughts of vanilla-scented hair, dark purple lips, and low, throaty moans. Thoughts of her warm, freckled flesh pressed against my skin.
But it wasn’t just Madeline’s body that I kept thinking about. I kept playing her words over and over in my head, in cadence to the imaginary jab of her finger into my chest.
Why do you think it’s so wrong to have premarital sex?
It was a question I had never really thought about before. Until Madeline asked, I had never had to think about it. It was wrong. End of discussion.
But still, even though I knew it was wrong and that I couldn’t, wouldn’t do it, I found myself starting to wonder: Why did I think premarital sex was so wrong? Not that I knew a bunch of teens who were having sex, but I did know a few. And so far, none of them had fallen into a chasm of death and destruction. Most of them were pretty normal. Most of them were like me—except they were having sex and I wasn’t.
After my alarm clock went off for the third time, I knew I had to get out of bed if I had any intention of getting to church by the time the service started. I hurriedly showered, dressed, and rushed out the door.
