Shelter Me Read Online Free Page B
Author: Mina Bennett
didn't know. It must be the dark, or I just wasn't used to seeing it from this direction. At any rate, it was definitely going to connect with something I recognized, at some point. It had to, right?
I shook my head to clear the unpleasant worries, and kept on pedaling.
By now, it was completely dark. For once I was grateful for the little reflectors my mom had insisted I paste all over my bike; the noise of the crickets had grown so loud that I wasn't sure I would even hear a car coming.
As I kept on riding, my mind started to wander. Almost anything was better than thinking about my current predicament, and before I knew it, I blinked and I saw Marissa's face.
This was what I did, whenever I was bored or distracted or lonely or afraid. I remembered her face - her smile - which came so rarely, and was all the more important because of that. I remembered her voice, always so soft and unassuming. But she was stronger than anyone knew. It was hiding in her eyes. I didn't know anybody else who could walk through a crowd of people that she knew were all whispering rumors about her, her back straight and her hands clasped in front of her, grace personified.
I knew that she knew. She'd even joked about it once or twice. "You know the kinds of things people say about me." I tried to imagine being in her shoes and joking about being the pariah. I was pretty sure that if I were her, I would have stopped going to church by now. Maybe run away from home. The silent judgment would be more than I could take.
But there she was, every day, sitting next to her family with her hands in her lap and her eyes on the pulpit. In my less charitable moments, I hated them - all of them, every last person at Eternal Grace that seemed to so hell-bent on keeping her an outcast. It was an impulse I'd never understand. But it didn't seem like it was ever going to change.
If Marissa were here right now, riding next to me on her hand-me-down roadster in sea foam green, she'd just smile encouragingly at me. "Don't worry. Any minute now, we'll come up on a road you recognize."
I shook my head, bringing myself back to reality. Up ahead was the glow of a street light, and there was a sign underneath it.
I'd hit the state route that ran almost directly through my back yard.
Marissa would laugh.
***
When Brandon first told me about Mark and Marissa, I thought he was kidding. It would have been the perfect way to mess with me. But not even the unplumbed depths of his mind could come up with something like that.
"You know," he said, around a mouthful of sandwich, "Mark asked Mr. Moore if he could court Marissa."
I almost spit out my soda.
"You're kidding." I felt like I'd been punched in the chest, which I told myself was just shock. Mark and...Marissa? I mean, he wasn't technically that much older than the rest of us, but the maturity gap seemed obscenely big. He owned a house, for crying out loud. Mari was still living in the bedroom she grew up in, with pink wallpaper and a Beatrix Potter lamp.
"No way," said Brandon. "I heard it from Lily, and she got it straight from Martha. They're 'keeping it quiet' for now." He smirked. Nothing much stayed quiet for long, around here.
"That's..."
"Get this," said Brandon. "He didn't even ask her first. Her dad had to tell her. That's how old-fashioned Mark is."
"Well," I said. "That makes sense." It didn't make sense, actually. Nothing made sense anymore. But it seemed like the thing to say.
"You still have a thing for her?" Brandon was spraying crumbs while he displayed his trademarked sensitivity.
"No," I said. Then, "I don't know. It doesn't matter, does it?"
"Well," he said. "I guess it matters to you."
We both chewed silently for a bit.
"You don't think it's weird?" I said, finally. "For him to go after one of his youth group kids?"
"Well, she's eighteen." Brandon looked like he was hardly convincing himself.
"I know that, obviously." I was eyeing the uneaten half of my
I shook my head to clear the unpleasant worries, and kept on pedaling.
By now, it was completely dark. For once I was grateful for the little reflectors my mom had insisted I paste all over my bike; the noise of the crickets had grown so loud that I wasn't sure I would even hear a car coming.
As I kept on riding, my mind started to wander. Almost anything was better than thinking about my current predicament, and before I knew it, I blinked and I saw Marissa's face.
This was what I did, whenever I was bored or distracted or lonely or afraid. I remembered her face - her smile - which came so rarely, and was all the more important because of that. I remembered her voice, always so soft and unassuming. But she was stronger than anyone knew. It was hiding in her eyes. I didn't know anybody else who could walk through a crowd of people that she knew were all whispering rumors about her, her back straight and her hands clasped in front of her, grace personified.
I knew that she knew. She'd even joked about it once or twice. "You know the kinds of things people say about me." I tried to imagine being in her shoes and joking about being the pariah. I was pretty sure that if I were her, I would have stopped going to church by now. Maybe run away from home. The silent judgment would be more than I could take.
But there she was, every day, sitting next to her family with her hands in her lap and her eyes on the pulpit. In my less charitable moments, I hated them - all of them, every last person at Eternal Grace that seemed to so hell-bent on keeping her an outcast. It was an impulse I'd never understand. But it didn't seem like it was ever going to change.
If Marissa were here right now, riding next to me on her hand-me-down roadster in sea foam green, she'd just smile encouragingly at me. "Don't worry. Any minute now, we'll come up on a road you recognize."
I shook my head, bringing myself back to reality. Up ahead was the glow of a street light, and there was a sign underneath it.
I'd hit the state route that ran almost directly through my back yard.
Marissa would laugh.
***
When Brandon first told me about Mark and Marissa, I thought he was kidding. It would have been the perfect way to mess with me. But not even the unplumbed depths of his mind could come up with something like that.
"You know," he said, around a mouthful of sandwich, "Mark asked Mr. Moore if he could court Marissa."
I almost spit out my soda.
"You're kidding." I felt like I'd been punched in the chest, which I told myself was just shock. Mark and...Marissa? I mean, he wasn't technically that much older than the rest of us, but the maturity gap seemed obscenely big. He owned a house, for crying out loud. Mari was still living in the bedroom she grew up in, with pink wallpaper and a Beatrix Potter lamp.
"No way," said Brandon. "I heard it from Lily, and she got it straight from Martha. They're 'keeping it quiet' for now." He smirked. Nothing much stayed quiet for long, around here.
"That's..."
"Get this," said Brandon. "He didn't even ask her first. Her dad had to tell her. That's how old-fashioned Mark is."
"Well," I said. "That makes sense." It didn't make sense, actually. Nothing made sense anymore. But it seemed like the thing to say.
"You still have a thing for her?" Brandon was spraying crumbs while he displayed his trademarked sensitivity.
"No," I said. Then, "I don't know. It doesn't matter, does it?"
"Well," he said. "I guess it matters to you."
We both chewed silently for a bit.
"You don't think it's weird?" I said, finally. "For him to go after one of his youth group kids?"
"Well, she's eighteen." Brandon looked like he was hardly convincing himself.
"I know that, obviously." I was eyeing the uneaten half of my
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