Lay It on My Heart by Angela Pneuman Page B

from sharp yellow teeth that look too small for his mouth. He holds the door until Cecil’s made it through, then he and all his friends line up at the back of our group.
    â€œThis is a good one,” says the twin up front. “It says, ‘Remember to pray for David Peake, who’s still in the hospital.’” All the East Winder kids turn this way and that until they spot me at the back. Heat creeps into the roots of my hair. I don’t know how many people knew about my father before the request, and I don’t know who wrote it, but I can’t even hear the next two requests because of the blood pounding in my ears. When everyone lowers his or her head in prayer, I get ready to slip away from the first and last school prayer assembly I will ever be
a part
of. That’s when one of the high school boys behind us yells, “Jesus fucking FREAKS!”
    Not a single East Winder kids moves. We’ve been trained for persecution, and we know how to keep our heads down.
    â€œThose boys?” whispers Mary-Kate. “They don’t even steal stuff out of lockers. They pee through the slots in the locker doors.”
    It has the horrible ring of truth, and I turn around and look. I can’t help it.
    â€œWhat’s your problem?” says the textbook-burning kid.
    Cecil looks at me hard. “Girl from the bus,” he says. He lifts his nose in the air like he’s trying to smell me again, and I shut my eyes against what comes next. “Girl from the bus on the God Squad.” Then he does a little hop with his foot, pivots awkwardly, and shuffles away down the hall with his friends.

Chapter 6
    E VERY MORNING BEFORE SCHOOL , Phoebe drives to the pay phone at the gas station in Tate’s Bend to find out where she’s substitute-teaching. If it’s far out and she will be late, then she will leave a message for me at school to take the afternoon bus that stops in East Winder. On these days I am to stay with Daze, if she’s available, or at my old house, where I have been handpicked by Mrs. Catterson for the unlucky task of socializing Seth, who is homeschooled. If Phoebe won’t be late, then I’ll ride the river bus back to the cabin. I’ll sit in the RV’s passenger seat and do my homework on the dash. Daze says this makes me a latchkey kid, like she saw on
60 Minutes
, but Phoebe says it most certainly does not.
    On the second day of school, a Tuesday, I get the message to ride the bus to the Cattersons, and Seth’s mother meets me at the door of my own house. She is tall and blond, with a strong-looking nose and a wide red smile. Inside the front door she stoops to give me a little hug as I stand there looking around for our shoe tray.
    â€œHow’s your father, dear?” she says. “We missed you in church.”
    â€œI don’t know, I know,” I say, like an idiot.
    Even though the cabin is a very cramped space, the inside of my house seems smaller than I remember. It has the invisible feel of other people, a strange, clear layer that distorts all the familiar things in a way I can’t pin down. For the first time ever, I keep my shoes on while I cross the pale gray carpet, the carpet Phoebe says is for sock feet only. Already there’s a faintly soiled footpath between the front door and the kitchen, right through the foyer. There’s a small television set too, on the shelf opposite the couch.
    â€œYou can set up your books on the table,” says Mrs. Catterson as she pours two glasses of milk. “You and Seth can do homework, and then we’ll see about the rest of the afternoon, if there’s time left over. Maybe even watch television.”
    What I would like to do is go up to my room and get my box. Only not in front of Seth.
    â€œMake yourself at home,” Mrs. Catterson says. “I mean, I know this is your home already, but you know what I mean.” Then she pulls on yellow rubber