Shades of Truth (6 page)

A
t school the next morning, Ruth halfheartedly brought up the fire again, but before I could repeat my reasons for not reporting the boys, she said, “Oh never mind, Sadie. Tonight’s youth group — you’re still coming, right?”

I hadn’t asked my parents for permission to go to Ruth’s after school, so at lunch I called Mom from the office. The day ended up being almost normal, except for the Zitzie picture that Abby and Erin drew and posted on the white board during recess. Frankie’s nickname for me had caught on.

Ruth and I spent the afternoon playing Disneyland with Mark and Hannah, after they learned I’d been to the park not once, but three times. Ruth kept apologizing, but I didn’t mind. Her little brother and sister were daredevils, and their trampoline version of Space Mountain was fun, in a say-your-final-prayers kind of way.

Later that evening, Ruth’s mom drove us to the church, a small A-frame sanctuary with stained glass windows. Ruth and I waved to her mom, and then wound through the maze of buildings into the woods. Ruth wasn’t kidding. Not only did they meet in a tree house — they met in the craziest, rambliest one I’d ever seen. Weathervanes and wind chimes spun and sang on top of randomly placed chimneys and turrets.

Ruth held out the rope ladder. “You first.”

“Are you sure it’s safe?” I asked.

A young woman’s face, topped with black and teal spiky hair, looked down through the hole. “Come on up. We don’t bite.”

“Are all youth groups like this?” I asked.

“Go!” Ruth said.

I grabbed hold of the rope and climbed. The spiky-haired woman pulled me onto the deck and then helped Ruth.

“Sadie, this is Penny. She’s the one who leads our trips.”

I tried not to stare. Penny, with her teal hair and ears pierced in five places apiece, didn’t look anything like the youth group leader I’d pictured.

“Nice to meet you,” Penny said. “Ruth told me you might come tonight. Our other leaders are around here someplace. Ben does all the audio visual stuff — anything with cords — and Doug’s in charge of everything else.”

Across the deck two girls sat on a bench, watching the band tune guitars and check microphones inside. The shorter one looked over and smiled.

“Hey, Ruth.”

“Hey Lindsay, Bea, this is Sadie.”

“Hi,” they both said in unison, smiling.

I’d almost forgotten what being smiled at felt like. A few more people came up the ladder followed by a man with thick-rimmed glasses and a stubbly beard.

“Time to start. Oh, is this Sadie?” He walked over to us and shook my hand. “Welcome. Nice to meet you. I’m Doug.” From the creases at the edges of his eyes, I could tell he laughed a lot.

“Hi,” I said, suddenly feeling tongue tied.

Ruth led me inside. A few lamps lit the otherwise dark room, and some colored lights pointed toward the band. The twenty or so kids and adults found beanbags and window seats. Lindsay and Bea looked like the only other seventh grade girls. There were a few younger girls, and six older ones — the oldest looked like a senior in high school. I always had trouble guessing boy’s ages, but they were scattered too, a few younger, and more older. No one frowned at me or called me Zitzie, which was a welcome relief. Ruth and I took two beanbags in the middle of the room.

Doug went up front. “Just a few details before Equilibrium plays. Next week we’ll meet late down by the big rocks for the star shower. Bring a coat because it’ll get cold. Penny’s arranging a slide show, so don’t forget to send her your mud pictures. We also have a guest here tonight, Ruth’s friend, Sadie — welcome, Sadie — and I think that’s it for my announcements. Am I forgetting anything?”

A guy who looked like he belonged on the football team called, “Yeah, when’s the marshmallow eating contest?”

“Those marshmallows!” Doug said. “I keep forgetting. Next week, I promise.”

“Doug’s just scared,” the guy sitting next to the football player said. “He’ll never be able to keep his record.”

Doug laughed. “We’ll see about that. Okay. Let’s kick this off with a prayer.”

Everyone closed their eyes. I sank low into my beanbag and watched Ruth. The first time I’d prayed for Big Murphy, I felt a bit calmer but nothing more. Was I doing something wrong?

Doug started praying. I looked up to see if he was watching me, but no, his eyes were closed too.

“God, we’re here. We’re open. We want to hear from you. Thank you for being with us, for your whisper in the wind and for your laughter in the river. Thank you for your children, Cameron, T.J., and Ryan, who celebrate you with their gifts. Help us be a blessing to one another. Amen.”

A simple drumbeat started and everyone opened their eyes. Ruth’s expression had been calm and unreadable during the prayer. Had she felt anything in particular? I could ask her, but asking would feel strange. And what did Doug mean when he said God whispered in the wind and laughed in the river? Cameron’s guitar started, and T.J came in with the bass. The drumbeat thumped inside my rib cage and chased out my thoughts.

Then Cameron sang. Ruth fought her smile and glared
at me out of the corner of her eye. Cameron looked over at her a few times as he sang, but I couldn’t tell if his glance was different for Ruth than for others in the room. I hoped it was. Ruth and I would definitely have to talk more about Cameron.

I settled in and listened to the words. In the first verse Cameron asked question after question. Surprisingly his questions echoed mine. Does God care about every single thing we do? Does he notice when someone cries? Does he know when someone is sick? In the chorus, Cameron, T.J., and Ryan sang together:

When the song ended, everyone cheered.

“That was our new one,” Cameron said. “Now we’ll play some old favorites.”

They played four more songs, but I wasn’t really listening.
Hand in hand?
They talked about God like they could touch him, like he was something real. To me, God was like fog, something you think is there, but when you move closer, it’s gone.

Doug got up after the music. “We’ve talked a lot about connecting with God, about finding tiny moments of beauty in your life and noticing God with you. Does anyone have examples from this week?”

Lindsay raised her hand. “I saw my new baby niece this weekend. I bounced her on my lap, and she wiggled all over. But then I leaned her back, held her in my arm right here.” She ran her fingertips over her lower arm. “She looked into my eyes and suddenly, I felt this tug, like someone telling me to pay attention, to notice that moment. Right then, I knew her and she knew me and we didn’t have to say anything at all.”

“And that tug, that sharpening of focus, do you think that was God?” Doug asked.

“I do,” Lindsay said. “But I can’t tell you why.”

She seemed so comfortable talking about God, about her questions. I didn’t even know where to begin.

Doug said, “It isn’t easy, listening for God. But you’re all doing a fantastic job. How about you, Jasper?”

Jasper was a smaller boy, probably a sixth grader, sitting in a beanbag at the far left of the room.

“Um … well, we went fishing last Saturday. The light was super bright on the water, and I thought about that story you told about Moses. So I took off my flip-flops.”

People laughed, and then a girl in the back of the room spoke up. “I have a comment.”

“What is it, Claudia?”

“I told my parents how you talk about God, and they think you don’t take him seriously enough. He’s God — the creator of the universe. Doesn’t he deserve more respect?”

Murmurs started around the room.

“Now wait a minute, everyone. Claudia brings up an
important point. We have to find the tiny ways to connect with God so we see and appreciate all he does, but we also must remember his glory. He does deserve respect, Claudia. And I think that is what the people in this room aim to give him.”

“Well, I don’t think joking about flip-flops is very respectful.”

“I don’t think Jasper was joking.” Doug’s voice was quiet, calm, and sure.

Claudia pressed her lips together and leaned against the wall. Tension. Even here. Still, Ruth looked calm, as though she’d heard all this before.

“Claudia, remember we all see God differently. We have you to remind us to approach God with awe and reverence. And we have Jasper, who reminds us that sometimes giving God our reverence can be as simple as taking off our flip-flops.”

A few more people gave examples — God was in a sunset, in the joy at a birthday party, in the hopeful look on a dad’s face as he went out to interview for a new job. I’d never considered any of these “God moments,” as Doug called them. But the more he talked, the more I wondered.

“People yearn for something beyond what they know. The exact experience is hard to put into words, but when God reaches out to touch you there’s a startling moment when you see both the present moment and feel something beyond — you feel God. Our job is to stay open to these moments, which happen all the time. So this week, watch.
Pay attention. Witness God in your life.” Doug stood up and asked us all to stand too.

“God, you showed up tonight. Thank you. Give us wide-open eyes to see you throughout the week. Amen.”

And then it was over. Cameron and his friends unplugged their instruments, and Ruth pretended not to watch as we talked with her friends, Bea and Lindsay.

“I hope you’ll come back, Sadie,” Doug said. “Do you have any questions?”

Questions?
I had too many to count. But I didn’t know how to ask even one of them. “No. Not really, I guess.”

“Okay. Well, if you ever do, I’m here. And so is Penny. And I know Ruth is too.”

“Umm, thanks.”

He moved on to mingle with the others.

I tried to pay attention to the girls’ conversation, but I couldn’t focus. I wanted to be alone in my room with my sketchpad, to draw the Tree House and its vanishing point. Was that spot, that exact place that faded away into invisibility, where I’d see God?

Bea touched my arm and I blinked, realizing I’d drifted far away.

“Sadie, are you coming for the star shower next week?” she asked.

“Maybe,” I said. “Um, yeah. I think so.”

“W
hat’s Mom doing in the closet?” I asked Dad when I walked into the kitchen.

Dad wore the Sugar-and-Spice apron and carefully watched a pan of scrambled eggs. “Done!”

I scrambled backward to avoid being smacked in the head with the pan as he whipped around and divvied up the eggs.

“Seriously, Dad, someday you’re going to hurt someone.”

“Perfect eggs are extremely important.” He brought the plates to the table.

“Are you sure you want to interrupt Mom?” I asked as he picked up the third plate. “What’s she doing, anyway?”

I’d caught him mouth open, ready to shout. He closed his mouth and winked. “Guess I’d better not. I’ll just take them in to her. She’s organizing.”

Interrupting Mom mid-organization was more dangerous
than Dad frying eggs. I’d had to duck at least ten flying shoes while learning the hard way. But if she was organizing, she must be feeling much better.

I gave him a wink of my own. “Good luck.”

“I’ll tiptoe. I’ll be the invisible man. She won’t have the faintest idea I was there.”

Thirty seconds after he’d left the kitchen, Mom shouted, “Out! Out! Out!”

After he’d come back to the table, she called, “Thank you!” Humming to himself, Dad dug into his eggs. I’d already eaten half of mine.

“These are good, Dad.”

“Good?
Good?
” Dad shouted. “They aren’t good. They’re excellent. In fact, they’re superb.”

From down the hall, Mom called, “They’re marvelous!”

I grinned and took my last bite. Not even Frankie could ruin a day like today.

But half an hour later, when we pulled up to school, my stomach tightened. Clumps of whispering students shot me dark looks as I walked up the school’s front steps. I’d gotten used to the cold shoulder, but this was different. People were truly angry.

As I turned the corner toward our classroom, Ruth collided with me, red-faced and breathless. She pulled me to the side of the corridor and opened her mouth to say something, but just then Tess and Nicole passed by. Tess raised an eyebrow at Ruth, and Ruth shrunk back against the lockers.

Tess tapped my shoulder three times, her sharp fingernail jabbing me deeper each time. I rounded on her. “What?”

“So, yesterday, you went to the principal’s office during lunch. Today, Mario, Nick, and Demitri are suspended. How do you think that happened, Sadie?”

I narrowed my eyes. “I was in the office to call my mom, to ask if I could go to Ruth’s house after school.”

“And to report the boys for starting the fire?” Nicole asked.

I studied the pained expression on Ruth’s face. Had she told on the boys? She couldn’t believe Tess and Nicole’s accusation, not after I’d refused to tell so many times.

Finally I said, “I didn’t tell on them.” Though it was pointless. If Tess and Nicole had decided I told, nothing I said now would change their minds.

“And even if Sadie did tell, everyone knows Mario, Nick, and Demitri did it,” Ruth said. “They weren’t at the community meeting the night of the fire.”

Ruth was trying, but of everything she could have said, blaming the boys was low on the helpful scale.

“Frankie said we couldn’t trust you to keep out of our business.” Tess leaned in so close I could smell her winter-green toothpaste. “Watch your back, Zitzie.”

As she and Nicole walked away, I turned to Ruth. “Even if Sadie did tell, Ruth?”

Ruth was small to begin with, but now, with her shoulders slumped and her eyes on the ground, she seemed tiny. “I’m sorry, Sadie.”

The bell rang and she walked into the classroom, leaving me in the hallway to wonder whether she meant she was sorry because she had told and let me take the blame, or she was sorry because she thought I had told and didn’t know if she could trust me.

I headed into class and curled into my chair, wishing Pippa were here. Pippa would never doubt me, and I would never doubt her.

The day stretched on forever. People treated me like the sludge lining the cafeteria garbage cans. I avoided Ruth. Friends trusted one another — period. And either Ruth didn’t trust me, or worse, she had betrayed me and was now letting me take the blame. To believe that, though, meant I didn’t trust Ruth. If I could just wait long enough, maybe the truth of what happened would come clear, without some horrible showdown between Ruth and me. An hour before the final bell, I started watching the clock. Fifty-five minutes. Thirty-two minutes. Seventeen minutes. Twelve minutes.

“Before you go,” Ms. Barton said, “I want to introduce our word study project. You will each pick a word to investigate. For instance, you might pick the word
dream
.”

Abby didn’t bother to raise her hand. “What do you mean, investigate a word?”

Ms. Barton opened a blue cloth-covered notebook, searching for a particular page. “I’ve already begun researching my word, which is
mother
.”

She read, “A mother is not a person to lean on but a
person to make leaning unnecessary.’ — Dorothy Canfield Fisher.”

“Who’s that?” Abby again.

“She was an educator and a writer. But that’s not the point.” Ms. Barton read again from her book, “In the dictionary, the word mother is defined as ‘A woman in relation to a child or children to whom she has given birth.’ “

“What about mothers who adopt children?” Erin asked. “They’re mothers too.”

“The dictionary leaves a bit out, doesn’t it?” Ms. Barton said. “Words like
dream
and
mother
are hard to define because they represent ideas that can’t be summed up in just a few words. The word
truth
is another one. Listen to this quote: ‘The truth is more important than the facts,’ — Frank Lloyd Wright. And, ‘Facts and truth really don’t have much to do with each other.’ — William Faulkner. What do you think Wright and Faulkner are saying?”

Frankie leaned back in her chair. “They’re saying that just because someone was playing with a lighter doesn’t mean they set a tree stump on fire.”

Ty smirked and added, “Just as an example.”

As usual, Ruth raised her hand. Sometimes she just didn’t know when to put her head down and stay out of things.

“I think Wright and Faulkner are saying certain things are bigger than facts. A mother is more than the dictionary can describe,” Ruth said.

Ms. Barton nodded. “Well put, Ruth. So class, your assignment is to one, choose a word that means something
to you. Two, find examples of it in images, quotes, stories, poetry, music, and letters. Collect everything you can for two weeks. And three, create a presentation that includes a written report and a creative oral section. Your presentation must include at least one visual aid. You’ll get extra credit for creativity.”

“I call
cheese
,” said Rickey.

“Clearly,” Ms. Barton said, “you’ll want to choose a word that provides enough material. Words like
hope
and
dream
will take you further than a word like
cheese
. Monday, bring three words to propose. After I approve one of your words, you can begin your project.”

The bell rang and I gathered my things, wondering what word I should choose.
Trust
was the only word that came to mind. I used to think I knew all about trust, but Ruth had shown me I had much more to learn.