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‘“The women should adorn themselves in appropriate dress,” Mum says, “with modesty and soundness of mind.” 1 Timothy 2:9. These are Jehovah’s wishes, not Brother Oliver’s.’
I zip up my bag. ‘Okay. Well, I’m going to stay at Tamsin’s house tomorrow.’
She looks stunned for a moment. ‘What’s actually going on here?’
‘Nothing’s going on. I’m simply letting you know my plans for the weekend.’
Her lips flatten into a thin line. ‘Do you need to talk to someone?’
‘Like who?’
‘Like one of your spiritual sisters.’
‘Why? So they can set me back on God’s path?’ Guilt floods me as I leave the room, but I don’t back down. I swim in it. Thankfully, swimming lessons were on the approved list of extracurricular activities growing up.
Mum follows me to my bedroom. ‘Sister Jane said you can call her anytime if you need someone to chat to.’
Sister Jane smells permanently of tinned soup and hasn’t lived in the real world for more than fifty years. She has both elders on speed dial in order to report any suspicious behaviour within the congregation.
‘I’ll ask her to come visit after school today,’ Mum says when I don’t reply. ‘It’ll be good for you, and she’ll love feeling needed. It must get very lonely living up in those hills by herself.’
‘That’s on her. She chose to cut off her entire family.’
Mum stiffens in the doorway, confirming I’ve gone too far.
‘Sorry,’ I say quietly.
She straightens. ‘Sister Jane’s spiritual family extends all over the world.’
‘Then I guess she’s very lucky.’ I wonder if Mum actually believes half the things that come out of her mouth. Does she really think her spiritual brothers and sisters will ever replace the husband and daughter missing from this house?
Mum watches me change my clothes and step into my sneakers. I don’t bother with the laces.
‘Why are you leaving so early?’
‘Because I need to use the computers at school.’ And I can’t breathe in this house.
‘You haven’t had breakfast.’
‘I’m not hungry.’ I swing my bag over my shoulder. ‘And I’m working after school today, so please don’t call Sister Jane.’
She follows me to the front door. ‘What time will you finish work?’
‘Normal time.’
‘You’ll be here for dinner?’
The panic in her voice makes me look back at her. I’m all she has left, and spending a night with a worldly acquaintance threatens that. ‘I’m always here for dinner, Mum.’
She nods, her grip on the door frame easing. ‘We can prepare for the Watchtower study since you won’t be here tomorrow night.’
I take the olive branch. ‘Okay.’
I get caught up in the computer room trying to get the printer to work, which means I’m late to 2D art. Rushing in, I look around at the full tables. Tamsin’s not here, but Hunter Reed is. This is the only class I have with him, and so far, we’ve managed to ignore each other entirely during that time. Hunter usually has a table meant for eight people all to himself. He prefers it that way. How do I know? Because of the death stares he casts at those who dare to approach.
Given the convenient location of the table, my lateness, the lack of alternatives, and the fact that he was willing to be seen in public with me yesterday, I wonder if he might make an exception this time.
He glances in my direction, acknowledging my existence briefly. Encouraged, I approach, sliding into the chair opposite him.
