Faith Over Fear

Chapter 12

*Rylyn*

The locker door beside me slams shut, making me jump. Matthew stands red faced and frustrated, muttering things to himself about how something was ridiculous. I raise an eyebrow at him before pulling out my prayer journal and easily sliding it into my binder. God is with me wherever I go, but it feels more official to write down my conversations to Him. A comforting item, I guess. Plus, I have library today, so I'm allowed to write.
"I have a problem," Matthew says as we walk up the steps.
"Yeah?"
"My dad's gone missing," he states with bitterness. "Apparently they lost track of him in a totally different country. And with all that military equipment! Tell me, how is that possible?"
"I don't know, but please calm down. It'll all be fine," I try. People were starting to stare at us... I really don't want to attract more attention to myself than I have to. We reach the top of the steps and he rattles on.
"How can you say that?!" he exclaims. "How can they lose someone so important to their team? He flew planes for Pete's sake! How do you just lose a plane? Certainly they keep track of those."
I pull open the door and inhale the smell of books. Paint smells better, in my opinion. Which I will be working with after school, since I'm doing that in the advanced art program. Rider, Matthew's friend, is in that with me. He's actually pretty good.
"What about bombs, huh? There were bombs on the plane and they lost those!"
"Shush, we're in a library," I whisper, glancing uneasily at the glare from the librarian. I regret that I said that to him. We collapse in chairs beside our regular table that is isolated in the back. I look at him, and sympathize over him as I watch how distraught he is about this whole thing. "Look, I'm really sorry," I say quietly.
He refuses to look me in the eye, but I can still tell he's listening. He fidgets with his books and things, being silent after his rant. I wait for him to say something. He doesn't. I pull out my journal and start writing. I write about Matthew and his dad. I pray he is safe and that God would watch over him and the family. I write about school and classes.
I write about Dad, though I haven't mentioned him in a while. I don't address the subject out loud or in my thoughts. I know I still think about it, though. I try not to, but I can't help but feel lonely. Scared, even. Dad was there to protect me all the time. Now I have to put my trust in God, Who allowed this to happen. I don't blame God for this. I blame myself.
"I can't imagine life without him," Matthew finally says, watching me close my notebook and carefully put it back on my stack of books. "He was due to come back this summer. Now I don't know if he will." Tears threaten to roll down his face, but he manages to keep them in. So much better than I would've done. I depended on Dad for everything: love, family, friends.
"I hope he comes back," I say. "But you know what? The good news is God is in control. He has your dad and mine. This wouldn't have happened if God didn't want it to." I stare at Matthew and smile. "So have faith."
"You make it sound easy," he sniffs. "Like you've been there..." Now, he looks me with raised eyebrows. Something clicks in his brain, I can tell by the expression on his face. I don't deny anything. I just shrug and stand as the bell rings outside the library.
I've been there. More than once.

* * * * *

After school, I head up to the art room, which is beside the library, to finish my painting. Hauling my backpack up the stairs, I watch the vacant hall below. All is quiet except for the pounding of basketballs in the gym. I walk in the art room filled with wooden tables, very spacious and organized for an art teacher. She is sitting at a table, looking at younger kids' artwork. Not to many people are in the advanced art program, only about five of us. In junior high, anyway. There's Rider, one sixth grader, two eighth graders, and me.
After we finish our paintings, Rider and I plan to work on a project together combining his creative passion for comics and my mind for details. I don't think he will mind working with me. He's very sarcastic but really is a kind person once you get to know him better.
I walk to a table in the back and set up my canvas on a stand while my partner experiments with ideas. He always finishes, erases, starts again, asks me if I like it, then grabs another sheet of blank paper and starts all over again. That is, until his pencil breaks. Then I have to go retrieve one for him from my locker because the pencil sharpener is broken. (Though I don't understand why he couldn't have just asked the teacher for one.)
As I make my way down the wide, concrete staircase, I hear something odd. Yet familiar and terrorizing to any kid. I reach the bottom of the stairs to see May and some kid. That kid is reaching for... My journal! I stare and realize the kid is Matthew in his sweat pants and basketball t-shirt, sweat trickling down his chin. May is reading my journal and holding him down. I act before I can think.
I run down the hallway as fast as I can to try to get it back. My life is literally in her hands. Every thought, every event, every doubt-all of it. She's reading my life story. I might as well be alone forever now. But I can't stop her, she's already seen me, heard me. Her eyes flicker from Matthew to me. He grabs for it, but she shoves him against the wall. Then she does something horrifying.
"So, you're an orphan?" she asks me, looking up with a smirk and snapping the book shut. She lets go of Matthew, but he doesn't run. He just watches, shocked by the new information, as she walks toward me. May keeps an eye on both of us. "Oh you didn't know!" She looks at Matthew's gaping mouth and my pleading eyes to laugh at them.
"What are you talking about?" Matthew asks slowly.
"Give it to me," I demand quickly. "Please."
May ignores me.
"So the story goes that her mom died then her dad dies eight years later and she feels guilty about the whole thing. Plus, she is staying with her youth minister, not her uncle, and she's lying to her best friend about the whole thing. Apparently, Matthew, you don't know her."
"I know her better than you do," he says defensively, though I can see the doubt play across his face.
"Sure you do..," she says sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "If she was really your friend, why wouldn't she have told you this? Given you at least some idea what she's been through just so life could be easier. I understand that I made it harder, but honestly, I was starting to gain some respect for you." May says, directing the statement to me. "You're even more of a wimp than I originally thought."
I'm at a loss for words. I stare at her in disbelief. Then to Matthew. He looks... Hurt. Pure hurt is on his face and it looks like he wants to give me sympathy and scream at me at the same time. I feel my eyes well up with tears. What have I done?
May hands the journal to Matthew and walks away. He turns it over in his hands a few times before opening it. I don't know how long I stand there watching him read everything I've written. I want to run and hide, but my feet don't know how to move. Finally, he speaks, not meeting my gaze.
"I... I trusted you," he says quietly, shaking his head and snapping his blue eyes up to me. "You lied to me so much."
I don't say anything. I just try not to cry. I'm an idiot.
"You're not even going to tell me why?"
I don't know if I could.
"After you went to all this trouble to keep everything from me you're not gonna tell me why?!" he exclaims louder.
"I... Can't." Wow. That fixed everything. I wish I could beat myself up right now. What is wrong with me? Could I say the right thing just got once? He looks like he wants to yell at me again, but then decides against it.
"See ya, Rylyn," he tosses the book to me and starts to the gym. "If that's even your name."
That's when I burst into tears and run up the stairs. My feet fly up as I found the corner to the band room. I don't look back at Matthew. I open the door and go in to shut myself in darkness. The only light comes from the little window in the door. I cover my face with my hands and sob. I'm so dumb, I'm so dumb.
I don't want anybody to come after me. Ever. I don't deserve anyone to love me. I've lied and ran from a solution. I'd rather stay here so I can figure myself out, but not have to face anyone. I try to listen for something to help me. Anything. Except, no voices are waring in my head today. Both are silent because I know what they will say.
"I told you so."