Page 7 of The Pact

So I am jealous of Lynda, I’m jealous because her family isn’t expecting what mine expects from me. But regardless of my jealousy, I also don’t like her because she has a mean streak to her that comes out whenever she interacts with people she deems not cool enough for her. And I know I’m definitely one of those people, because she never acknowledges me unless our parents are around.

“I’m going to a party. A ‘friend’ invited me,” she says running her hands through her long, dark hair to fluff it up.

I know her “friend” is a boy. If her clothes and makeup weren’t enough of a giveaway, the tone of her voice makes it obvious.

Dating isn’t allowed in our church, the pastor’s council sponsors “singles nights” that are heavily supervised and any outing once a couple gets approved is always chaperoned. So I know that wherever Lynda is going and whoever she’s meeting with isn’t someone approved by the church.

“Ausra, you better not rat me out, or I’ll tell that you were here texting during service.”

I gasp outraged, not at the threat but at her assumption that I’d tattle on her. “I’m not going to. I don’t gossip,” I say, unable to hide my resentment.

“Whatever! You better keep your mouth shut, if you think that by telling your father you’ll advance in your enlightenment—”

I shake my head. She’s obviously not paid attention lately in church. My father’s new doctrine has made it virtually impossible for any woman to reach any significant enlightenment and consequently any rank within the church. “Listen,” I react. “I have other things to worry about rather than what you’re doing.”

Lynda opens the door that leads back into the corridor, walking toward the secondary exit and I follow her mostly out of concern about how closely she’s cutting it. The service will end any minute now and she risks getting caught.

“What are you still doing here? If you think that I’m gonna invite you—”

“No, I don’t.” I scoff. “I was just looking out in case someone sees you,” I offer. “I don’t want to be seen with you dressed that way or I’ll get in trouble too, even if I wasn’t doing anything.”

The noise of an engine covers Lynda’s next words and I follow her with my gaze as she runs outside and climbs into a convertible Beamer. Hard hazel eyes meet mine for a second, before the car speeds away. Go figure. She’s going out with that horrible guy who called me unfuckable a few weeks ago and laughed at me with his equally horrible friends.

I close the door behind me, shaking my head. I’m pretty sure that if that’s who Lynda is spending time with, she’s up to no good. Those guys are notorious all over town for their partying and for their trophies, whether it’s the windsurfing ones or the girls they go through faster than I change my underwear.

Again I feel jealousy, intense and bitter, so powerful that it makes me tremble and I drop my phone again. Of course I despise those guys, especially Kelley, the one who made that rude comment about me. But Dad is right when he says that temptation often comes in beautiful, alluring packages.

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Ausra

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“AUSRA, DARLING, WOULD you please pass the potatoes to Mrs. Greggs?” I obey with a smile, trying to hide my internal agitation. I had no idea that my parents had invited the Greggs for dinner and of course part of my feelings are caused by the bitterness I feel toward Lynda.

She isn’t here, forced to exchange pleasantries with our parents. She’s out doing who knows what and gets away with it, while I have to lie and scheme just to be able to see my sister and my niece. When Mom asked where Lynda was, Mrs. Greggs said that she was out doing charity work, volunteering at the soup kitchen that recently opened in downtown Shell Cove.

I didn’t miss the sharp look Dad gave me when he commended Lynda’s display of mercy, as if he’d allow me to work anywhere that didn’t belong to the church. He lets me take part in the yearbook club just because the church is one of the main sponsors of the yearbook.

I go through the whole dinner obsessing about how unfair it is that Lynda gets to be a normal teenager and even go out with a boy and I have to hide hanging out with my own family. Every aspect of my life is controlled and monitored; everything is judged. Because, get this straight, my dad preaches mercy and he often shows it to others but never to his own family. Perfection is the only thing he accepts from us and anything less than that comes with heavy consequences.

It isn’t the first time that the thought of how my life could be if I had different parents crosses my mind. If McKayla had had different parents.

Maybe I’d get to choose my own clothes, have friends that aren’t imposed on me because they belong to the church. Maybe I’d get to go out with a boy.

That last thought hits me with unexpected violence, the memory of that guy’s hazel eyes burned into my memory as if someone had branded that look he gave me into the back of my eyelids with a hot iron. Those eyes seemed to see deep into my soul but I doubt they really saw me. He saw what everyone sees. The preacher’s daughter. Rigid. Controlled. My hair, my clothes, my behavior. His smile had been cruel. Almost as much as his words. He sees what the rest of the world sees about me and he judges me. But he doesn’t know me. No one really knows me, not even I know myself I think, unable to help the way my thoughts go to what he’ll be doing right now. Partying. With Lynda.

I know my thoughts are dangerous and I force my mind to banish those eyes, that smile. I can’t let myself think about anything that could get me into trouble. I know it sounds ridiculous but my parents have some kind of radar. It’s as if they can tell whenever I stray from their rules, even if just with my thoughts. As if they know me and don’t like who I could be if they didn’t work relentlessly to repress and snuff out every flicker of ... me.

“Ausra, did you hear what I just said?” Mom’s voice has an edge to it. I avoid meeting her gaze, knowing already what kind of disapproval I’ll find if I look at her. She’ll probably want to talk to me after dinner. She’ll warn me against wandering thoughts. She’ll reproach me for being rude in front of our guests. I immediately put on a mild smile and apologize. “I’m sorry, Mom. I was thinking that I would love to ask Lynda about her volunteering. I wouldn’t mind finding something like that to occupy my summer. Work on my mercy and—”

“Your mother was asking you to go to the kitchen and tell Hester that we’re ready for dessert.” My father’s voice is sharp and dry. It hits me like the crack of a whip. Lately his focus has been on projection and reflection. He’s been preaching that you project what’s inside you and show that reflection to the rest of the world. His theory is that what appears on the outside often matches what’s inside a person. So my distraction will invite scrutiny, I think hurrying to the kitchen, trying to hide my worry that he might decide to ground me. Then I wouldn’t be able to go see McKayla.

I try to spend the rest of the dinner focusing on our guests and the conversation at the table but I can’t help anticipating some kind of unpleasant conversation with Mom later about being distracted.

After dessert the men retire into Dad’s study to discuss church business and Mom takes Mrs. Greggs out to the winter garden to show her her latest winter roses. I retreat to my room to finish my homework and bring myself ahead so that I can work on a few extra essays later on. If I sell those, I’ll have some extra cash for McKayla tomorrow.

Homework is a good thing, it keeps my mind engaged and keeps my anxiety at bay. But it’s just on the surface, in reality the worry about what my parents will say about my distraction has just been pushed to the back of my mind and it rears its head immediately when Mom enters the room.

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