Page 14 of Gay for Pray
He snorts. “Thanks for recognizing that I’m not an idiot, I guess.”
“No, but I mean, you never act like this in class. You always seem like you’re on your phone or slacking off. You never show any interest in the material. Why not?”
He shrugs. “Class is boring, but my scholarships are contingent on my grades. I couldn’t slack off even if I wanted to.”
He says it so casually, but I can’t imagine the pressure I’d feel if my ability to go to school depended on my grades. I get excellent grades, of course, but there isn’t an anvil hanging over my head forcing me to do that. It’s purely my own ambition propelling me.
For the second time in far too short a span, I find myself feeling something like pity or admiration for Jude.
I shake it off, remembering my furious prayers last Sunday. It doesn’t feel like God is answering the call, and if this is a test, it’s the worst sort. I didn’t need to see Jude as anything but annoying, but the more we’re forced to interact, the more I glimpse a different side of him, a side that’s studious and hard working and stronger than I ever imagined. He’s carried this burden all on his own without ever letting his mischievous smile fade.
“Let’s get this divided up,” I say to change the subject and steady myself. “We should try to get some of this done before wemeet again. I know we’re way ahead of the deadline but…”
“I get it,” Jude says. “Better to knock it out now before the coursework piles up. I can’t promise I’m going to be as diligent as you, Boy Scout, but I’ll do my half before the due date.”
He talks as though he expects me to push back, and I can’t fault him. Even I expect me to push back, but for some reason I don’t. I accept his answer and focus on divvying up this assignment so we can get it done. Even weirder, Ibelievehim. I believe he’ll do his half. The anxiety I always experience with group projects isn’t buzzing under the surface like it should be.
I glance aside and find Jude typing up his own notes for himself. Some of the brightness he usually carries into every room is missing today, however, like a cloud interrupting the perfect California sunshine. It reveals a crack I never suspected, a kernel of doubt amid all his bluster.
“Are you okay?” I say before I think better of it.
He raises an eyebrow. “Am I okay?”
Shoot. I didn’t mean to say that. I shouldn’t have noticed, but I was sitting there studying him and, I don’t know, it just popped into my head. Why does he keep having this effect on me where everything I take for granted about myself goes out the window?
My stomach knots around the answer to that question, but I’m determined to ignore it.
“You seem different today,” I say, hoping I sound casual.
“Different how?”
“I don’t know. Like, kind of down or something?”
The eyebrow climbs higher. Jude’s laptop sits completely forgotten before him, the cursor blinking in forlorn defeat.
“I…guess I am a little,” he says slowly. “But why would you care?”
“I don’t,” I say.
“Just your Christian duty to check up on the heathens?” he suggests, that sly smile curling across his mouth. It does thingsto my already fraught stomach that leave me nauseous.
“Something like that,” I mutter at my keyboard. “Whatever. Forget about it.”
I put my head down and try to get back to work figuring out which sections of the project will be my responsibility, but the silence is thick as honey clogging my throat. After only a few moments, Jude speaks again.
“Fine,” he says. “You want the truth? I haven’t exactly had the easiest time here. As you yourself pointed out, I don’t really fit in in this place—in a lot of ways.”
His honesty drags me away from my work. I find myself meeting his bright blue eyes despite my best intentions. I’m going to vomit up my lunch at this rate.
“Well, it is a Catholic university,” I say with no real bite behind it. “Is that why?”
“Partly,” he says on a sigh. “That certainly doesn’t help. You don’t care about this, though.”
“I care,” I say, then swiftly add, “It could impact our grade.”
He rolls his eyes. “Right. Of course. Don’t worry, Choir Boy. My love life won’t hurt our grade.” He adds in a bitter mumble, “Especially because there’s no love life to speak of.”
I flinch. This is exactly the sort of topic I want to avoid with him. I’ve spent my whole life confused by this kind of thing, and he does not make it any better. The way he lives—so open, so free, so unashamed no matter what he does—inspires a queasy mix of horror and…something like jealousy. I don’t know how he does it, how he can sit here and say something like that to me, knowing where my own beliefs lie. His fearlessness terrifies me.
