Principal Quinn smiled at her and then he began to clap. Slowly at first, and then louder and with more enthusiasm, Cami’s classmates began to applaud, too. She looked over the kids in their seats, and her breath caught in her throat at what happened next.
Like the others, Jordy was still clapping when he stood. Then the kids around him did the same until finally everyone was standing and cheering for her.
Cami couldn’t stop her tears. They ran down her face and reminded her that the Bible was right about forgiveness and grace. They were proof of faith. Proof of God. Cami knew firsthand now.
It was grace.
Grace personified.
Cami was still riding the high of being loved by the other kids when she got home later than usual. The small groups had met and then her peers had prayed for her specifically and for the club. None of them knew how great the trouble was that lay ahead.
Turned out that was especially true for Cami.
When she walked through the door her dad was waiting for her. A half-empty bottle of some kind of liquor was on the end table beside him. Before she could say a word he stood. “Do not tell me . . .” He charged toward her, his feet unsteady, eyes blazing. “Do not tell me, young lady, that you were at that . . . that Bible club today!”
His words slurred, and for the first time in Cami’s life she was sure her dad was going to hit her. She clung to her backpack and with her other hand reached for the doorknob. If she had to escape, at least she could.
“Don’t run away. You will not make a mockery out of me. You unnerstand?”
“Daddy . . . w-w-what’s wrong with you?” Her words were a shriek.
Her father rushed at her once more and this time he swung at her. Right at her face. Cami moved just in time and her dad’s fist went through the wall near the front door.
That was all she could take. Cami hurried back outside and began to run. Tears streamed down her face, but she kept running. As fast as she could. Away from her dad, away from his anger. His toxic view of life.
When she was three blocks from her house, when her sides were shaking and her lungs were gasping for air, Cami used her phone to call Jordy. “Please! I need your help.”
Jordy was there in minutes and he drove her back to his house. Together with his dad, they came up with a plan. Because she was eighteen, there was no need to call Child Protective Services.
Cami didn’t want to press charges against him, but still, the main concern was her immediate safety. One of the teachers, Michelle Smith, lived a few blocks away with her husband and two kids. They had a guest room and at times they took in Hamilton students who needed a place to stay.
Of course, if Cami had told any of them that her dad had nearly hit her, they would have gotten her help right away. But Cami didn’t want to make that part public. Not yet. For now, it was enough just to be away from her dad.
Cami was still crying when Mrs. Smith pulled up to take her home. Jordy hugged her. “Remember our talk . . .” He searched her eyes. “Before all this happened? Remember?”
It took Cami a moment, but then it clicked. The conversation they’d had more than once about college and staying close. “Y-y-yes.” Her teeth chattered. “You’re not . . . m-m-mad at me?”
“Mad?” Jordy pulled her close again and held her for a long time. When he leaned back, he looked deep into her eyes. “How could I be mad at you? None of this is your fault.”
Cami nodded. Gratitude filled her heart. Jordy was still on her side. Even still . . . “I’m so scared. My dad . . . he’s going to kill me. N-n-now that I left him.”
“No.” Jordy put his hands gently on her shoulders. His dad and Mrs. Smith were talking in the kitchen, so for this moment they were alone. “He’s not going to kill you. We are going to ask God for a miracle, and we are going to believe that will happen.”
A miracle. Yes, that was what she needed to pray for. Gradually Cami felt herself begin to relax. Jordy pulled her into another hug and they stayed that way for a long time. In his arms she stopped shaking. Her fears faded and she felt safe. Protected. He made her feel like a princess, like the most important girl in the world.
They stayed in the embrace until Mrs. Smith and Principal Quinn returned to the front of the house. Cami pulled herself back a bit and let her eyes find Jordy’s once more. “Thank you.”
“It’s going to be okay.” He looked like he wanted to kiss her, but he couldn’t. Not here, not now. “Believe, Cami.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
“Let’s pray.” He didn’t blink, didn’t look away.
The smell of him filled her senses, a mix of his cologne and his shampoo, maybe. Cami tried not to think about it. She looked at her principal and Michelle. “Is it okay if we pray first?”
“Of course.” Principal Quinn smiled at Jordy. “God’s still in this story. Jordy’s right. We need to pray for a miracle.”
That’s just what they did. But as Cami rode with Mrs. Smith to her house, doubts pounded her. Cami remembered a terrible storm last spring where she’d been caught walking to the bus stop. Lightning and thunder had ripped through the sky and then it had begun to hail. Ice chunks the size of golf balls rained down on Indianapolis, and Cami could only hold her backpack over her head and pray she wouldn’t be killed by them.
When the bus finally arrived a few minutes later, Cami had welts on her arms and shoulders from the pounding hail.
That was how she felt now. Only instead of hail, she was being beaten down by doubts. What if her father found her? What if he didn’t let her get her clothes from her house? What if he came to Mrs. Smith’s house and killed them all? What if Principal Quinn went to jail for reading the Bible with them? And what if they stopped allowing the kids to pray?
By the time Cami entered her new bedroom and shut the door behind her, she could barely breathe for the doubts assailing her. That’s when she remembered her Bible. She took it from her backpack and found the marker in the middle. She had placed it in a section that had given her hope when she first read it.
Cami reviewed it again now. It was from Isaiah 41. So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.
The words brought physical comfort. Do not be afraid. Do not be afraid, do not be afraid. Saying them was like a mighty shelter, protecting Cami from the doubts that flew at her from every side. Do not be afraid . . . do not be afraid.
And as Cami fell asleep she thought about Jordy, how wonderful she had felt in his arms. How deeply he cared for her. Then her mind drifted and she had the strangest feeling. A feeling that told her God was in control and she could fall asleep in His arms. Whatever might happen in the days ahead, He would go before her. He would protect her. She knew this for sure.
Because the feeling was complete and absolute peace.
13
Reagan felt the weariness in her shoulders. Luke had come home late again last night. Two nights this week already and it was only Thursday. The kids were at school and she had set aside the next hour to work on Luke’s party. Ashley had already confirmed that Landon was fine with hosting the party at their house.
But all Reagan wanted to do was drive down to Luke’s office and tell him the truth: Things were getting out of hand again. Luke meant nothing by it. He loved the kids and her. The problem wasn’t the job. It was his way of thinking.
Like he’d lose the important cases unless he worked around the clock.
She felt sure God wouldn’t want Luke to strive like that. If Luke would put his family first, God would make up the lost hours on his cases. Reagan sighed. Yes, a trip to the office wouldn’t be a bad idea.
Yet even as she toyed with the possibility, a different thought hit her.
The photo booth.
Brooke had brought the idea up a few days ago when Elaine, Brooke, Kari and Ashley got on the phone with her and dreamed a little. “What if we get one of those photo
booths for the party? They send someone to run the machine and handle the photo strips. They bring silly hats and props.”
All of them had loved the idea, so Reagan had made a few phone calls.
Now it was settled. The photo booth could be delivered to Landon and Ashley’s house Sunday after church and they would position it just off the entryway. Reagan could hardly wait to share the news with the others. She got everyone onto a group call, and the conversation quickly shifted to the possibility of an ice cream sundae bar and what type of dinner food they should have.
At the end of the hour, when Reagan hung up, she felt happier than she had in days. And suddenly it hit her. The sad feeling about Luke’s excessive work was gone. And of course! This was just what she was supposed to do. Believe that changes in Luke would come from God, and stick to doing what she could do.
Love Luke with all her heart.
• • •
WENDELL HAD NEVER disobeyed authority in all his life.
Until now.
He took the call from the president of the Indianapolis Public Schools board on Monday—days after the story about Wendell and Hamilton High had sufficiently blown up. Thanks to the media, Wendell already knew this call was coming.
James Black, president of the school board, had always been a friend, someone Wendell had shared a meal with on a number of occasions. When things were falling apart at Hamilton, Mr. Black had assured Wendell that the trouble wasn’t his fault.
“Kids these days have a mind of their own. Too many video games, too many absent parents.” The words Mr. Black had spoken to Wendell at the end of their worst school year stayed with Wendell still. “You have to figure some kids are going to fail. Period. That’s just the way it is.” The man had shrugged. “No one expected you to turn your school around. If you can, well then, I applaud you.”
The cheering indeed came when James Black and the others at the school district saw the changes at Hamilton High.
“Whatever you’re doing, keep it up.” Mr. Black phoned him halfway through the last school year. He had chuckled. “You’re making us all look good.”
Wendell had wondered then why Mr. Black never asked exactly what Wendell was doing to make such amazing improvements. He knew the statistics, but not the details about why things were changing for the better. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to know. Whatever the reason, the applause had ended as soon as the school board realized what had caused the improvements.
“You should’ve known better, Wendell.” Mr. Black sounded beyond disappointed. “Talk of God does not belong in a public school. Period.” Then the man went on to tell Wendell he needed to disband the Bible study club immediately. “If I hear wind of you attending those meetings . . . in fact, if the meetings are allowed to continue, you will be fired.” He paused, condemnation heavy in his voice. “You’ve been warned, Wendell.”
So this was the mandate the reporters had asked about. Wendell wasn’t surprised, really. He’d figured it was coming sooner or later.
Wendell ached for someone to share this with. He would talk to God. He prayed without ceasing these days. But if he wanted to talk to someone who could look into his eyes and take hold of his hand, there was only one person outside of his family who would meet that need.
Alicia Harris.
He and Alicia had connected recently, but not nearly often enough. She probably understood the depth of his situation, the gravity of all that was at stake. Wendell prayed that his troubles hadn’t rekindled her panic attacks.
He missed Alicia like never before.
Not only that, but he was out of answers when it came to the Raise the Bar club. Good thing he had Luke Baxter. The lawyer would know what to do. Their first meeting was set for one o’clock that afternoon.
The morning flew by and at just before one, Wendell took a spot in the lobby of Luke’s office. The building was on the right side of Indianapolis, five stories high, ornate brick and beautiful white pillars and molding. Wendell hadn’t seen something this nice since the time he took a group of teens to Washington, D.C.
“Wendell Quinn? Luke Baxter.” The man smiled at him. A smile that did nothing to hide the seriousness of the matter at hand.
Wendell stood and shook Luke’s hand. “A hundred lawyers must work here.”
“Feels that way after work when we’re all trying to get out of the parking garage.”
Luke led the way and Wendell followed, his briefcase clutched tight in his hand. “Thank you for seeing me.”
“Of course.” Luke sat in the chair behind his desk and motioned for Wendell to take the seat across from him. “Thank you for coming in.”
So far, Luke Baxter had not agreed to take the case. But at least he wanted to talk to Wendell. That was a starting point. The first miracle would be for Luke to agree to represent him.
They would need many more for Wendell to win.
Once he was seated, Wendell put his briefcase on his lap. “I have a few folders full of information I’d like to share with you.” He had been looking forward to this ever since the news broke.
Luke Baxter’s desk was much cleaner than Wendell’s. The area contained a large calendar, a ceramic pencil jar that looked like it was made by a child, and a photo of what appeared to be Luke’s family. Wendell took the first folder out and set it on the desk in front of him.
“This is something I put together before I started the—”
“Mr. Quinn . . .” Luke’s face was filled with kindness. “Let’s talk about the case first. I need you to understand what we’re up against.”
We’re up against. Not you’re up against. Wendell took that as a sign that Luke had already fully committed to the case. He slid the presentation folder back in to his briefcase and set it on the floor beside him. “I’m sorry. I’m just . . . I’m anxious to show you why I think we have a chance.”
“I understand that.” Luke leaned forward and set his forearms on the desk. “You need to know, Mr. Quinn, that I’d love nothing more than to help you. But here’s what we’re up against.”
Wendell was listening. For the next half hour the lawyer explained the history of prayer and Bible reading in public schools. Every case he brought up was more discouraging than the one before it. “A test is used for a club like Raise the Bar.” Luke Baxter pulled a sheet of paper from the top drawer of his desk and handed it to Wendell. “A three-part test.”
Luke gave Wendell a brief overview of each part of the test. Then the lawyer sighed. “In your case, though what you’re doing is working effectively, none of the three criteria are being met.”
Wendell looked again at the sheet of paper. Have a secular purpose. Neither advance nor inhibit religion. Must not result in excessive entanglement between government and religion. “No offense, Mr. Baxter. But I think you’ve got this all wrong.”
“Call me Luke.” He smiled, patient.
“And you can call me Wendell.”
Luke nodded. “Okay, how do you figure?”
“Well, let’s take that first one.” Wendell lifted his briefcase again. “Can I use my folders for this?”
“Of course.” Luke leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “If you think there’s something I’m missing, I want to know.”
Wendell pulled his folder from the briefcase. The one titled “In This Moment.” He opened to the first page—where the definition of his job description was written. “When I was hired to serve as principal at Hamilton High, I was asked to do the following.” Wendell read from the page in front of him. Establish a schoolwide vision of commitment to high standards and ensure the success of all students. He looked right at Luke. Let him hear me, God. Please, let him hear me. “That’s what they asked me to do. That was my secular duty. My secular purpose, if you will.”
Very slowly, Luke leaned forward again. “Go on.”
A surge of possibility raced through Wendell. “The second point is neutral. More of a nonfactor.” He looked from the paper Luke had given him bac
k to his folder. “Our group merely presents Bible verses and allows students to discuss them. No one is suggesting they should become Christians. When that has happened, it happens on its own. The kids lead that sort of discussion because, frankly, they are hungry for a reason to believe in something more than what they’ve seen. They want a purpose in life.”
Luke winced. “I’m afraid a judge and jury will hear that as advancement of religion. Even just announcing the club during school hours could be seen as promoting religion.”
Wendell felt his heart sink. “What? I thought . . . I was just telling them about an opportunity.”
“But it’s a religious opportunity.” Luke’s tone remained kind. But he didn’t waver on the problem at hand. “A club you, yourself, are leading. That could easily be a violation of church and state.”
“I can’t believe this.” Wendell was ready to stand and pace the room. His heart felt like it had fallen to the floor. “I thought . . . if I didn’t tell them it would be the opposite. A prohibition of religion.” Wendell forced himself to remain in his seat. “The kids want this. If we deny it—if I deny it—isn’t that prohibition?”
A sigh came from Luke, but he didn’t say anything.
“The third point doesn’t seem to apply at all. Entanglement between government and religion? I’m a principal, Mr. Bax— Luke. Not a governor or senator. I don’t write laws. I’m not shaping public policy or opinion. I’m simply facilitating students who voluntarily choose to be part of an after-school Bible study. No entanglements. I have plenty of students who are not attending.”
“I understand.” Luke tapped his fingers on his desk. The man was listening, Wendell could tell.
Wendell’s own argument made complete sense to him. In fact, he would’ve liked a chance to tell the judge and jury some of this. “Those students who don’t show up Tuesday and Thursday afternoons are not penalized. There’s no different treatment, no push for them to come to the club meeting.”
Luke stood and walked to his window. For a long time he only looked out, as if he were silently calling on God for help, the way Wendell had done so many times in his own office. When Luke turned to face him again, Wendell could see the give in his expression.