Gregarious (Con)Gregation (Part 1)

I can feel a billion judgmental stares. 

Sure, I don't really care what one frumpy old lady or some bug-eyed child thinks. But an entire congregation put together has the same effect as when I discovered the right angle to hold my magnifying glass over an anthill. Their confusion is pretty reasonable, though. Everyone else looks like they're dressed for a funeral, and I look like I'm dressed to catch the entire Wikipedia listicle for STD's at the club.

I lean over to Anne-Marie and whisper like I have a mouthful of razor blades.

“You didn’t tell me this was community service.”

She snaps back. “I said it was a social function, didn’t I?”

Technically, she was not wrong. It was my fault really, because she had sent me the address well ahead of time. I did take a bit of pause at the fact that she’d led me to some church out in the next town over. And in fairness, part of me did wonder what kind of messed up rave was going to go down at the Greenville Presbyterian. As it turns out, the only rave was revelations, and the only thing that was messed up was me. But as I stand here among the humbled pews and droning prayers, it does not particularly help that Brian’s little workout has me quivering like the vibrator in me got set to max.

“My bad,” I say, before snapping out of guilt mode. “Wait, why the hell are we at a church?”

Instantaneously, three chicken-necked old women turn and hiss “shhh” at me like water sprinklers.

Anne-Marie groans under her breath, rolls her eyes, and pulls me by the hand away from the pews. In the dumbfounding silence of the coat room, she looks me straight in the eyes and says:

“What’re you, some kind of idiot?”

“Not sure, but I have some theories.”

She looks like she’s holding in a fart as she tries not to laugh.

“Are you allergic to decorum or something?”

“No, but I am allergic to holy water.” I start counting on my fingers. “And sunlight. Garlic, silver bullets-”

“Sh-sh-sh! Stop talking. You get less hot the more you talk.”

I perch my hands on my hips. “So I’m supposed to be hot, eh?”

Anne-Marie sighs. She looks around as if to make sure that no one’s watching. Then, she waves her hands around like a startled parrot and yells:

“For god’s sake, everyone knows church events are just an excuse to hang out!”

“Then why are you dressed like you’re trying to sell me timeshares?”

“You’re one to talk,” she says, lowering her face into her cupped palms. “Okay, look. I know it’s a bit weird, but I didn’t invite you here to praise Jesus or whatever.”

“I mean I’m certainly not pretty enough to be arm candy.”

“Shut-” She clenches her teeth and sharply inhales. “Okay. Here’s the deal.”

I walk over to a massive, hanging fur coat and pretend like I’m trying it on. “I’m listening.”

Anne-Marie does the same, wrapping a wide and tall tuxedo jacket around her shoulders. She looks… remarkably handsome.

“Yeah, so as I was saying. I think you’re pretty cool.”

“Duh,” I reply, but my voice cracks and surrenders the bit.

“Uh-huh.” She nods, drolly. “Anyways, so I know what you’re really like, but my friends don’t. Get it?”

“Yeah,” I reply, sighing, “They probably still think of me as that weirdo that got into a fight with you at the convention center.”

Anne-Marie rubs her shoulder. “About that…”

“They didn’t forget me that fast, did they?”

She shakes her head. “No, more like they just never brought it up.”

“And you haven’t brought it up either? How they just walked away and ditched you with some weirdo?” I ask, knowing full well how dumb and hurtful and pointless it is.

Anne-Marie frowns, biting her lip. “Look, I know you probably expected more of me. Especially after our first talk. But I’m glad they didn’t. Guess I’m just a stupid, shallow person like anyone else.”

“Now who the hell said that?”

“I can feel it, y’know.”

I walk out from my fur coat and look her dead-on. “No.”

“No?”

“No. You’re not shallow at all.”

She rolls her eyes. “Very funny.”

“And you’re not stupid either,” I say.

There’s this momentum building up inside of me. I find myself drawn to her blue eyes in the pale white light filtering in from the creaking air vents. I’m not sure why, but it feels right for me to hold out my hand. She looks a bit confused, and then extends hers. And she…

Shakes it?

“A covenant of the stupid and shallow, then,” says Anne-Marie.

I’m too dizzy to smirk, but I scramble to respond, “Should I bring out the feather pen and open a blood vessel?”

She laughs, and her hand lingers in mine. Then she steps back to her previous spot.

“It’s not that big of a deal.” She stares at the floor. “If y’all don’t end up getting along.”

“I’m not sure what you think of me-”

“That you’re loud. Have no sense of shame. And you like it when I insult you.”

“Yes, no, and yes.”

“Just be yourself and you’ll be golden, ponyboy”

I sigh. “Fine, I mean it when I say I’ll try my best. It’s easy, right? I can be normal. Err, I can do normal.”

“Heh,” she replies, lifting that stupidly good-looking face of hers. “I know. It can be scary sometimes.”

Her voice was remarkably pure there. More innocent than the children’s choir in the hall right next door. Like a dove fluttering down from the rafters. A magnificent platinum-blonde plumage that’s deigned it tolerable to associate with a shit-covered pigeon like me.

“Yeah,” I reply, knowing better than anyone. “It’s fucking terrifying. But I’m willing to give it a chance. As long as you’re still okay with it.”

“Mhm.”

“You don’t sound all that convinced.”

Anne-Marie’s bobbed hair tosses about as she shakes her head. “No, it’s not that. I want you to meet them. If anything, I’m worried about how you’re feeling.”

“How I’m feeling…” I say.

How I’m feeling, huh? To be honest, I think the only thing I want to do right now is double check that the door is locked before I drink all the blood in her body. I kid, of course. But that’s not too far off from the truth. Beyond that- I’m nervous, of course. As anyone would be. And yet I almost half-believe the words I say next:

“It’s ok, I’m getting pretty used to talking to beautiful people.”

“That confidence doesn’t suit you.” She makes her voice flat.

“I thought you said you liked my confidence.”

“Yeah,” she chuckles. “I like your brand of clueless confidence. Not the kind that makes me think you’re about to chug a keg and flirt with my sister.”

I waggle my eyebrows. “Is she single?”

Anne-Marie gags. “That’s more like it.”

We stand around for a moment, breathing in the magical sawdust flakes in the air—whose pressurized sourness is made exponentially dryer by the stale, echoing notes of communion wafers and piss-quality wine. Our eyes almost meet from time to time, and it’s a group effort not to notice each other’s dumb grins.

“I’ll be okay,” I say. “I’m okay. Right here, right now-”

She completes my thought, “It feels okay. Weird, right?”

“The weirdest,” I laugh.

We tip-toe out of the dressing room closet with our backs arched like alley cats. Except unlike alley cats, we try our best not to look like we just spent the last ten minutes achieving sexual congress in said dressing room closet. But the sermon had ended, and the crowd was already heading our way in a congealed mass by the time we stride out the door. The two of us sheepishly creep between the geezers and parents until we get back to our seats.

Anne-Marie loops a finger around her purse’s strap and slings it over her shoulder with the smoothness of a weapon reload animation. Then she starts walking off.

“W-wait,” I start. “Where-”

And I see the three most popular girls in the school arranged in an incomplete pentagram across the isle. The fourth most popular girl in school, consequently, strolls right up to them. In a split-second judgment call, I decide it’d be weirder for me to wait to be called in like some kind of orbiter than to have to catch my breath trying to catch up. Anne-Marie’s voice is as chirpy as a bird’s:

“Heyyy besties! How’s it goin’?”

E-Girl salutes with her fingers. Rescue Ranger practically tackles her with a jump hug. And Teddy simply curtsies. All of them squeal.

Rescue Ranger starts yapping like a golden retriever. “Oh my god. You won’t believe what I heard Mr. and Mrs. Cathway talking about in the parking lot.”

“Omg, stoooop,” Teddy replies, waving a hand in a way that means keep going.

“Who’s the- uh,” E-Girl squints, as if I’m a hundred feet away instead of five. “New guy?”

“Oh.” Anne-Marie says. “This is Ogden, and he’s…”

I swear a bead of sweat instantly runs down her forehead.

“Just a really cool guy,” I say, putting on my most awkward tone to draw the fire of social artillery. “Yep, just some really cool dude- That she’s been hanging out with.”

Anne-Marie’s jaw hangs open.

I have no idea what prompted me to euphemize our relationship—especially considering the fact that everyone present witnessed me walk up to her and ask her out—but the only person that seems to have not forgotten this pivotal event in human history in the 48 hours since it elapsed is E-girl, who squints at me with raised eyebrows (or at least, she’s the only person here that’s bad at acting).

I feel like she’s boring a molten hole right through me. No, I know she’s seeing right through me. Her eyes are just like our global history teacher’s. Birdlike. All-knowing. And weirdly hypnotic.

“Oh riiight,” she says, in clearly forced uptalk, “You’re the quiet guy from my sixth period trig, I think? Hi, I’m Tristana, but you can just call me Trissie.”

Anne-Marie and I breathe a sigh of relief. 

As much of a social silver bullet as it is to be the “quiet guy”, it’s at least marginally better than being recognized as the “threw a crying tantrum while wearing a ten dollar yellow wig guy”. I wonder just how many dweebs with penny-sized scars, bad haircuts, and worse names they think there are in this small world of ours. But then again, the coffee wears off too much for even me to pay attention to sixth period roll-call, and I’m usually bored enough to count the damn trees out the window.

“Eee!” Rescue Ranger squeals, jumping up and down. “You’re in trig with Eduardo? Trissie likes to bully me, so can you tell him that Wendy says hi?!”

“Oh, uh,” I mumble. Then, I field an absolutely wild guess. “Sure thing. The tall one, right?”

Her voice pitches even higher. “Ohmigod, you do know him! He’s like, super cute.”

“Yeah,” E-girl says, her expression dour. “And he’s dating half the cheerleading team.”

Wendy’s lips pout like a duck’s. “You don’t know that!”

“Neither do they,” E-girl replies, chuckling darkly to herself.

I can’t help a sharp laugh. Which just so happens to draw the stunned eyes of the other three.

“Uhh…” I start.

“Glad someone got one of my jokes,” E-girl remarks.

“Yeah,” Anne-Marie feigns a chuckle, her peppy energy failing her midway through, “So anyways, I real-”

Her phone rings. And when she pauses to check it, she goes corpse-stiff.

“I- I- gotta go,” Anne-Marie yelps, setting into a jog for the church doors. “I’ll be back in ten- fifteen minutes tops!”

She slips out alongside the slowest hunchback grandmother. And as the doors slam behind her, I’m left to fend for myself entirely outnumbered.

Face to face with the three most popular girls in the school.