He flashed a grin at me. “That’s a beautiful name. It fits you perfectly.” I stared back at him. I wasn’t sure, but I was pretty sure he was flirting with me. He let my hand go after giving it a slight squeeze.
“Thanks.” I said. I had no idea what was customary to say to something like that.
“Have you been going to this church long?” He asked. He pointed into the inner sanctuary.
I nodded. “Ten years now.” I said. Though we hadn’t been coming every week, we hadn’t missed more than two weeks at a time.
“Awesome. Then you could help me; I am interested in joining but would love to talk to someone about the religion and bible study.” He said, looking genuinely excited.
“I think the Deacons would be better to talk to about the SDA theology and all that stuff. I only really believe Saturday is the sabbath. I am not really knowledgeable about the rest of it.”
I saw a flash of anger pass over his face that time. But his voice was pleasant. “Oh, of course, I already have one of their phone numbers. I meant I would like to know how you like the church and how you like being an SDA and why you think it’s important to go to this church, not another one.” He spoke.
I shrugged. I was raised this way; I wanted to say. But again, I didn’t want him to be mad at me. “Okay.” I answered. What harm could a phone call do?
“Can I have your number?” He said, taking out a phone in a scratched-up case out of his pocket. I gave him my number. He saved it and texted me a smiley face asking me to check to make sure I received it. I had. “Thank you so much, Miranda.” He grinned at me. “I’ll be texting you later.”
Spookychild’s writings 
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