Debbie looked at the clock at the far end of of the hall in despair. Two more minutes, she thought, two more minutes and we'd be done. Two more minutes and time to quit, to put away the volleyball equipment and head upstairs and then she wouldn't be where she was heading: to serve. She hated serving, not just the fact that everyone in the room would be looking directly at her, but that her serve would do one of two things, the only two things her serves ever did. Either she would hit a low, almost straight shot directly into the net — probably the lower part of the net and perhaps even under it, something she had done more than a few times — or she would hit a beautiful, high arc that sailed at least ten feet out-of-bounds. Either way, not only would she forfeit serve but she would also hurt her hand and maybe her arm as well.

I hate serving, flinching as the ball was tossed at her by Mike Stewart, grinning nastily, tossed just hard enough to make her half-duck. Pound that puppy, he told her, and then covered his head with his arms in mock anticipation for the wild service everyone knew was coming. And what choice did she have but to smile at him as if, yes, ha ha, I love the joke, too. And no matter how much she might stall — drop the ball, kick it while picking it up, forget the score, giggle like a silly girl — she knew that Pastor Frank would not end the game until she had served. Not because he was waiting for anyone to win; Pastor Frank never knew the score, always had to be reminded when it was his turn that this was match point. No, Pastor Frank thought she enjoyed serving, thought all the kids loved serving and playing and doing all the stuff he saw most of them enjoying. He thought her smile was genuine, thought she was having as much fun as Mike, and he would let her finish the serve so she could enjoy the fun as long as possible. It just never dawned on him, Debbie thought with regret as she held the ball before and got ready to embarrass herself once more, that some of us might not be having that much fun.
She swung her fist up into the volleyball, and somehow it went fast and hard and directly off the side of Mike's head, knocking his glasses off his face. Debbie spun around, a full circle of shock and humiliation, her hands going to her face to hide the flush she could feel burning immediately. Oh, Mike I'm sorry, I'm....

But the rest of the kids were laughing, the look on Mike's face hilariously surprised; he stood there as if he simply could not believe she had hit him with the ball. Pastor Frank, laughing along with everyone else, picked up Mike's glasses and handed them back to him, placing his hand on his shoulder. Mike looked sheepish, but grinned with the joke, whatever it might be. Debbie knew why it was so funny but hated being the cause; was she going to have to apologize or something? Mike didn't look at her — He's so mad at me, I know he is — and she could tell he was embarrassed at being the butt of this joke. Debbie was glad that so much of the attention was on him and not her, and them immediately felt horribly ashamed.

Ok, everyone, called out Pastor Frank, time to put things away and head upstairs.

Keep the ball away from Olsen, called out someone, probably Eric, she's out for blood tonight. And more laughter. Humiliated even more but left no choice but to pretend it was all great fun, she did her best to laugh. Stuck her tongue out at Eric, went to help put away the ping-pong table. Tanya and Jane, her two best friends who knew she was embarrassed by the mis-hit and all the attention, came over to help her.

Don't worry, Deb, said Jane, they'll drop it.

Well, probably not Miller, but he's like that, said Tanya, referring to Eric and his inability to be sensitive of when he was over-doing any joke. He'll probably be making stupid jokes about Debbie smacking Mike for the next two months.

Jane shook her head in mock disgust, working hard to let Debbie know they were trying to blow off her embarrassment, help her relax and forget about the accident. What a turkey. Just ignore him, Olsen.

Debbie wanted to ignore him, wanted to ignore her two friends as well, ignore the happy voices and laughter, and then Melissa Riley starting up a song — upbeat song title — and voices joining in, the group changing course and preparing itself for worship, Bible study and whatever Pastor Frank had in store for the evening. Debbie smiled weakly at her friends, determined not to let Jesus down by focusing on her own feelings.

Mike tried not to look directly at Debbie, but he wanted to tell her it was ok, she hadn't hurt him. He tell she was embarrassed, and it didn't help to have that wiener Miller keep making dumb jokes no one thought was funny. But he didn't say anything to; her she was with Ellison and Neuffler, the three of them tight as a badly tied knot, and definitely not wanting him anywhere near them. So he kept his distance, just kept sneaking looks, and never once did he see Debbie looking his way.

Good, he thought, I'd rather be invisible to her anyway. Mike was happy to be invisible to everyone if he could manage it, but someone how he rarely did. His mouth had a mind of its own, and he had a special knack for drawing attention to himself. Not the kind of attention Stovanich got, the looks of admiration from the guys and desire from the girls. Prettyboy Andy, he thought, and then guilt slapped the words from his head. I'm sorry, Lord, he prayed, and as he walked up the stairs to the smaller hall where Youth Fellowship was held, he pushed his mind to keep with the words of the song, singing softly, too insecure in the sound of his voice in song on the stairs, echoing and far too loud. He sang and tried as hard as he could to push himself into the spirit of praise, but there was a sinful bit of his mind that simply could not let go of the fact that Andy was only half-a-dozen steps in front of him and both Carol and Leah were walking with him. Close to him.
O Jesus, forgive me, he made himself pray, and even when he made himself watch the stairs in front of him, he could not forget Carol's lets in her short skirt and how close she walked to Andy.

Pastor Frank was sitting on the chair next to the piano; on the piano bench, turned around to look at the kids as they entered and took their seats in chairs and on various large pillows scattered on the floor. He was a young man, probably just a little over twenty, Andy thought. He didn't remember Pastor Frank mentioning that anyone would be coming. The guy looked nice enough, a friendly smile; he didn't say anything as the pastor spoke quietly to him.
When everyone was seated and quiet, Pastor Frank smiled around at everyone, his kind eyes full of a love Andy longed to find within himself. He knew Pastor Frank understood the Lord's grace deeply; every Sunday and Wednesday, Andy would watch his face, his eyes, listen to the youth pastor's soft voice as he taught them about the Christian life; Andy heard less of the words than the sound, the soft tone of Frank's voice. It was the sound, the gentleness and evenness of speech, that told Andy Here is someone who really knows the Lord. His desire, his burning desire was to know the Lord as deeply as did Pastor Frank, to have the kind of energy for God Frank's wife, Anna, had as she played the church organ or led the Youth Choir.

But Andy knew he had far to go in his walk with the Lord. He bowed his head with the rest, the time of prayer and worship beginning in silence as always. Soon a few low voices could be heard — Thank you, Father ... Praise you, Jesus ... my Savior, thank you ... hallelujah!— and he added his own half-whispered words of praise. He tried to let his thoughts go, to just let the Spirit lead him. He prayed, his voice just one among the dozens in the room, Spirit, guide me, teach me, help me speak the right words of praise. Over three years of Sunday night Youth Fellowship, and Andy had only felt like he really had known the right words once or twice. Pastor Frank had counseled him to be patient, not to try but just let the Spirit come to him, quietly, as it had for the Apostle as he had prayed for guidance in [oy a bible verse that fits].

Andy whispered his prayer, and he sang when Jane and Tanya started They'll know we are Christians by our love, their favorite, and he refused to let himself feel disappointment when the song ended and Pastor Frank smiled around the room one more time, signaling they were ready for the next portion of the evening.
Kids, I'd like you to meet Bob Donohue.
A chorus of Hi Bob and Eric Miller's unnecessarily loud Yo Bob! greeted the guest, who smiled shyly and waved briefly. He wore a denim jacket that appeared to have embroidery on the back; Andy couldn't tell what it was.

Bob's from Denver, from the church where Anna and I pastored before moving here, continued Frank. He's visiting his mom, who moved here recently, and I invited him to join us this evening, to share his witness.

He turned to the guest. Bob.

Bob smiled again, shyness seeming to be his main feature. Andy found himself immediately liking him; he wondered what special witness he had, why Pastor Frank was having him speak to them like this. The young man appeared to be unsure how to start, but the smile on his face remained steady. When he did speak, his voice was clear and strong; Andy felt a thrill at the first words. O Lord.... but he had nothing to add and sat, captivated by a stranger with a voice that carried something special.
I bless the Lord that He has brought me here tonight to share with you. There was a time when a church was the last place I wanted to be, much less a room full of praise to His holy name. But that was before He reached out and saved me, before He showed His grace and love. Before He cast the demon of homosexuality from me.

He paused to let his words sink in, but Andy did not see the faces of his friends around him, each as shocked as he. A queer? Andy felt a surge of strong emotion, disgust and then shame, knowing that whatever Bob had been, that was before God had rescued him. A queer? A saved queer? And whatever Bob said next, Andy did not know, asking God fervently to forgive him for his hardness of heart, praying for a loving heart as he stared at Bob's face and the shy smile that never once wavered.