The glaring, shushing nun from church the day before looked down upon her, kicking her feets and growling as she struggled to stand.
"Sr. Mildred!" Faith exclaimed, scrambling to help the rather portly (read: well-fed) sister to her feet. "Sr. Mildred, I'm so so sorry."
"Get-Get off of me! Clumsy girl! Look where you're going!" she chided her, hurriedly brushing herself off. The nun's habit had gone sideways, and her hair stuck out from all sides, only further convincing Faith that she had run into a ticking time bomb, just about to go postal.
She gulped, eyes wide. "Sister, I'm so sorry. A-are you alright?"
"No, I'm not alright!" she boomed, her voice causing Faith to cower down to the nun's stubby height. "Do I look alright?"
"No?" Faith answered weakly.
"No! I'm never alright when young ladies go barging out of their classrooms and knock me down onto the floor. Look where you're going next time, or I'll give you a demerit for…for…" She searched for a crime. "Outlandish behavior. That's four demerits. Now, that's almost a detention."
"You're right, sister," Faith hurriedly agreed at the 'd' word. "I should have looked where I was going. I don't know what I was thinking."
"Now, that's more like it." Through glossy spectacles, her eyes glared into Faith's. "Just who are you…for future reference…"
Her voice stuttered. "F-Faith Clarky, sister."
"Faith, huh?" She narrowed her eyes even further. "Well, know this. I've got my eye on you, Clarky. Now, I understand most freshmen see me as an old fuddy-duddy barely capable of tying my shoelaces in the morning."
She quickly shook her head back and forth. "No, no, sister. None of us see you that way." In truth, Faith had actually heard that exact shoelaces phrase used by a cocky sophomore that morning.
"I am a heavy follower of the OLRA rules and regulation booklet." 'Heavy' was definitely the operative word, there. "And a strict believer in punishment for crimes committed."
"I understand, sister," Faith swore. "And it will not happen again."
"Well, alright," Sr. Mildred said. She turned to leave. "Do you sing alto or soprano?"
Faith blinked five times in a row. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. Alto or soprano, Clarky?"
"Alto," she said, much bewildered.
"Good. You can make this up to me by attending my meeting. I need some singers for communion breakfast. I'll see you in the library on Wednesday, four p.m. sharp, Clarky."
Faith's mouth hung open in disbelief.
With her back turned to Faith, the nun addressed her once more, "Keep it gaping like that, and you're just inviting flies."
Her mouth snapped shut, and it took Faith several moments to finally utter.
"Wh-what?!" Great. Faith hated singing. She mostly dreaded church just because she was expected to sing along with the rest of her family.
"You dropped these."
Shocked back to reality, Faith turned to stare into the eyes of…
Chad? The bright beautiful boy held out her books to her. Speechless, she took them from him. Faith smiled waveringly, and he smiled back.
Deed done, he nodded her a good-bye. "See you later."
As he retreated, Faith held out an arm and tried – with no avail – to form words. By the time she had found her voice, he was down the hall, out of the door, and most likely out of her life.
"Hello. How are you?" she said to the empty hallway, not believing that she'd missed the opportunity to speak with him. "My name's Faith Clarky. I want to bear your children?"
So disoriented was she with the quick, spastic events, that for a moment she couldn't even remember what had made her leave class so hastily in the first place.
"Just who are you talking to?" a familiar voice demanded.
She swerved around, books in arm.
Right, she thought, smirking. Ramona.
