A/N: Hey, everyone! My gosh, it's been six months since my last update. Uhg, I am a terrible procrastinator. Anyway, it is my goal to have this story finished by the end of the summer, so we'll see how that goes! ;)
Thanks to Rilla1989, Hermione781, and of course, Amaya and Princess of Rivendell (who have been with me since the beginning). I love you guys and appreciate your reviewsso much! And EJK: thanks for your generous review. All will be revealed in due course, don't worry. :P Well, here comes the next chapter. Enjoy!
Chapter 5"You know, Lizzie," Ethan started, as to fill the uncomfortable silence with even more uncomfortable words. "You don't have to dress this way to impress me."
The two had been riding silently along in Ethan's Acura on the way home from a disastrous trip to the library. Lizzie, blotting her eyes with the sleeve of Ethan's red hoodie, had slowly sunk into the cloth seat and was working at choking back tears. Tears of embarrassment, anger, and—for the most part—hurt.
"What?" Lizzie asked in a somewhat shaky voice, startled at Ethan's sudden urge to speak.
"Actually," Ethan went on as if he hadn't heard her question, "I wish you wouldn't dress like that at all." Lizzie looked at him with questioning brown eyes, prodding him for an explanation. "I dunno, Liz. I used to like that kind of stuff before I got into this whole Christianity thing. But now, it's just, I can't…"
"Can't what?"
Ethan fought for words. "Can't be… tempted like that anymore."
"I don't understand," Lizzie said, her naivety shining through her voice.
"Do you…" Ethan paused, as if contemplating his choice of words. "Do you want to come to this thing at Church with me tonight?"
A small smile spread across Lizzie's face. "Can I go home and change first?"
Matt McGuire and Lanny Onasis raced into the McGuire kitchen adorned with backpacks and baseball caps. They scavenged the cabinets, and, after much searching, "MOM!"
Jo McGuire appeared in the doorway, an amused smirk settled on her lips.
"WHERE'S THE BARBEQUE SAUCE?" Matt asked, a frantic tug on his voice.
"Can I ask you boys why you are in need of my barbeque sauce?"
"No reason. Right Lanny?" Matt's sidekick nodded and grinned. No reason at all.
Jo McGuire sighed. "If I give it to you, do you boys promise me I won't be getting any calls from the neighbors or the police department?"
"You have our word, m'lady," Matt said, before stooping to bow in unison with Lanny. Reluctantly, Mrs. McGuire rummaged through her fridge and tossed the boys the bottle of sauce they so desired. And they were off! Through the front door, knocking Lizzie over on her way in.
Lizzie proved to be just as rushed as her brother and his friend.
"MomcanIgotoyouthgroupwithEthan?"
She raced up the stairs, not waiting for an answer in reply.
Mrs. McGuire followed, a puzzled expression forcing her eyebrows upward. "What's this, honey?" she questioned as Lizzie flung off her clothes in a hasty manner.
Lizzie yanked a pair of loose fitting jeans up her hips. "EthanaskedifIcould—"
"Whoa, whoa there. Slow down." Mrs. McGuire put her hands on Lizzie's shoulders, and forced Lizzie to catch her breath. Buttoning the jeans, Lizzie took a moment to sit on her bed and pull a fuzzy gray turtleneck over her head.
"Ethan Craft wants to know if I can go to youth group with him. He's waiting in his car outside, and we've got about ten minutes until it starts. So can I?"
"Well, of course you can, Sweetie," Mrs. McGuire answered as she tossed her daughter a jean jacket, which Lizzie gratefully slipped on. "But why have you all the sudden taken an interest in church? You never did before…"
"No time to explain!" Lizzie cried as she hopped around, pulling on her already laced sneakers. "Got to run!" She bolted out of her room and down the steps.
"Wait!" Lizzie's mother called after her. "You forgot your—"
SLAM!
"Purse."
Jo McGuire stumbled to her own room and collapsed on the bed. Her children, in the ten minutes that she'd spent with them, were more exhausting than a day working with the city's entire homeless population.
Ethan led Lizzie down into the musty church basement where youth group was being held. It was a small room, though kind of homely, Lizzie decided, as faces glanced up to welcome the two. A tall, slender, college-aged man with a thick head of red hair and goatee rose from his seat and crossed the room, greeting Ethan with a handshake and smile. The man introduced himself to Lizzie as Tim, the youth minister at the church.
A chorus of "Hey Ethan"s followed Tim's welcome.
"Hey everyone," Ethan responded affably, dragging two folding chairs to the long, rectangular table where the group was seated. "This is Lizzie—you might have seen her around school." Lizzie shifted uncomfortably on her feet and shot the group a nervous smile. "Hi," she responded, taking a seat next to Ethan.
"Alright, it looks as if everyone's here. Let's get started," Tim said, moving to the head of the table and opening a book. Everyone at the table bowed their head, and Lizzie awkwardly mimicked their movement. A wealth of words tumbled out of Tim's mouth, none of which Lizzie paid attention to. They were meant for the other kids here, not her. Instead, she let her eyes covertly wander the room and analyze the other kids there.
Seated next to Tim was Rachel, a quiet girl whose plain face was always hidden from view behind a paperback novel at lunch. She rarely talked to people outside of class and didn't have many friends. In fact, the only reason Lizzie knew of her existence was because Gordo used to talk to her frequently about a book series they'd both been obsessed with last year.
At the far end of the table was Trent, that angry looking kid in Lizzie's seventh period study hall. Piercings adorned his lower lip and nostril; his wardrobe consisted of black pants and shirts, a studded belt, and occasional black eyeliner. Interesting. He was the last person she'd expected to see here.
Across from Lizzie were Michael and Tony—two of Ethan's teammates from the football team—and Tony's sister Cheyenne, who was in Lizzie's English class. Also, there was a guy opposite Cheyenne who Lizzie had never seen around school before. But, before she got the chance to study him further, Tim's voice closed the prayer.
"So what are we talking about today?"
Tim's question was directed at the teenagers seated around the table. Lizzie glanced up at him, shocked. He was asking them what they were going to discuss? She glanced around the room, unsure.
Ethan leaned over and whispered into Lizzie's ear, "Don't look so surprised." She threw him a slight smile. He was so adorable.
Rachel was the first to speak. "Well, I've been reading this book about evolution and—"
A chorus of groans echoed through the room. "Uh. No offense, Rachel, but we spent about a month debating that in biology," someone put in.
Tim nodded sympathetically. "I'm sorry, Rachel, but I have to agree with Mike. That topic is overplayed."
Ethan spoke. "How about this: I've been thinking lately. How much does the media have an impact on our actions, our thoughts, who we are in general?"
"It doesn't." Trent's deep voice came from the corner of the small room. With the dim lighting of the room, Trent's jet spiky jet-black hair and thick eyeliner reminded Lizzie of some sort of demon. She shuddered.
"You say that, Trent," Ethan remarked forcefully, "but I could pick out ten or twenty famous people in the media who dress just like you do."
Cheyenne chimed in, "If you said you were a member of Good Charlotte or some other punk band, I would have been fooled."
Trent was obviously offended by their sudden attack on his style. He burst out, saying, "How I dress has nothing to do with the way I act."
"Yeah, but the way you dress has everything to do with how you want yourself to come across to people," came the voice of the kid Lizzie didn't know. "I mean, you either dress for yourself or you dress for others—"
"And I dress for myself," Trent boomed.
"Hey, wait," Ethan put in. "Let Paul finish." So the name of the kid she did not know was Paul, Lizzie established. The room grew quiet, curiously waiting for Paul to finish his thoughts.
"Nah, I'm done," Paul said. "It's my word against his on whether he dresses for himself or for anyone else. All I am trying to say is that everyone says stereotypes are stupid, and yet, more and more people are trying to be 'punk' or 'emo'—fit into a genre—it's ridiculous."
The room was silent. Then a voice came from next to Ethan's, and Lizzie was surprised to come to realize that the voice was her own. "I kind of had an experience today with dress."
All heads turned to her, and Ethan nodded, encouraging her on. "I…well, there was this girl who came to the library dressed completely inappropriately—I am STILL trying to figure out what was going through her head when she got dressed this morning." Ethan chuckled. "I think she was banking off that media claim that you have to sell your body to get a guy."
Lizzie looked around the room, voice growing stronger and more confident in her assertation. "I think Paul is right," Lizzie continued. "Even if we're only dressing for ourselves, we are still trying to say something with the clothes we wear. The girl at the library today was dressing for the guy, and she should have realized sooner that exploiting herself was no way to get the guy. I wish I could have told her that if he is a guy worth having, he won't care whether she shows up in a dress or a paper sack."
"For the Lord does not see as man sees; for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart. First Samuel, 16:7…" Ethan said this softly, barely audible to anyone but Lizzie.
Tim grinned at her, saying, "Excellent point, Lizzie!" But she was oblivious to what Tim had just said, caught up in reflection on the passage Ethan had just quoted.