take a picture. That would let her know where I was without saying anything. I looked around and tried to figure out what to shoot. The ninja guy was coming around with his smoking ball. That was kind of impressive. I held up the phone, aimed carefully, and— whap!
My phone flew out of my hand and clattered to the floor. I grabbed my stinging arm. A little old lady had used her purse like nunchucks! She was maybe five feet tall, with a black scarf tied over her head and so many wrinkles I could barely see her eyes. She shook her head sl owly.
“Sorry,” I whispered, and picked up my phone. Her purse was on the floor next to it, so I picked that up, too. It was black leather, and it felt like it was stuffed with rocks. By now everybody in the back half of the church was staring. Time to go. I handed her the purse, whispered, “Sorry” again, and bo lted.
Once I was outside, I frowned and rubbed my red arm. I almost felt like I was hallucinating. Did that seriously happen? I guessed I’d have to take a picture of the outside of the church instead. I walked around the side of the building to get a good angle—and almost ran into K osta.
“Hi,” he said. He had a stack of white cloths tucked under his arm, and he was with a couple other guys also carrying things: a bowl of bread, a pitcher. They looked very GQ, with their suits open and sleeves rolled up.
“Hey,” I said.
Kosta turned to his friends. “This is Gabe. He bartends at H ush.”
“Really?” The tallest, thinnest one stuck out his free hand. “Andr eas.”
“Steve,” said the other, a slick-looking dude with hair down to his shoul ders.
I shook hands, still feeling dazed. “An old lady just hit me with her pu rse.”
“What?” said K osta.
I explained what happened, and they all laughed. “It had to be Mrs. Theodori,” said S teve.
“Or Mrs. Papadopoulos,” said Andreas. “She used to smack my hands if I took more than one piece of prosph ora .”
“Well, she definitely didn’t want me taking pictures. Will you take one of me?” I asked Kosta. “I have to prove to my girlfriend that I went to chu rch.”
That made them laugh even harder. “He has a Russian girlfriend,” Kosta explained. I handed Kosta my phone, and he got a picture of me grinning with the church in the background. He gave my phone back. “Is that g ood?”
I checked it out. “Yeah, that’ll w ork.”
“It’s none of my business, but why don’t you just go to a Russian church with your girlfriend?” Steve a sked.
“She lives in Seattle. We’re doing the long distance th ing.”
“Oh. That sucks.” Steve looked sympathetic. “So she’s making you go by yourself and take a picture to prove it?”
“No, that’s not her style. I’m going because some guy she knows asked if he could go to church with her today. He’s there right now. I’ve never gone before, so he’s kind of making me look bad.”
“Oooooh,” said And reas.
Steve raised his eyebrows. “He’s hitting on her.”
“I know, that’s what I keep telling her.” I went ahead and texted the picture to I rina.
About two seconds later a text popped up. You’re at chur ch???
Kosta was looking over my shoulder. “Write, Yes, of course ,” he told me.
So I did.
I know why you’re doing this, Irina texted back.
“Ha!” said Kosta. “She knows you’re jeal ous.”
“Let me see that.” Steve peered at my phone. “Say Because I love you ,” he sugge sted.
I grinned. “Good idea, man.” And I did it. Then I sent another text. I couldn’t help it; my fingers practically did it on their own. How does Micah like ch urch?
“No, that sounds weak,” said Andreas, because he was looking over my shoulder, too, now—but I’d already hit “S end.”
Irina came right back: I don’t know. I’ll ask him after. We’re in service right now.
“Oh, man,” said Steve. “Who is this guy, any way?”
“I don’t know.” I rubbed my eyes. “He goes to school with
My phone flew out of my hand and clattered to the floor. I grabbed my stinging arm. A little old lady had used her purse like nunchucks! She was maybe five feet tall, with a black scarf tied over her head and so many wrinkles I could barely see her eyes. She shook her head sl owly.
“Sorry,” I whispered, and picked up my phone. Her purse was on the floor next to it, so I picked that up, too. It was black leather, and it felt like it was stuffed with rocks. By now everybody in the back half of the church was staring. Time to go. I handed her the purse, whispered, “Sorry” again, and bo lted.
Once I was outside, I frowned and rubbed my red arm. I almost felt like I was hallucinating. Did that seriously happen? I guessed I’d have to take a picture of the outside of the church instead. I walked around the side of the building to get a good angle—and almost ran into K osta.
“Hi,” he said. He had a stack of white cloths tucked under his arm, and he was with a couple other guys also carrying things: a bowl of bread, a pitcher. They looked very GQ, with their suits open and sleeves rolled up.
“Hey,” I said.
Kosta turned to his friends. “This is Gabe. He bartends at H ush.”
“Really?” The tallest, thinnest one stuck out his free hand. “Andr eas.”
“Steve,” said the other, a slick-looking dude with hair down to his shoul ders.
I shook hands, still feeling dazed. “An old lady just hit me with her pu rse.”
“What?” said K osta.
I explained what happened, and they all laughed. “It had to be Mrs. Theodori,” said S teve.
“Or Mrs. Papadopoulos,” said Andreas. “She used to smack my hands if I took more than one piece of prosph ora .”
“Well, she definitely didn’t want me taking pictures. Will you take one of me?” I asked Kosta. “I have to prove to my girlfriend that I went to chu rch.”
That made them laugh even harder. “He has a Russian girlfriend,” Kosta explained. I handed Kosta my phone, and he got a picture of me grinning with the church in the background. He gave my phone back. “Is that g ood?”
I checked it out. “Yeah, that’ll w ork.”
“It’s none of my business, but why don’t you just go to a Russian church with your girlfriend?” Steve a sked.
“She lives in Seattle. We’re doing the long distance th ing.”
“Oh. That sucks.” Steve looked sympathetic. “So she’s making you go by yourself and take a picture to prove it?”
“No, that’s not her style. I’m going because some guy she knows asked if he could go to church with her today. He’s there right now. I’ve never gone before, so he’s kind of making me look bad.”
“Oooooh,” said And reas.
Steve raised his eyebrows. “He’s hitting on her.”
“I know, that’s what I keep telling her.” I went ahead and texted the picture to I rina.
About two seconds later a text popped up. You’re at chur ch???
Kosta was looking over my shoulder. “Write, Yes, of course ,” he told me.
So I did.
I know why you’re doing this, Irina texted back.
“Ha!” said Kosta. “She knows you’re jeal ous.”
“Let me see that.” Steve peered at my phone. “Say Because I love you ,” he sugge sted.
I grinned. “Good idea, man.” And I did it. Then I sent another text. I couldn’t help it; my fingers practically did it on their own. How does Micah like ch urch?
“No, that sounds weak,” said Andreas, because he was looking over my shoulder, too, now—but I’d already hit “S end.”
Irina came right back: I don’t know. I’ll ask him after. We’re in service right now.
“Oh, man,” said Steve. “Who is this guy, any way?”
“I don’t know.” I rubbed my eyes. “He goes to school with
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