Read Online Regret List by Jessica Billings - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jessica Billings
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the attention, but most of it was just seeing how my mom’s
face lit up as she listened to me practice. If I could just
practice hard enough, be perfect enough, maybe we would actually
have a happy Christmas.
It was an awful lot of stress for a little kid.
During the first couple practices, Asher and his mom
faithfully sat in the second row, listening to us all sing our
little hearts out. I watched them as we sang and noticed how
irritated he looked, but shrugged it off. He nearly always looked
that way. The important thing was that he was there. And then, just
like that, they were gone. No warning, nothing. It might not seem
like that big of a deal, missing a rehearsal, but I had come to
rely on their faces. I was frozen in fear without them. I managed
to mumble my way through it all, but even my mom commented on the
way home that I hadn’t been myself.
I went over to Asher’s house that night, two days
before Christmas (Christmas Eve eve as I’ve always called it). His
mom greeted me with a plate of gingersnaps and a kiss on the cheek
as I entered the front door. “I’m sorry we missed your rehearsal,”
she said, but I detected something strange in her voice, something
hard. “We just weren’t able to make it today. Take these cookies in
to Asher, will you?”
I nodded wordlessly and hurried down the hall to his
room. He was lying on his bed, arms folded under his head, facing
away from me. He jumped when I tapped his shoulder and offered him
the cookies. “They’re from your mom,” I said simply. He nodded and
sat up, taking a cookie, but just fingered it without taking a
bite. I clambered up next to him and set the cookies between us.
Even for Asher, he was being unusually morose, especially for
Christmas Eve eve. “So why weren’t you at practice today?” I asked.
He turned away again and I could tell something was really wrong.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, scooting closer to try and get him to look
at me.
“I couldn’t stand watching you sing,” he said,
flopping back on the bed.
He might as well have reached into my chest and
squeezed my heart until it popped. “I’m that bad?” I asked, my
voice trembling.
He shrugged. “How should I know?”
I rubbed my fist roughly against my eyes, fighting
back tears. Knowing it was a losing battle, I quickly slid off the
bed and headed for the door. “I’ll just go.”
“No, wait.” Something in his voice caught me and I
turned around. He sat up and I could see he was also crying. It was
the first time I had ever seen him cry.
I stood still for a moment, unsure what to do.
“Why’re you crying?” I sniffled, forgetting my own tears for a
second.
“Do you believe in God?” he asked.
I was silent for a moment. Did I like the idea of a
God? Sure. Believe in him? That was an entirely different question.
“I don’t know,” I admitted finally. “Why?”
“Because I did,” he replied. “I bought all that crap
in Sunday school, that with God believing in me, I could do
anything.” I nodded. We heard that line every week. “So I asked
Pastor Robbins if I could be on the choir, if I could sing with
everyone.
My mouth dropped open. “You wanted to be an angel?
You’re like, the least angelic person I know.”
Even through his tears, he smiled. “It was kind of my
mom’s idea. Anyway, at first he said no and I told him that it was
okay, that I didn’t mind when people laughed at me, that I just
wanted to stand up there with you and the others.”
“Yeah? So what’d he say?”
Asher crossed his arms and glared at the wall. “He
said no, that it was nothing personal, but people come to the show
expecting a certain sound. He offered to let me paint the scenery
instead.”
I was at his side in an instant, wrapping him up in
my arms, my forehead resting against his. That old fierceness
returned, the one that made me defend him against all else. “I
don’t want to be in his stupid choir,” I declared. “If they don’t
want you,
face lit up as she listened to me practice. If I could just
practice hard enough, be perfect enough, maybe we would actually
have a happy Christmas.
It was an awful lot of stress for a little kid.
During the first couple practices, Asher and his mom
faithfully sat in the second row, listening to us all sing our
little hearts out. I watched them as we sang and noticed how
irritated he looked, but shrugged it off. He nearly always looked
that way. The important thing was that he was there. And then, just
like that, they were gone. No warning, nothing. It might not seem
like that big of a deal, missing a rehearsal, but I had come to
rely on their faces. I was frozen in fear without them. I managed
to mumble my way through it all, but even my mom commented on the
way home that I hadn’t been myself.
I went over to Asher’s house that night, two days
before Christmas (Christmas Eve eve as I’ve always called it). His
mom greeted me with a plate of gingersnaps and a kiss on the cheek
as I entered the front door. “I’m sorry we missed your rehearsal,”
she said, but I detected something strange in her voice, something
hard. “We just weren’t able to make it today. Take these cookies in
to Asher, will you?”
I nodded wordlessly and hurried down the hall to his
room. He was lying on his bed, arms folded under his head, facing
away from me. He jumped when I tapped his shoulder and offered him
the cookies. “They’re from your mom,” I said simply. He nodded and
sat up, taking a cookie, but just fingered it without taking a
bite. I clambered up next to him and set the cookies between us.
Even for Asher, he was being unusually morose, especially for
Christmas Eve eve. “So why weren’t you at practice today?” I asked.
He turned away again and I could tell something was really wrong.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, scooting closer to try and get him to look
at me.
“I couldn’t stand watching you sing,” he said,
flopping back on the bed.
He might as well have reached into my chest and
squeezed my heart until it popped. “I’m that bad?” I asked, my
voice trembling.
He shrugged. “How should I know?”
I rubbed my fist roughly against my eyes, fighting
back tears. Knowing it was a losing battle, I quickly slid off the
bed and headed for the door. “I’ll just go.”
“No, wait.” Something in his voice caught me and I
turned around. He sat up and I could see he was also crying. It was
the first time I had ever seen him cry.
I stood still for a moment, unsure what to do.
“Why’re you crying?” I sniffled, forgetting my own tears for a
second.
“Do you believe in God?” he asked.
I was silent for a moment. Did I like the idea of a
God? Sure. Believe in him? That was an entirely different question.
“I don’t know,” I admitted finally. “Why?”
“Because I did,” he replied. “I bought all that crap
in Sunday school, that with God believing in me, I could do
anything.” I nodded. We heard that line every week. “So I asked
Pastor Robbins if I could be on the choir, if I could sing with
everyone.
My mouth dropped open. “You wanted to be an angel?
You’re like, the least angelic person I know.”
Even through his tears, he smiled. “It was kind of my
mom’s idea. Anyway, at first he said no and I told him that it was
okay, that I didn’t mind when people laughed at me, that I just
wanted to stand up there with you and the others.”
“Yeah? So what’d he say?”
Asher crossed his arms and glared at the wall. “He
said no, that it was nothing personal, but people come to the show
expecting a certain sound. He offered to let me paint the scenery
instead.”
I was at his side in an instant, wrapping him up in
my arms, my forehead resting against his. That old fierceness
returned, the one that made me defend him against all else. “I
don’t want to be in his stupid choir,” I declared. “If they don’t
want you,
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