“I’ll say.” She wrote all this down.
“It goes from nine to three all summer long, with reading and some brain stuff in the morning, and the state feeds us lunch and two snacks cause we’re a poverty school. Your granny helped get us that. She’s on the committee with me.”
The newspaper lady opened her mouth a little. “She never mentioned it. So, it is fun? Do your friends like it so far?”
“Yeah, I mean, there’s soccer and tag and recess stuff to keep the kids happy, book stuff to keep the grownups happy, and the town’shappy cause it keeps all us kids off the street. We even have a Bible study, but a kid version.”
She finished writing, tapped her pen against her chin as she looked at him closely.
“So, Devon Robinson,” she said, her words soft and news-reportery, like he’d seen on television. “Why do you care? Why go to all this trouble?”
He looked out the window, thought a long time. She was patient, though. Waiting.
Finally he bent down, reached in his backpack, and pulled out his Bible. He was almost embarrassed to show her—it wasn’t a brand-new good-looking Bible but old, really old. The black leather was worn in places, and the pages were dog-eared. It had “Bible” stamped on the cover in gold letters, but even those were peeling.
Still, it was his Bible, and Mama’s. Thinking about it made his throat go all scratchy, but he swallowed hard, rested his hand on the book, and looked the newspaper lady straight on.
“For Jesus.”
She chewed her lip. “Jesus.” He couldn’t read her expression.
Devon nodded. “He’s my savior. He died on the cross for me. For me and for you, and for everyone, really. So we could have eternal life. And he thinks I’m important. That’s a pretty big deal to me. If I’m gonna call myself a Christian, a real one, then I want to step up and actually be one, really do stuff for him, to make him happy. Like caring for the least.”
“The least?” She scribbled fast, turned another page.
“Yeah. ‘The least of these.’ You know, the people who have a really hard time in life, like widows and kids whose parents died, like me, and super-hungry people, the people who don’t have anything. Rev calls it being Jesus’s hands and feet in the world, and it’s up to me to do it, me and other people who believe, too.” He tapped the book. “It’s all in there.”
“Sounds like you’ve got the world on your shoulders.”
“Somebody has to. Why not me?”
She shook her head, ate a fry. “You’re one amazing kid, Devon. I’ve seriously never met anyone like you.”
“And I’ve never met another grownup like you. You’re a neat lady, Miss Becca.” She was.
Afterwards, he showed her the shortcut back to James Watkins. “Drop me right here,” he said, as they got closer to the school. He could see his bike was still in the rack, locked up with the new lock, safe and secure. Even better, there was no sign of Marquis. He breathed a sigh of relief.
“At least let me take you home!”
“No!” The word was loud in the small car, and she gave him a sideways look, his stomach flopping back to normal. “I mean, thanks anyway.”
“You’re my last appointment today, and it’s really no trouble.”
He shook his head, already grabbing the heavy backpack and sliding out of the car. “Nope, I’m supposed to meet up with my friends, but thanks.” He gave her a no-biggie wave. “And thanks for taking me to Harold’s. It was nice meeting you.”
“You, too, Devon. Oh, and don’t forget—make sure you get that form signed. I can’t run the story without the parental waiver. Send it over with my granny tomorrow, okay?”
“I’ll do it, Miss Becca. See ya.”
He watched as she drove away in her little gray car, then turned to unlock his bike and head home. He only hoped Uncle T wouldn’t be there when he arrived.
He wasn’t so lucky.
CHAPTER 13
Rebecca
A Ministry for “the Least”
