His eyes swept the classroom, pausing on students who squirmed in their seats, and finally landed on me. I wanted to throw up from an overwhelming mix of terror and delight.
“The winner of our poem contest,” Mr. Blanchard trilled, “is Miss Ruth Cornier, who wrote a lovely little ditty about her namesake.”
As I’d feared and desired, the eyes of my fellow students turned to me, telegraphing resentment and begrudging admiration. Our assignment from Mr. Blanchard had been to choose a heroic figure from the Bibleand write a poem about them. The winner would get a prize worth its weight in gold: a trip with Mr. Blanchard to the newly opened Dairy Queen in Forsythe, rumored to have ice cream treats called Blizzards that were so thick you could turn them upside down and nothing would fall out. With stakes that high, I’d chosen Ruth. I knew her best, having studied her closest out of vain self-interest.
I couldn’t believe I’d actually done something someone thought was good.
“Ruth, tell us what makes Ruth so special.” The corners of Mr. Blanchard’s eyes crinkled at his joke.
“She—” My voice cracked, unused to being used in public, and some of the students glanced at each other with knowing smirks. I struggled to regain myself. “Was known for her kindness.”
“Right.” He nodded. “But I liked the other part of your poem best. Why do wereallyconsider Ruth one of the most important women in the Bible?”
“Because of her loyalty. She followed her mother-in-law, Naomi, into Judah even though she risked her life. Ruth was—” I thought of something I’d heard my father say. “Relentlessly obedient to her elders.”
“Excellent.” Mr. Blanchard beamed. “And she was rewarded in the end, as we all will be, so long as we too obey our elders, even when it might seem wrong. Ruth, you’ll have the pleasure of joining me at Dairy Queen.”
I’d just begun to soak in my triumph when he added, “But!”
All eyes jerked back to him.
“There was one other poem that deserved a prize.”
My stomach dropped.
Mr. Blanchard turned his beaming face to Lila. “Miss Lila LeBlanc.”
The shock sent whispers around the room. Lila, who’d been slumped in her chair with a vacant expression, twisting a finger in her long blond hair, suddenly straightened. She looked as surprised as anyone.
“Who did you write about, Lila?”
She hesitated a moment—then said, in a defiant voice, “Mary Magdalene.”
The classroom broke into loud titters. Even at eleven, we knew Mary Magdalene was a whore, not a hero.
“Quiet,” Mr. Blanchard shushed. “Now, why did you choose Mary?”
Lila bit her lip. Most of the time she acted confident, but once in a while, her veneer cracked and I got a glimpse of her self-doubt. It made it hard to dislike her, no matter how skewed life seemed in her favor.
“Because even though Mary did bad things in the past,” Lila said, “she believed in Jesus more than anyone. She was the first person to see his empty tomb.”
“Very clever.” Behind his thick lenses, Mr. Blanchard’s eyes blinked tremulously. “Mary Magdalene teaches us that it’s possible for even great sinners to be redeemed. As long as we repent, there’s room for all of us in the Kingdom of Heaven.”
I frowned at my clenched fists, hidden underneath my desk. Not only did it sting to share my victory with Lila, but the way Mr. Blanchard talked about sinning was different from my father. Mr. Blanchard made it seem light and easy—make a mistake, repent, and it’s erased. According to my father, sinners were owed heavy punishment and got no guarantees.
“Congratulations, Lila. You’ll join us at Dairy Queen this afternoon.” Mr. Blanchard clapped. “All right, children. Next we’re going to talk about Samson and Delilah. Take out your workbooks.”
As students sighed and shifted, Lila’s eyes met mine from across the room. We rarely spoke to each other, being so different. But we were going to sit together in Mr. Blanchard’s green Jaguar all the way to Forsythe, then share the prize of Blizzards. Was she annoyed to be stuck with me? I had no idea how to react.
Suddenly—tentative as the first light at dawn—the corners of Lila’s mouth lifted in a smile.
“What clever girls you are,” said Mr. Blanchard, holding our hands. “Be sure to keep a tight grip on me. We don’t want you getting lost.”
“Yes, Mr. Blanchard,” said Lila and I in matching singsong. We were on our way to ice cream and on our best behavior.
Lila stole a glance at me as we walked across the church parking lot. I smiled, emboldened by her earlier kindness, and she grinned back.
“I’m going to get a gummy bearandOreo Blizzard,” she blurted, as if the information was finally too much to keep inside.
