Revenge of a Not-So-Pretty Girl Read Online Free PDF Page B

bind?”
    “No.”
    “Then why?”
    “Because I wanted to.”
    “Why?”
    “ ’Cause …”
    Silence.
    “Because it was something to do.” I suddenly realize I haven’t actually seen a dime of that money. I was so on another planet about everything that happened, I didn’t even get my share from Caroline.
    “But the money isn’t the bad part,” I continue.
    “Stealing is not the bad part?”
    “No, this is kind of a two-broken-commandments sin.”
    “What’s the second one?”
    “Well, what if … someone … accidentally maybe pushed another someone, and that other someone fell and sorta hurt themselves?”
    “Accidents happen. This person who was injured, did the other person call in medical help for them?”
    “Uh, no.”
    “Why not?”
    “I don’t know. ’Cause no one thought of it at the time.Anyway, I don’t think that part even matters anymore. I guess. Because the person who was injured … what if they were not exactly injured anymore?”
    “I don’t follow.”
    “Yeah, I know.” I take a really deep breath before continuing. “Let’s say the person was more kinda … dead … than injured?”
    There is the longest silence, and I start wondering if he just didn’t hear me. Then I start wondering whether he did, and I’ve made my second big mistake of the day. I would do anything to be able to take my words back.
    “Are you saying you may have killed someone?” Father Randall finally asks.
    I’m trying to swallow, but my mouth has become cobwebs-across-the-tongue dry. What have I done?
    “No. Definitely not.” I try and backtrack. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. No, no, nope. What I’m saying is, well, I’m trying to figure out when a sin is beyond asking forgiveness for.”
    “So you want to know if murder—”
    “No, not murder. An accidental ending of a life. And I never said it was me. Or that it was something that really happened. Anyway, is all this forgivable?”
    It’s pin-drop quiet for a while again, and I’m wondering if the old priest has snuck away to call the cops. I peep through the slats, where I can still see his shock of white hair.
    “All is forgivable if he or
she
who commits that action is repentant. But if a sin is also a crime, part of that repentinginvolves informing the proper authority, at which point the healing can begin.”
    “Authority?” I echo.
    I no longer feel fever-hot. I now feel as if I’ve been set on fire.
    “It’s all good,” I say quickly. And I force a ridiculous laugh. “I was just testing you. Trying to figure out what would be the worst sin to commit. It’s all good.”
    And I just about tear the curtain down as I beat it out of that confessional.
    *  *  *
    It’s raining really hard when I start back home with Mama, and I realize I left my flimsy umbrella back in the church. I try not to walk too close to the curb to avoid the rainwater splashing up as cars whiz by. Mama’s moving even faster now, and I’ve dropped to twenty paces behind her. But she never slows down to check on me or offer me any shelter, which is just fine with me. I’d feel weird and claustrophobic having to be all bunched up close to her as we walk the whole way back to our apartment in silence. Besides, she’s probably looking for the rain to finish cleansing me of whatever confession did not. But I can’t really worry about her. I have my own horrible trials and tribulations to deal with.

KARMA
.
    Written in big twelve-inch-high white letters on the blackboard. That’s the first thing I see when I walk into my religious studies class. The word
karma
, double underlined. And just as frightening is what—or who—I spy to the left of that word: Sister Margaret Theresa Patricia Bernadette. She takes her usual place in front of the class, waiting for everyone to be seated and settled. Her head is held really high, like she’s one of those meerkats. You know, like there’s a stick poking up out of her back, holding it up.