by Katherine Grace Bond

The aroma of pizza was ruined by the odor of damp dust rising from steam radiators. Amber wrinkled her nose. Could a school be this old and still be standing? she wondered.

New school, new church and a new baby brother. Amber felt as if she’d been launched into space. She saw the girl she’d picked out as friend material: Whitney. She had pretty hair and a great sweater. Best of all, she was wearing a WWJD bracelet. What a relief to find another Christian! But at lunch, a group of girls surrounded Whitney and no one offered Amber a spot.

At her old school, Amber had a ton of friends. At church she was Scripture Memory Team champion. Last fall, she had memorized the entire book of Romans. But when Quentin came along at Christmas, Dad had found a new job in the city.

Amber found an empty table and sat down. A short girl plunked down beside her. “I’m Kincaid,” the girl said. “You’re new.”

“We moved,” Amber replied.

“I’m new, too,” Kincaid said. She smiled, revealing a gap between her teeth. Amber managed a smile. “I used to go to Evanhooke Day School,” Kincaid continued, “but Hank and I decided I should try public.”

“Hank?”

“My dad.”

“You call your dad Hank?”

“It’s his name.”

Weird, Amber thought. Calling your father by his first name didn’t sound like “Honor your father and your mother.” Kincaid was obviously not a Christian.

Big Trouble

At recess Amber walked over to Whitney and her friends, who were jumping rope.

“Sorry,” one of Whitney’s followers said. “This game’s full.”

Amber blushed and turned away.

Kincaid sidled over. “Follow me.”

They squeezed behind clumps of junipers and came out by a dirt hill left from parking lot construction.

Kincaid clambered up, grabbing Amber’s hand. Amber found herself stepping onto the school roof.

“Is this okay?”

Kincaid shrugged. “They didn’t say not to. You can see Queen Whitney and her court down there. Want to spit on them?”

“Kincaid! I can’t believe you suggested that!”

Kincaid chuckled. “I just thought you’d want to get back at them.” She sat down.

“I don’t get back at people.” Amber leaned against a vent. “Those who live according to the sinful nature have their minds set on what that nature desires; but those who live in accordance with the Spirit have their minds set on what the Spirit desires.”

“Oh-kay.” Kincaid shook her head. “What is that, anyway? Shakespeare?”

Shakespeare?! “It’s Romans 8:5.”

“Romans?”

“In the Bible.” Amber tried not to sound impatient.

“Hey! Who’s up there?”

The girls scrambled to their feet to see Mr. Kuumoto, the principal, glaring at them from a ladder.

Stand-In Companion

Kincaid was already in detention when Amber got there after school.

“Hank was mad,” Kincaid said. “I’m grounded ‘til I’m 80.”

Amber opened her math book.

“It was astoundingly fun, though, wasn’t it?” she enthused. “An escapade.” She drew the word out, enjoying it.

Amber turned the page.

“Amber?”

Amber looked up.

“Are you mad at me?”

“I’m just not used to doing detention.” Well, that was true.

Kincaid twisted in her chair. “How much longer do we have to stay here? You think they hide the clock so we’ll be utterly hopeless?

“Hope that is seen is no hope at all,” Amber quoted. “Who hopes for what he already has? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently. Romans 8:24-25.”

Kincaid laughed. “You are too much,” she said. “Have you got the entire Bible in there?”

“Chunks of it,” Amber said, grinning.

The rest of the week’s detention dragged. Amber approached Whitney’s table each day, but there was never any room. She decided to settle for Kincaid, until she could find some nice Christian friends.

“I hate my nose!” Kincaid peered into the bathroom mirror.

Amber ripped a towel from the dispenser. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Too round.”

Amber looked up.

“Here it comes,” Kincaid said.

Amber smiled and cleared her throat. “Who are you, O man, to talk back to God? Shall what is formed say to him who formed it, 'Why did you make me like this?' Does not the potter have the right to make out of the same lump of clay some pottery for noble purposes and some for common use? Romans 9:20-21.” “ ’Lump of clay?’ ” Kincaid said, “I don’t know if that’s a compliment.”

The door opened and Whitney came in.

“Amber!” she said. “I was going to ask you—“ she saw Kincaid. “Never mind. Maybe later.”

“Sheesh,” Kincaid said, when she was out of earshot. “You’d think I had plague or something.” Amber didn’t say anything. If Kincaid had the plague, maybe Amber was already infected. What if she never made Christian friends?

Inseparable

“Well, I finally meet Bible Girl!” Kinkaid’s dad set eggs on the counter.

“Hank!” Kincaid’s cheeks flushed. “Don’t call her that.”

“Hank” ruffled Amber’s hair. “Just teasing,” he said. “You don’t mind, do you, Amber?”

Amber guessed she didn’t mind.

Kincaid had apparently turned 80 earlier than expected and was celebrating the end of being grounded by making lemon meringue pie.

“I’ll be in the laundry room if you need me.” Hank kissed Kincaid’s head.

“Sorry about that Bible Girl stuff,” Kincaid said when he was gone. “He likes to embarrass me.” She pulled a bowl down from the cupboard.

“He’s nice,” Amber said.

“He is,” Kincaid said. “We’ve been through a lot together.”

Kincaid cracked an egg and let the white ooze into the bowl, dumping the yolk back and forth between the broken shells.

“C’mon, egg,” she said, “separate.”

But the yolk broke and yellow dripped into white.

“Bother!” Kincaid dumped the whole thing into the trash. “You want to try?”

Amber’s egg smashed.

Kincaid’s next egg worked perfectly . . . until the last second.

Eight eggs later, the girls were chanting, “Separate, separate, separate!” and giggling so hard it was no use trying. Amber hopped on a chair and struck a pose.

“Who,” she intoned, “shall SEPARATE us from the love of Christ?

Kincaid leaned against the fridge, grinning.

“Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword?”

Amber warmed to her performance. “No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life—“

“Hey!” Hank strolled in with a basket of folded clothes. “I get to see Bible Girl in action!”

Amber jumped down, wishing a hole would open in the floor. “We’re trying to separate eggs,” she mumbled.

“You want me to do it?” Hank offered.

Amber nodded. Hank separated them swiftly. He slid the bowl to Kincaid and picked up the basket.

“You’re on your own,” he said, winking.

“So what’s the rest?” Kincaid asked.

“The rest?”

“Of that Bible thing.”

“I don’t want—”

“But you stopped in the middle.”

Amber looked at her curiously.

“Okay,” she said. “If you really want to hear—I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

She looked up. Kincaid met her eyes.

“Amber,” she said, “do you think that’s true?”

Friend Indeed

“Amber!” Whitney bounced down the stairs with her friends. “We’ve decided to invite you into our club.”

“Oh!” Amber stopped zipping her coat mid-zip.

“Starting today, you can play with us at recess and join us for lunch.”

“Thanks!” Amber said. She fiddled with her zipper. “Um, Kincaid—We usually have lunch together.”

Whitney frowned.

“Well,” she said delicately, “don’t take this wrong, but Kincaid isn’t really our kind of girl.”

The others nodded.

Amber looked at them—--Whitney with her WWJD bracelet. You, then, she thought, why do you judge your brother? Or why do you look down on your brother? For we will all stand before God's judgment seat.

She didn’t say the verse aloud, but it reverberated back to her. She had been judging Kincaid. She had thought of her as a second-class friend who could be disposed of when a “real Christian” friend came along. When she had spouted all those verses, Kincaid had heard them with her heart.

She put her hand on the stair rail.

“I’m sorry,” she said to Whitney. “I won’t be able to join your club. I’m afraid that Kincaid is my kind of girl.”

	Q: What is the best way to groom a pet rodent? A: Mouse-wash. Brennan P., 10, Florida Clubhouse Jr. Click here to subscribe