Aria was sitting in the pews. The sound of the lecture was drowned out in the churn of her thoughts. Aria had found hope in the idea of going with Taylor to Los Angeles. It was hope she had no intention of relinquishing. There was just one problem. She didn’t have any money. Having exhausted every potential for making the money that she needed, she had finally resolved to steal it. It was now a matter of where to steal it from. Before settling upon church as the best place to go unnoticed while getting ahold of someone’s wallet, it seemed she had spent the entire day running through different scenarios in her head. She eyed the purses sitting on the floor or beside women in the pews. She tried to profile people for how much of an impact the loss would have on them and for who might have the total amount she needed, instead of only part of it.

Halfway through the service, three musicians stepped up in front of the room. Their imperfect tones were loud on the notes they felt confident playing and soft on ones that they didn’t. Aria was embarrassed for them. She couldn’t figure out what the congregation was doing during this time, which seemed to be like a disorganized intermission. But when the woman sitting next to her handed her a giant basket full of bills, she realized that she was expected to make a tithing and pass it on to the next person. For a split second, she thought about making a run for it with the money. She passed it on, though, unable to face the implications of doing so.

But she could not stop thinking about that money. She watched the priest thank the crowd and hand it to a dutiful member of the congregation, who then disappeared with it into the hallway adjacent to the curtain. Aria waited for ten more minutes before pretending to excuse herself to the bathroom. She even asked a few people where it was. They pointed her in the opposite direction to where the man had gone.

Acting as if she was going to the bathroom, she sauntered into the outlying hallways of the building and wandered frantically through the maze of corridors, trying to ascertain where the money in that basket might have been taken. Soon, she spotted a door with a door mount that read “Pastor Ferguson.” It was a long shot to think that it would be open. It was also a long shot to think that the money would be there. But Aria reached for the doorknob anyway. To her surprise, the door was open. She looked both ways to ensure that no one had seen her before slipping inside.