Anyway, I’d be letting her know, in no uncertain terms, that I’m into her, and I want that next-boyfriend slot. Just needed Newsome to let church end. Then I could execute the pl—

Hold up.

Kiera stood. Excused her way past her mom, continued to the front of the church while her dad slow-clapped. He wasn’t the only one.

The applause went viral throughout the congregation, creating a pattering echo under the high ceiling, while Newsome uttered, “Hallelujah, hallelujah.”

Six more kids, some I recognized from school, rose and approached the altar, forming a line when they faced the rest of the congregation. Shanice Monroe and Helena Rickard were sophomores at Green Creek High. Ralph and Bobby Burton, who were eighth graders at the middle school, I believed. Mya Hanson, a fellow junior and my super-serious coworker. Then Jameer Sesay, class Golden Boy. With the exception of Mya, I only knew this group well enough to speak to, nothing more.

“Hallelujah, hallelujah,” said Newsome.

Over the last couple of months, I’d gotten my black belt in daydreaming during sermons. Usually a good thing, but this time I’d missed something important.

A lady approached the pulpit. She was a grown-up, old, like twenty-five. I’d seen her around, but never met her. Flowery sundress. Plump cheeks, light brown skin, a forever smile.

When she stepped to the pulpit, she reached for the mic, an act that seemed to make Newsome uncomfortable enough to abruptly cease his hallelujahs. He gave her the “wait a minute” finger.

One final, emphatic “Hallelujah.” Then he handed over the mic.

She said, “Are there any other young people who’d like to join us on this wonderful journey?”

Oh! An opportunity!

In the early moments of service, before I zoned out, they’d talk about volunteering. Go read to old folks at the nursing home. Help scrub graffiti off the community center. Whatever it was, Kiera would be there. If I got in now, I could still execute the plan, with the added bonus of an obvious shared interest. We’d be volunteering together.

“Excuse me,” I said.

Mom’s head tilted, all confused when I brushed by her.

I hit the aisle; the varnished wooden planks creaked loudly under my weight. Every eye in the place seared me, making my belly feel twisty and moist, giving me second thoughts. I only kept going because it would be more embarrassing to turn back, and I could not be embarrassed in front of Kiera.

While the other kids lined up to Kiera’s right, I took a spot to her left so we were side by side. It sort of wedged me between her and this potted fern Pastor Newsome kept near the pulpit, but I wasn’t going to risk anyone getting between us.

Because I took that spot, when the lady stepped to us with the wireless mic, she came to me first.

“Tell us,” she said, beaming, the happy-face emoji come to life, “why do you want to remain sexually pure until you’re joined in holy matrimony?”