“We’re supposed to get blizzard conditions later. The weather’s calling for two feet.”

Hallelujah, even more. That means no school, likely, for the next few days. Excitement wells inside me, which I quickly squelch when I think of Juliet. The trick is filling your time.

The plan inside me feels like it’s dangling from a very thin string, ready to snap. Exactly what will I fill my time with, cooped up inside for the next few days?

I go up to my room and slide under the covers, wiggling the Cheez-It crumbs between my toes. Then I peek over the side of the bed at the dust ruffle. My heart buckles. Sweat slides down my rib cage.

I’m not actually going to do the one thing guaranteed to make me bawl, am I?

Juliet’s voice again: It might be therapeutic.

I lift the dust ruffle and root around under the bed, feeling the hard edges of the cardboard box. Taking a deep breath, I yank back one of the flaps and reach inside. My fingertips come in contact with the rough pages of a book, a marled leather cover.

I know this. There can be nothing more innocent. I pull it out and study the words inked in gold on the front: HOLY BIBLE.

I swallow. This book has been responsible for saving countless lives, right? Why do I feel so unprotected?

He’d kept it in the glove compartment of his truck. He’d carried it around school, unabashed. Sometimes I’d go to his room and see him studying it, yellow highlighter in hand.

Highlighter.

I’d never opened the book before. When I flip it open, the first thing I notice is the lines of fluorescent yellow. Many of them. I knew he’d always relied on these words to solve problems and answer questions both big and small, as if the book were a Magic 8 Ball or something. He’d told me the story of his dad once, while he’d cradled this book in his lap. He’d said the Bible was responsible for saving his life.

My eyes fall upon something highlighted from Corinthians. For some reason, this line is highlighted in bright purple:

“Do you not know that the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived; neither the immoral, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor sexual perverts, nor thieves, nor the greedy, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor robbers will inherit the kingdom of God.”

My hands are marking the cover with sinner’s sweat, a shame considering he’d probably touched this cover a million times. The binding’s pristine, and there’s not a dog-eared page in sight. He cared for this as much as he cared for me. Maybe more.

My hands shake. Forget it. I snap the Bible closed and slide it back under the bed. I change into a thermal shirt and jeans and lace up my boots.