The loan officer looked taken aback. “I’m sorry. I thought it was a legitimate theological observation.”

“First of all, as everyone knows, Cain killed Abel—”

“Oh, so just Cain fucked his mom.”

“If I wasn’t a man of God…” He pulled hard away and strode purposefully back toward the church.

“Ten to one odds our man of God returns right now and watches us repossess your car!” the loan officer said loudly to Dennis. “After all, there is a very big game this afternoon! A lot of wagering going on!”

Pastor Peters stopped, turned around and stood silently and shamefacedly next to the banker.

“Much better,” the loan officer said. He turned to Dennis. “So, do you need a ride home?”

****

Dennis did get a ride, but instead of leaving with a man from the bank, he accepted an offer from Jack Thorne, one of his teachers who was also a member of the congregation. He rode in the front seat with Jack, while the teacher’s wife sat in back with their son. Rather than go home, he had Jack drop him off at the school, where he intended to decompress by doing a little work in his office. He needed time to think, and tending to school business after hours relaxed him and helped clear his mind. At home, he would only stress out about the car, come up with zero ideas to solve the problem and grow ever more frustrated.

Already, walking from the parking lot to the administration building, he was thinking about the lawsuit he would bring against the bank and wondering whether his car insurance would cover such an expense or whether he might even be able to get the school district involved. Striding around the side of the building to the quad, where the entrance was located, Dennis was confronted with large block letters spraypainted in black over the rows of lockers that lined the 100 and 200 buildings:

NO IMIGRANTS

MEXIKINS GO HOME

WHITE POWER

Swiveling his head to survey the school’s central courtyard, looking for more vandalism, he discovered other spraypainted messages in less obvious locations. On the wall by the band room: IF IT AINT WHITE IT AINT RITE. Upstairs on the wall of the 300 building between English classes: IF YUR BROWN YUR GOING DOWN. On the cement in the center of the quad: REPELL ALL INVADERS.

The graffiti shocked him, not just for the racist sentiments expressed, but for the fact that it was there at all. Montgomery High was not immune to petty vandalism. Declarations of love, drawings of penises, and vulgar epithets aimed at teachers were all over the locker rooms and bathroom walls. But they were invariably scrawled in Sharpie and individually inscribed. He’d never encountered such a large scale defacing of school property.

The grammatical mistakes were perhaps the only things that were not surprising. It was about what he’d expect from a student holding such views.