Come on, Dad, as if anyone’s going to risk popularity to answer that question.
Emily’s hand shot up into the sky.
“Oh my God. You suck-up.” I elbowed her, but put mine up, too—to save getting in trouble from Dad later. A few other people followed; the rest of the class just laughed and pointed at us.
“Okay. Now, hands up who believes Jesus walked on water.”
Everyone in the class started laughing. My dad, with his own hand up, nodded, then started writing on the board: “Myths and legends—Religious History.” He read the words out, tapping each one, then popped the lid on his marker with a thud from his open palm. “Who can tell me what that suggests we might be discussing?”
Emily put her hand up.
“Emily?” Dad pointed the marker at her.
“It means, like you mentioned last week, that nearly everything we know about religion is based purely on some story or, like, Chinese whisper that’s been passed down from one generation to the next. Not too many cold, hard facts.”
“Right.” Dad wrote What is real? on the board. “Now, I’m not saying Jesus never actually walked on water, but what I am saying is that, like young Emily just said, nearly every story you’ve ever been told has been written by someone else. We don’t know the facts for ourselves. But there is a fact behind every story. Now, it’s my job to inspire freethinking, not encourage atheism, so, having said that—” He wrote something else on the whiteboard.
Assignment: Fact of Myth
“For the next few weeks you’ll be researching the origin of a myth or legend—” he shook his head, “—doesn’t have to be religious, but if you sift through any myth and go deep enough, you’ll usually find some religious connection, like most things in life. So, find a myth, research the legends around it and make a report based on your opinion whether or not there could be some truth behind it, and what it originally had to do with religious beliefs.” He looked around at all the students. “Because, let’s face it, if Jesus walked on water then there’s a damn sure bet there’s a Santa Claus, right?”
The class broke into laughter.
“Mr Thompson?” a girl asked. “Does that mean you’re admitting Jesus didn’t walk on water?”
“No.” My dad leaned against his desk, crossing his arms. “It means I’m admitting there’s a Santa Claus.”
The class roared with laughter again.
“Maybe he wasn’t lying to my five-year-old self when he said he believed in Santa,” I whispered to Emily.
She started laughing. “I can so picture your dad saying that, too.”
“I’ll bet you can.” I grimaced.
“So, find the myth and decide the truth from your own perspective. That’s all everybody. Have a good day,” he called out over the bell.
Emily and I walked out of class, shoulder to shoulder, still laughing at Dad’s unusual lecture. “And, if he actually caught a burglar in your house on Christmas Eve, he’d think it was just Santa.”
“Oh my God. I could so see that happening.”
“Yeah, then, next morning, he’d be like, Gee, Sam—” she lowered her voice to sound like my dad, “—I’m terribly sorry, but when Santa came last night he filled his sack with your presents instead. And…er…and the china and the silverware and the jewellery.”
I folded over in a fit of teary giggles. “Oh, my God, Emily. That’s so spot on. I mean, his belief was unyield…” With an abrupt jolt, my cheek hit a warm, firm chest, and a boy stumbled back an inch, looping his arms around my shoulders.
“I knew you’d fall for me eventually,” he said.
“David.” I looked up into his sparkling emerald eyes, melting within the circle of his arms. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
“Don’t sweat it, pretty girl. I got ya.”
I closed my eyes, feeling the tingle of his fingers down my ponytail, touching me like I belonged to him, making no effort to move away.
“Not on school grounds please, you two.”
I jumped back from David’s arms. “Sorry, Mr Thompson.”
“Keep it PG.” He pointed at David, then tossed a scrap of paper into the wastebasket beside his desk—without taking his eyes off us.
Emily’s eyelids fluttered as he walked away again. “He’s so cool.”
“Ew?” I winced.
David laughed at her, dropping his lingering arm back down to his side. I wanted him to ignore my dad and just pull me close again—steal me from this place so we could lay together, my head in his lap, talking for hours about nothing. But, unfortunately, he was no mind reader, and I would never muster up the courage to say that, so, staying at school, pretending not to want him, was my only option.
“So, I hear Mr Thompson gave an unusual lecture today?” David asked Emily.
“Oh my God, yes.” She sunk into her knees, moving her hands around as she recounted the lesson. A few other kids joined in, adding their own theories on what my dad was aiming to teach us, and I just stood there watching David—watching the way he interacted with others. When he noticed, he sent a soft smile my way, the crescent-shaped dimple above his lip showing—the one that only showed with that certain kind of smile. I imagined pressing my finger to it; imagined the moment I fell into his arms back there happening all over again, except he’d sweep me off my feet this time and prop me against the wall, wrapping my legs all the way around his hips. My lips would finally be on his, and his hands would sneak up my skirt, forcing a sharp intake of breath in me when he…
“Earth to Ara?” Emily waved a hand through the cloud of my fantasy.
I snapped back to the reality of a noisy corridor. “Huh?”
“Welcome back,” she said.
Ice rained through me. “Did I faze out again?”
David cleared his throat, growing seemingly taller as he slowly rolled his shoulders back.
“Uh, yeah. Just a bit,” Emily said.
“David?” I looked right into his emerald eyes, seeing them go dark, almost black.
“I uh—I have to go.” He wiped a hand across his mouth, then stalked off into the crowd.
“What happened?” I asked Emily. “Where’s he going?”
She just stared at me blankly. “What were you thinking about just then?”
The ice rain melted as my bones turned to lava. “Uh. Nothing PG, that’s for sure.”