Gifts of the Spirit
by Tom Doyle
Two boys stared, but Katie kept dancing. She checked her sweater and skirt, then ran a hand over her hair, just to make sure she didn’t look as freakish as the boys made her feel. Nothing–she wouldn’t be junior prom queen, but she hadn’t sprouted a moustache either. The boys still staring? Yep.
Katie kept moving, distracted, a little off the beat. She stepped tentatively, not wiggling her hips.
The closer boy, Bill, danced in their cluster of a dozen Fellowship Club friends. Katie liked Bill–he combined Christian with cute, and a quick kiss at evening’s end wouldn’t have been a sin. But Bill made her nervous. He had been trying to get next to her since she had participated in healing his sprained ankle at Christian soccer camp. In Jesus’s name, two soccer squads had laid hands on Bill, but he seemed particularly interested in Katie’s touch.
Had he guessed Katie’s sin? Couldn’t have. She hadn’t told anyone; she hadn’t really done anything.
The other boy, Tally, worried her more. He stood farther away, slouching, not dancing. Not her type–nice enough in class, but he hung out with Satanists and stoners. Tonight, his blue eyes shot straight through the couples dancing between them and straight through her to the end of the world. The Antichrist would have eyes like that.