Jim marched toward the far side of the courtyard, his eyes scanning the crowd for Clara, a popular girl in the drama club. She was the opposite of Lydia—loud, visible, and secular .
He spotted her near the equipment shed, laughing with her friends. Jim adjusted his tie, took a deep breath, and started toward her. He was ten paces away, his mouth already opening to deliver a practiced, charming greeting, when a sudden, sharp thwack echoed from the sky.
A shadow loomed over him.
A heavy, leather rugby ball descended from over the high University fence with pinpoint accuracy. It didn't hit him, but it slammed into the gravel inches from Jim's feet, bouncing high and spraying dust over his polished shoes and pristine trousers.
The girls with Clara shrieked in surprise, and the entire courtyard went silent, eyes darting from the ball to the fence.
"Hey! Little Priest! Catch!"
The voice was a rich, booming baritone that Jim recognized with a jolt of pure electricity. He looked up. There, perched precariously but effortlessly on top of the high chain-link fence, was Mauwa.
He was drenched in sweat, his university training jersey clinging to his chest, his hair a mess of dark curls. He looked like some pagan deity looking down upon a mortal realm. He was grinning—that same slow, infuriatingly knowing smirk.
"Sorry about that!" Mauwa called out, loud enough for half the school to hear. The students began to murmur, recognizing the face from the morning's rumors. "My aim was a little off. Or maybe it was exactly on target. Toss it back, would you, Jim?"
Jim stood frozen. Clara and her friends weren't looking at Jim anymore. They were staring up at Mauwa, their expressions a mix of awe and sudden infatuation. The "Golden Boy" was standing in the dirt, overshadowed by the "Rugby God" looming over him.
"Jim?" Clara whispered, her eyes wide as she looked at Mauwa and then back at Jim. "You... you know him?"
Jim felt the heat rising in his neck, a burning tide of humiliation. Mauwa wasn't just a distraction; he was a saboteur. By calling out his name, by showing up like this, he had claimed Jim in front of everyone.
"He's just... a distant relative," Jim managed to choke out, his voice sounding small and weak against the open air.
"A relative?" Mauwa laughed, his eyes glinting with mischief as he balanced on the fence. "Is that all I am today, Jim? After we shared such a... spiritual night together?"
A collective gasp went through the nearby students. Jim's world tilted. He knew Mauwa meant the prayer, the room-sharing, the argument—but to the ears of high schoolers, the phrasing was devastatingly ambiguous.
"Just throw the ball, Jim!" Mauwa urged, his voice full of playful malice. "Don't keep me waiting. I know how much you hate being late."
Jim snatched the ball off the ground. He wanted to throw it at Mauwa's face, but he knew he didn't have the strength or the aim to reach the top of the fence. Instead, he walked to the base of the wire, his hands shaking, and shoved the ball through a gap in the fence.
"Go away," Jim hissed, low enough that only Mauwa could hear.
Mauwa dropped down from the fence back onto the University side, his laughter echoing even after he vanished from sight.
Jim turned back to Clara, but the moment was dead. She was already whispering to her friends, pointing at the fence, her interest in Jim replaced by an intense curiosity about the man who had just claimed to share "spiritual nights" with him.
Jim turned and fled toward the school building, the sound of his own pulse drowning out the bell for the next period.
Jim hurried away from the equipment shed, his ears ringing with the whispers of his classmates. He was almost at the school corridor when Jared caught up to him, matching his frantic pace.
"Jim, wait!" Jared pulled him aside, his face a mask of total confusion. "What was that? I saw you heading straight for Clara. Why on earth were you going to talk to her? Everyone knows she's... well, she's not exactly the 'devotion' type. She's the most secular girl in the senior block."
Jim stopped, his chest heaving. He adjusted his glasses, trying to summon the mask of the pious leader. "I was going to speak to her about religion, Jared. Her lifestyle is... concerning. I felt a calling to see if she wanted to join the Bible study group."
Jared stared at him for a long beat, his eyes narrowing. "Religion? To Clara? Jim, you were looking at her like a man on a mission, but it didn't look like a mission for God. You looked... desperate."
"I told you my intent," Jim snapped, his voice cold. "If you choose not to believe me, that is your burden, not mine." He turned and walked away before Jared could see the lie trembling in his eyes.
The final bell was a relief, but the walk to the gate was a gauntlet of stares. Jim kept his head down, intent on reaching the bus stop before the university crowd spilled out. He failed.
As he reached the main road, the familiar dark sedan pulled up to the curb. But this time, Mauwa wasn't alone. Sitting in the passenger seat was a girl so stunning she looked like she had stepped off a magazine cover. She had long, flowing hair and a sophisticated air that screamed "University Queen."
Mauwa leaned out of the driver's side window, his grin as effortless as ever. "Hey, little cousin! Perfect timing. I've come to take you home."
He gestured to the girl beside him. "Jim, I want you to meet Hannah, Miss Campus herself. Hannah, this is my very serious, very holy cousin, Jim."
"It's a pleasure, Jim," Hannah said, her voice like silk. "Mauwa has told me so much about you."
"Hannah is my girlfriend," Mauwa added, his eyes locked on Jim's face, watching for a reaction. "She's the reason I was a bit distracted during practice today."
Jim felt a strange, sharp pang in his chest that he immediately labeled as "moral outrage." "Your girlfriend?" Jim managed, his voice tight. "I'm surprised by how quickly you've... progressed, Mauwa. You've only been here a few days."
"When you find something you want, you don't wait around, Jim," Mauwa said, his tone suggestive. "Anyway, Hannah's home is on our way, so she'll be riding with us. Come on, hop in the back."
Jim felt a wave of heat wash over him. The thought of sitting in the back seat while Mauwa and this "Miss Campus" flirted in the front was nauseating. It felt like a fresh layer of humiliation.
"No," Jim said firmly, stepping back from the car. "I'll take the bus. I have things to think about."
"Jim, don't be difficult," Mauwa's voice took on that low, warning edge. "It's hot out here and the bus is late."
"I said no," Jim insisted, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.
Hannah leaned over, looking at Jim with a pitying smile. "Oh, come now, Jim. It's quite impolite to refuse a ride from your own family, especially when we've gone out of our way to pick you up. It's just a short drive."
Jim felt trapped. The "impolite" comment stung—it was a direct hit on his reputation as a well-mannered Christian boy. He was enraged, his blood boiling at the way Mauwa was using his own girlfriend to corner him. He wanted to scream, to tell them both to leave him alone, but he forced his features into a mask of rigid, icy calm.
"I am not being impolite," Jim said, his voice trembling with the effort of controlling his temper. "I simply prefer to walk. Please, enjoy your drive."
He didn't wait for a rebuttal. He turned on his heel and began to march down the sidewalk in the opposite direction, his heart thundering. He didn't care if he looked rude. He didn't care if Hannah thought he was a child. He just needed to be away from the sight of Mauwa Gene and the effortless, beautiful life he seemed to lead.
Behind him, he heard the sedan's engine rev as it pulled away, and for the first time in his life, Jim Oliver felt a flicker of something that felt dangerously like hate.
***
Jim's walk home was long and grueling. By the time he reached the rectory, his shirt was damp with sweat and his mind was a storm of resentment. He had expected to find peace within the thick stone walls of his home, but as he stepped into the foyer, he heard the clink of porcelain and the low, serious hum of his father's "priestly" voice.
He walked into the living room and stopped cold.
Mauwa and Hannah were seated on the sofa, looking remarkably composed, while Father Oliver and Jim's mother sat opposite them like a tribunal. Two cups of tea sat untouched on the coffee table.
"Ah, Jim, you're back," his mother said, though her eyes remained fixed on the young couple. "Wash up and join us. We were just discussing the... suddenness of Mauwa's new acquaintance."
Jim didn't move. He stood in the doorway, a silent observer to the tension.
Father Oliver cleared his throat, leaning forward with his hands clasped tightly. "Mauwa, we understand that university life offers a certain level of... freedom. However, this is a house of God and a house of order. To bring a young lady home so soon, and to declare a 'relationship' after such a brief interval, suggests a lack of discernment."
"I agree," Mrs. Oliver added gently, though her voice had an edge. "Hannah, you are a lovely girl, I'm sure. But in this family, we believe that foundations must be laid with prayer and time. Rushing into a romantic entanglement is a recipe for distraction and, ultimately, spiritual compromise."
Mauwa didn't look cowed. He sat with one arm casually draped over the back of the sofa, just inches from Hannah's shoulder. "I appreciate the concern, Uncle. But Hannah and I find that our values align quite well. Why waste time when the connection is clear?"
"Because the heart is deceitful above all things!" Father Oliver's voice rose, taking on the booming resonance of the pulpit. "Discipline is not about what you feel"Because the heart is deceitful above all things!" Father Oliver's voice rose, taking on the booming resonance of the pulpit. "Discipline is not about what you feel in a moment of physical attraction; it is about the long-term path. You are here to study, Mauwa. Jim understands this. He has spent years preparing his heart by avoiding such hasty impulses."
Jim felt a sickening jolt in his stomach. He was being held up as the gold standard of purity while his blood was currently boiling with a confusing, dark envy. He watched Hannah, who looked slightly uncomfortable but remained poised, and then he looked at Mauwa.
Mauwa shifted his gaze to Jim. A small, knowing smirk played on his lips—a silent acknowledgment that he knew exactly how much "discipline" Jim was currently struggling with.
"Jim," Father Oliver said, turning to his son. "Tell your cousin. Tell him how you prioritize your spiritual focus over these... temporary worldly attractions."
The room went silent. Everyone was looking at Jim. Mauwa's eyes were particularly piercing, challenging him to lie, to play the role of the perfect son once again.
"I think," Jim began, his voice dry and strained, "that Father is right. Rushing into things only leads to... complications. If you aren't careful, you lose sight of what's actually important."
"Spoken like a true man of the cloth," Mauwa murmured, though his tone was dripping with irony. He stood up, signaling the end of the interrogation. "Well, I should get Hannah home. We wouldn't want to cause any more 'complications' before dinner."
As Mauwa led Hannah toward the door, he paused beside Jim, leaning in so only he could hear. "Nice speech, Jim."