Ellen Hopkins - Tricks

But are they empty promises? I stare into his eyes, as into a crystal ball, but I cannot find forever, only movies of yesterday, a sketchbook of today, dreams of a shared tomorrow. His eyes whisper secrets. But are they truths or fairy tales? I wonder if even he knows. Eden Some People Never find the right kind of love. You know, the kind that steals * your breath away, like diving into snowmelt. * The kind that makes every terrible minute apart feel like hours. Days. * Some people flit from one possibility to the next, never experiencing the incredible * connection of two people, rocked by destiny. * Some people flit from one possibility to the next, never experiencing the incredible * connection of two people, rocked by destiny.

Never knowing what it means to love * someone else more than themselves. More than life itself, or the promise * of something better, beyond this world. More, even (forgive me!) than God. * Lucky me. I found the right kind of love. With the wrong person.

Not Wrong for Me No, not at all. Andrew is pretty much perfect. Not gorgeous, not in a male * model kind of way, but he is really cute, with crazy hair that sometimes hides * his eyes, dark chocolate eyes that hold laughter, even when he's deadly serious. * He's not a hunk, but toned, and tall enough to effortlessly tuck me under his arms, * arms that are gentle but strong from honest ranch work, arms that make me feel * safe when they gather me in. It's the only time I really feel wanted, and the absolute * best part of any day is when I manage to steal cherished time with Andrew. * No, he's not even a little wrong for me except maybe--maybe!--in the eyes * of God.

But much, much worse than that, he's completely wrong for my parents. See, My Papa Is a hellfire-and-brimstone-preachin, Assembly of God minister, and Mama * is his not-nearly-as-sweet-as-she-seems right-hand woman, and by almighty God, * their daughters (that's me, Eden, and my little sister, Eve--yeah, no pressure at all) * will toe the Pentecostal line. Sometimes Eve and I even pretend to talk in tongues, * just to keep them believing we're heaven- bound, despite the fact that we go to public school * (Mama's too lazy to homeschool) and come face-to-face with the unsaved every day. * But anyway, my father and mother maintain certain expectations when * it comes to their daughters' all-too-human future plans and desires. * Papa: Our daughters will find husbands within their faith. * Mama: Our daughters will not date until they're ready to marry.

You Get My Dilemma I'm definitely not ready to marry, so I can't risk letting them know * I'm already dating, let alone dating a guy who isn't born-again, and even * worse, doesn't believe he needs to be. Andrew is spiritual, yes. But religious? * Religion is for followers, he told me once. Followers and puppets. * At my stricken look, he became not quite apologetic. Sorry.

But I don't * need some money-grubbing preacher defining my relationship with God. * At the time, I was only half in love with Andrew and thought I needed * definitions. "What, exactly, is your relationship with our Heavenly Father?" * He gently touched my cheek, smiled. First off, I don't think God is a guy * Some Old Testament--writing fart made that up to keep his old lady in line. He paused, then added, Why would God need a pecker, anyway? * Yes, he enjoyed the horrified look in my face. More laughter settled * into those amazing eyes, creasing them at the corners.

So sexy! * Anyway, I relate to God in a very personal way. Don't need anyone * to tell me how to do it better I see His hand everywhere--in red sunrises * and orange sunsets; in rain, falling on thirsty fields; in how a newborn * lamb finds his mama in the herd. I thank God for these things. And for you. * After that, I was a lot more than halfway in love with Andrew. The Funny Thing Is We actually met at a revival, where nearly everyone was babbling in tongues, * or getting a healthy dose of Holy Spirit healing.

Andrew's sister, Mariah, had * forsaken her Roman Catholic roots in favor of born-again believing and had * dragged her brother along that night, hoping he'd find salvation. Instead * he found me, sitting in the very back row, half grinning at the goings-on. * He slid into an empty seat beside me. So..., he whispered. Come here often? * I hadn't noticed him come in, and when I turned to respond, my voice caught * in my throat. Andrew was the best-looking guy to ever sit next to me, * let alone actually say something to me.

In fact, I didn't know they came that cute * in Idaho. A good ten seconds passed before I realized he had asked a question. "I... uh... well, yes, in fact I come here fairly regularly. "He's the regular preacher and happens to be my father." * Andrew's jaw fell. "He's the regular preacher and happens to be my father." * Andrew's jaw fell.

He looked back and forth, Papa to me. You're kidding, right? * His consternation surprised me. "No, not kidding. Why would you think so?" * He measured me again. It's just... you look so normal, and this...

He shook his head. * I leaned closer to him, and for the first time inhaled his characteristic scent-- * clean and somehow green, like the alfalfa fields I later learned he helps work for cash. * I dropped my voice very low. "Promise not to tell, but I know just what you mean." It Was a Defining Moment For me, who had never dared confess that I have questioned church dogma * for quite some time, mostly because I am highly aware of hypocrisy and notice * it all too often among my father's flock. I mean, how can you claim to walk * in the light of the Lord when you're cheating on your husband or stealing * from your best friend/business partner? Okay, I'm something of a cynic. * But there was more that evening--instant connection, to a guy who on the surface * was very different from me.

And yet, we both knew instinctively that we needed * something from each other. Some people might call it chemistry--two parts hydrogen, * one part oxygen, voila! You've got water. A steady trickle, building to a cascade. If Andrew Was the poser type, things would probably be easier. I mean, if he could * pretend to accept the Lord into his heart, on my father's strictest of terms, maybe * we could be seen together in public--not really dating, of course. * But Andrew is the most honest person I've ever met, and deadly honest that night. * Did you have to come to this thing? It seems kind of, um... theatrical. * We had slipped out the back door, when everyone's attention turned to * some unbelievable miracle at the front of the church. I smiled. "Theatrical. * That sums it up pretty well, I guess. * That sums it up pretty well, I guess.

You probably couldn't see it in back, but..." * I glanced around dramatically, whispered, "Brother Bradley even wears makeup!" * Andrew laughed warmly. So why do you come, then? Pure entertainment? I shrugged. "Certain expectations are attached to the 'pastor's daughter' job * description. Easier just to meet them, or at least pretend they don't bother you." * It was early November, and the night wore a chill. I shivered at the nip in the air, * or at the sudden magnetic pull I felt toward this perfect stranger. * Cool tonight, he observed. * Cool tonight, he observed.