Here's a link to the second chapter of the novel Nothing Else Occurs to Me by Amy Welborn.
The church basement was flooded, and Elizabeth waded right into it. Not through water, but a sea of plastic eggs, candy wrappers, little bunnies and fluffy stuffed lambs. Pink, green, yellow, ribbons and shiny fake grass covered the floor and tables, and bodies crowded the spaces in between.
It was a crowd, for sure. More than Elizabeth had expected, some she didn’t know. A few she didn’t like much. So true.
Over there on the right, for example – that tight gaggle of snobby, idiotic senior girls who always seemed to end up sitting in front of her at school Masses. They perched and slumped in those old yellow chairs on the gym floor, whispering non-stop during the whole thing, the waistbands of the uniform skirts rolled up tight so that their hems barely covered their rear ends, slinking up to Communion, brushing boys’ shoulders with their fingers as they strolled.
But here they were, ready to serve the God help the poor kids. Nice of them.
Elizabeth ordered herself to stop. Don’t judge, judging hurts, you know that.. The new Mother Teresa might be sitting there, decorating baskets, planning Spring Break in Calcutta. What did she know? What did she know about anything?
