against the works of the flesh//frerard

chapter nineteen

Frank's essay is due in two days and he has the final version on his laptop, twenty two pages and the attached prints from his resource books, and Frank feels proud, but still uncertain about the final result. What if he repeats himself, or if something is wrong, or if he has major typos? Frank has never been such a perfectionist, but this essay is important. It's not only of major importance to graduate, but also a very personal matter, and he has heard from Sister Janette and Mrs. Webster and Mr. Byrne that they're expecting a lot from him. Today, though, all that confidence has gone out the window.

He needs someone to tell him it's okay; having someone actually read the essay would be perfect, but he's not sure he has time to ask for that — or if he knows someone who will tell him the truth about the work he has done. Frank sighs. His friends are most likely busy working on their own essays. His father wouldn't enjoy it because it's not the kind of literature he reads and he may not give Frank what he needs anyway. And his mother, grandfather and teachers are obviously out of question.

There is only one person who would be perfect. Frank doesn't want to go to his house unannounced again, and he lost his cell phone, or it got stolen at school, or something, so he'll have to use the house phone. Suddenly, there's a knock on the door. His mother comes in and says, "There's someone on the phone for you."

He watches his mother as she exits the room, closing the door behind her, and then he says into the receiver, "Hello?"

"Hi, Frank, how are you?" It's Father Way.

could be better," he replies, with a shrug.

"Oh. What's wrong?" Father Way actually asks. "Is it the essay? Have you handed it in already? I'm calling you about that actually."

"It's only due on Friday, but I finished it last night. But yeah, I'm a little nervous because I've read it over and over again, but it's worth nothing because I know it so well. Having someone else have a look at it before I hand it in would be amazing," Frank says, wanting to make this sound as problematic as he can so that Father Way reveals his interest in reading it. "Do you think you could—"

"Read it?" Father Way offers, and Frank can hear the smile on his voice. It's quite endearing, even over the phone.

"Yeah. You'd be doing me a huge favor," Frank replies, shifting on his chair at the desk.

"Well, sure! I was actually curious about how it turned out," Father Way says in return. He has always been involved and interested from the start, so Frank isn't surprised. "Do you have time? I mean, to bring it here?"

Frank checks the time on his watch and realizes he only has half an hour until his friends arrive for band practice. He could always tell them that he's gonna be late today or he could ask his mother to drive him there quickly, but he has a different idea. Something much more interesting, actually. "Not really. The guys are getting here in half an hour for band practice, and that's not enough to get there and back. But wait a minute, I've got an idea. I just have to talk to my mother."

could ask her for a ride..." Father Way puts in, but Frank ignores his plead. He leaves his room and gets downstairs, calling for his mother. "Or I could—"

Frank interrupts before Father Way can say anything else. He's in the kitchen already, and his mother is by the counter turning around to look at him. "Mom, do you think we could have Father Way over for dinner?" Then he speaks into the phone receiver. "I could print you my essay and give you a copy, and ride to your house tomorrow after school to pick it up. What do you say?"

His mother shrugs, but still asks, "Why would Father Way read your essay, though?"

"Because he did help me work on it. And I could use a second opinion," Frank replies to his mother's question. He's trying really hard to contain his smile, not wanting to let it show before he gets a final answer from the priest, who's still quiet.