Curbing Coral's determination proved an impossible task when she was a youngster. I recall how she masterminded her objectives in our second year of high school. She planned, set out, and achieved.
I enjoyed watching Coral, the tactician, organise and reach her goals. I recall a favourite scheme because I was the beneficiary. It started when my mother called me into the kitchen after school before Easter.
My immediate aim following any school day was to relax. I shuffled to the kitchen, lethargic. I tensed as I spied a letter waving in my mother's hand.
Oh no, puzzled; I'm in trouble, followed.
Though I couldn't figure out why.
I dipped my head and braced my hands on the back of a kitchen chair, expecting the worst. The teenage foreboding that some forgotten prank or misdeed from God only knows how long ago had found its way to my mum.
"If you have a guilty conscience, go pray and seek direction," she remarked, flapping the crisp white page.
"No," I mumbled, "just a long day, maths, science," then I stalled.
"I won't keep you in suspense," my mother said calmly as she held the page on both sides.
I released my grip on the vinyl chair as she added, "It's from Coral."
"Coral!" I echoed and also thought that a letter was not her style.
"An invitation," mum began.
Finally getting excited and loud, I did the rare and interrupted my mother, "To what!"
"Luke," not a scold, as she reminded me, "Patience is a virtue."
I sealed my lips but flexed my toes, eyes on my mum. She enjoyed stringing me out as she read in a formal voice,
"I cordially invite Luke to my Easter egg hunt."
I jigged before hitting an instant standstill, exclaiming, "But it's Easter Sunday."
I always attended church three times on Resurrection Sunday.
"You can go," she said, placid like melted chocolate swirling in your mouth.
I instantly felt taller and wished to touch the ceiling, having never attended one before since Mum pronounced Easter egg hunts on the Lord's risen day as 'sacrilegious.'
She always insisted that I attend Easter Sunday Service in honour of the holy trinity. So, through primary and the start of high school, I missed the egg hunts because Jesus ranked first. Well, first, second and third. My mother marshalled me to three Sunday services, plus I attended three more on Good Friday.
I craved to talk to Coral as my mum said, 'You can go.'
However, I remembered to say thank you to my mother after I started leaving the kitchen.
My curiosity stalled me at the doorway, and I asked politely, "Can I read the invitation?"
Mum folded the letter in half and directed me, "You better thank Coral! You can ring her."
As I darted to our hall phone, I felt like I had jumped over the jetty. It meant three church services had been reduced to only two. Attending the egg hunt became my priority. I reached Coral on my third attempt. I knew her number by heart, but my fingers became all thumbs in the dial holes.
"You're amazing," I gushed to Coral.
She giggled and said, "I know."
I prattled how thankful I was for the invitation.
Eventually, I paused and wondered how she managed it.
"What did you write to persuade my mum?"
In my high spirits, I hadn't considered my mum's typical 'something for something' deals she made with others. It was a part of her nature.
"Oh, I'm attending your church in the evening as a payback. Your mum is super pleased."
I glanced towards the kitchen, and I wrenched the bloody phone.
Blunt, a mite short of blasphemy, I hissed, "Back out, I will miss the hunt. Don't enter the church. Parson Dean spits fire from the pulpit. You'll hate the sermon."
I wanted to protect her.
Without hesitation, she twittered, "I'll see how much flame he spews! Besides, it's time you came to my egg hunt," she stipulated.
Like a miracle, I nearly praised the Lord before sucking in my cheeks and inquiring, "Are you sure — you're the one giving here?"
Her give seemed excessive.
"Yes, I'm sure," she perked, "you are worth it."
I fretted; Coral hadn't met my Parson.
Compelled to warn her, I cautioned, "Dean tries to grab your soul with his hands. He makes me uncomfortable whenever I hear him preach."
"It's one service," Coral said, unfazed, "It's time I attended church. Besides, you can protect me from him!" she insisted.
I liked the idea of defending Coral, although I was unsure how to shield myself against Dean's conscience-shaking evangelism.
I desired a slice of Coral's confidence. The world appeared as an open oyster to her in junior high school. Her beau, Josh, stayed pressed to her arm. She had a stirring, intoxicating girlfriend in Ruby and a steadfast buddy in me. Love and friendship surrounded her, plus her to die for wardrobe. I was jealous of how her Sundays stayed fun sun days, church free.
When Easter Sunday arrived, I set out for Coral's place at lunchtime. I was ripe and ready to hunt Easter eggs.
Before I left home, my mum couldn't hide her delight at hooking Coral to the evening service.
I overheard her tell my elder sister, Mary, "The charming lass is an agnostic. Tonight's sermon might lead her to the good shepherd."
Rather than race out the front door, I bounded up the stairs to my bedroom. I snatched my dictionary off my study desk and rapidly flicked the first few pages. 'Agnostic', I read the formal entry carefully.
It bothered me how my mother formed her opinion of Coral's beliefs without her knowing her as well as I thought I did. Not that I fully understood my bestie's beliefs at fourteen!
Agnostic didn't sit right as I closed the dictionary and ferreted through my thesaurus. A synonym search led my fingers to freethinker; I preferred this as a word to describe Coral.
When I reached Coral's place, I decided against telling her the word I overheard my mother use about her. The garden at my bestie's place looked spruced up with a carpet of lush grass and lilies blooming. Coral glided in her natural domain, providing entertainment for the guests.
Before the egg hunt, her mum laid out ample sweet treats. I saw Coral at the chocolate nibbles. Surrounding the table were many busy fingers sampling in a lively party atmosphere.
Further aside, Ruby appeared in a tight circle, telling a joke. Unlike every girl present in pretty festive dresses, the brunette sported her usual jeans, a navy T-shirt and sturdy shoes.
Ruby, as per usual in her competitive mindset.
Coral waved as I approached and then greeted me with a low-five. But before I could start a conversation, Ruby butted in.
The brunette spied Coral, nabbing two pieces of a chocolate treat.
"Missy, don't double binge the Rocky Road," she scoffed.
Her hands wrapped around Coral's, squashing the chocolate.
"Goodness!" my bestie cried, opening her hands.
The chocolate nuggets emerged as smeary, clumpy lumps. Ignoring Ruby, she passed the chunkier, misshapen wedge to me. Once she wiped her hands on a tissue, we taste-tested.
The brunette sidelined as Coral and I launched a game we had played since childhood.
Ruby's observation of my bestie and I held her focused and sustained. I believe she digested the strength of the bond between Coral and me.
She hovered at the table, picking through her options before selecting a piece of Rocky Road.
Coral and I enjoyed the marshmallow chunks covered in milk chocolate.
"Mmm, glacé cherry," she started.
"Yum, roasted peanut," I added.
"Did you grab the shredded coconut?" she piped, licking her lips.
"Yep, and a hint of salt. You too?"
She nodded her head in confirmation.
"Yup, what a combo," she said.
I heard her bite as she cracked the dribbled white chocolate stripes atop the treat.
The brunette left her nugget uneaten. She plopped the piece on the table.
She was never known to wait, so she launched at her girlfriend while Coral savoured the chocolate.
Sharply punched by the brunette, "Have you changed your mind?"
Coral concentrated on a bite and then shook a clear 'No.'
The brunette invaded her girlfriend's space, her arms crossed.
Angling her eyebrows and poised on her toes, she browbeat Coral, "Nothing is worth time in church, honey. Trust me on this one."
I realised my best friend had gossiped about attending church.
Coral and I knew the brunette avoided mass and confession. My prior speculation, shared with Coral, the minx had a deal with her father. I supposed their arrangement included no church, side-stepping a Catholic girls' college and attending a state-run high school like us.
My bestie preferred; 'her dad loved his petite miss from head to toe.'
Coral finished the final mouthful of her Rocky Road.
She listened to the brunette as she cut a French vanilla cream in half.
She gave me the smaller piece. Coral prized the fluffy air-whipped custard. She relished her initial bite with her eyes closed. A couple of pastry flake specks loitered, nearly hidden on the front of a new yellow dress.
My bestie brushed the flakes away after seeing me gazing at her chest.
Ruby repeated variations of, 'Don't go to church.'
"Screw, hymns! Damn, sermons! Curse, priests!"
Her voice hounded Coral, who took a half step backwards.