It’s not Jacob, it’s Parker, and something is wrong. Avery can hear it in his friend’s voice when he asks, “Have you missed morning service at all this week?”
Avery frowns. He’s in his boxers and an old T-shirt, and he’s cold. The hall advisor hasn’t turned on the heat in the dorm yet, and probably won’t for a few more weeks. Avery thinks he should start wearing long johns to bed.
He sits at the desk by the phone and watches the other seniors rushing from their rooms to the bathroom and back again, hurrying to get ready. Mass is in half an hour. “Not a morning mass,” Avery says. He doesn’t mention the Feast of the Most Holy Rosary last night. “Why?”
“Get dressed.” Parker’s voice sounds strained through the phone. Avery doesn’t like it much. “I’m coming to pick you up.”
“I have class,”
