“That is so fucking lame.” I laughed as Brody, my best friend, did his best attempt at a skateboard trick.

“Shut up.” He grabbed his board, a wide grin on his face. “You try it, asshole. You’re the chosen one and all.”

I shook my head. “No, that’s my dad.” Taking the board from him, I walked up the street toward the cul de sac. We lived right off the campus of Briar Baptist Church in a row of houses reserved for clergy. A few curtains twitched in the low brown houses that lined the way.

Taller at twelve than anyone else in my class, my newfound height made me even worse at skateboarding than Brody, but I had to try to show him up. Noah sat on our front porch, his honey-colored hair flipping up in a light breeze as he played with toy cars.

I dropped the board with a clatter on the street. Thunder boomed to the west, another warm front coming to shake the spring into existence.

Stepping onto the board, I kicked a few times, then rode with both feet down the slight hill toward Brody. He stood with the same grin, his arms crossed over his bird chest. Noah stopped to watch, his mouth hanging open, the car race forgotten.

I bent my knees and jumped, trying to kick the board over as I went. It flipped, but not far enough, and I flailed for a minute with my too-long arms before falling and banging my chin on the curb. Lights out.

“…be in so much trouble if he doesn’t wake up.” Brody came into focus. “Oh, shit. He’s awake.”

I blinked and sat up. My chin ached, and Noah cried beside me, big fat tears rolling down his chubby cheeks.

“I’m okay.” I squeezed his shoulder. “It’s okay.” Gingerly, I touched my chin. My fingers came away bloody.

Brody made a show of wiping his brow. “Jesus, man. You scared the shit out of me.”

“I thought I had it.”

He laughed. “Not even close. Thank God you didn’t die. I’d never live it down. I can see the headline now ‘Brody Clevenger, Devilishly Handsome Young Man, Accidentally Kills Adam Monroe, the Preacher’s Son.’”

“You’re an idiot.” I struggled to my feet, the world going black for a second before coming back into focus with a boom of thunder.

“Seriously, I felt like Neville when he thought he’d killed Harry Potter.”

“We aren’t supposed to talk about those books.” Noah had stopped crying.

“You see any parents around, kid? Any invisi-parents waiting to arrest us for enjoying a little Hogwarts in our spare time?”

“That’s the work of the devil. If you watch that, you’ll go to hell.” Noah had gone solemn, a perfect mirror of my father.

I ruffled his hair. “Nobody’s going to hell.” I didn’t believe in hell. It seemed like an idiotic concept, but I never dared say anything like that out loud.

“Speak for yourself.” Brody grinned. “I just got tickets to the Rock Roundup at the Amphitheater. KISS is headlining.”

“Seriously?” I couldn’t tell if he was telling the truth or I was concussed.

“I wouldn’t bullshit you about music.” He punched me in the shoulder. “You know this. And yes, I’ve got an extra ticket for you. But you’ll have to tell dear old dad that you’re off to Bible study or something equally holier-than-thou for this to work. You in?”

At a concert? A real one, not the lame ones we have with only Christian music and chicks who wear too many clothes? “I’m in.”

Noah frowned. “Daddy won’t—”

“What Dad doesn’t know won’t hurt him, big guy. Keep this between us, okay?” I held my hand out. He gave me a reluctant five.

“That’s my Noah.” I smiled, and he couldn’t help but return it.

The first drops of rain began to fall, the scent of water on asphalt wafting around us.

“I’ve got to get to piano practice.” Brody held out his fist. His father was the music director for Briar. “Go in and put about ten Band-Aids on that, and you’ll be fine. Or maybe just rub some dirt on it.”

I met his fist with my own. “See you tomorrow.”

He waved and headed up the street, jumping on the grass as a line of cars sped through the sleepy neighborhood. I recognized my dad’s SUV at the head of the line. Noah and I watched from the porch as Dad pulled into the driveway and the other cars parked along the street.

Dad hopped out and hurried over to us. “Boys, I’ve had a revelation. I told the elders at Briar about it, but they turned against me. Against God. Against their Prophet.”

“What’s a Prophet?” Noah cocked his head to the side as he stared up at Dad.

“A man who has spoken to God.” He knelt down and gripped Noah by the shoulders. “God revealed to me our path. He told me what we need to do, where we need to go, and the ministry we need to build.”

“What do you mean, you spoke to God?” I couldn’t follow anything he was saying, and not just because he spoke with a crazed inflection.

He stood and gripped my arm, a too-bright light in his dark eyes. “You’ll see, son. All these men—” I cast a glance to the yard and found two-dozen men assembled there in the now-pouring rain, listening intently to my father “—they know the truth of my revelation. They’re coming with us. We leave tonight.”

Lightning flashed, the thunder coming a few seconds later.

“Dad.” I shook my head. “There’s school. I have homework. Noah just learned how to read. We can’t—”

His face hardened, and my skin crawled. “We can, and we will. We are here to do the will of God.”

“I thought that was what you were doing? You’re the preacher, so—”

“No!” He shook his head so hard his neck popped. “I am leading a pack of heathens who have lost God’s favor. We will build a new Eden, a new church, a new safe haven for believers.” He leaned closer, so close that I couldn’t see his eyes, which set the hairs on my arm standing on end. “And I know this because of my vision. Not only did God come to me, so did the Father of Fire.” His whisper ended in a triumphant note.

“The devil? I don’t know what you’re talking—”

“You don’t have to know, son.” He stood straight up again, the fervor still coursing through him like a high electric current. “You just have to follow me, your father, your Prophet. Believe in me, and you will live in paradise on earth and in heaven. It has all been shown to me. You’ll see. All of you will see.” Turning to the men on the lawn, he motioned them to come inside.

They walked past us, filling our home with low voices as Noah and I stood on the porch—me, dumbfounded and Noah, lost.

“What’s wrong with Daddy?” He took my hand, his little one cold and clammy.

“I don’t know. Maybe Mom can talk some sense into him.”

Noah’s chin trembled. “I don’t want Mommy to talk to him. He…”

“I know.” I squeezed his hand. He didn’t have to say it. Whenever Mom got too “mouthy” as Dad called it, there were consequences.

“You’re still bleeding,” he offered, his eyes downcast.

My father hadn’t even seemed to notice the blood on my chin.

I turned and stared down the street at the direction Brody had gone. It was as if he’d walked away and taken “normal” with him, a cape attached to his back, fluttering in the rain with a somber wave goodbye. Because nothing would be normal. That time had come to an end, right along with my childhood.

Both Brody and “normal” were gone. I never saw either of them again.