I chew on my lower lip as I wait for the mission president to join me in his office.

When Elder Fisher held out the phone to me last night, telling me Elder Shaw wanted to speak with me, I thought that was it. It was all over. The jig was up. They knew where I’d been the night before, and I was being sent home.

When the man simply asked for a meeting with me, his tone conveying no sort of anger or irritation, I readily agreed. He didn’t explain further, even when I’d tried fishing for the information, but I took his level tone and friendly attitude as a good sign.

Sitting in his office today though, the clock ticking on the wall, the shiny picture of Jesus next to the one of Joseph Smith staring me in the eye, I wonder if maybe my flippancy about this meeting was misplaced. Sure, he sounded nice on the phone. But maybe that was just to get me here under my own volition. Maybe, at this very moment, there are church members in our apartment, packing my stuff to drop it off with me at the airport.

What if Fisher has known about this all along, and he just went along with it, pretending we’d go out and hit the streets after it was over? Maybe he knew he’d be getting a new companion in just a few short hours. It would certainly explain the extra pep in his step this morning.

I’m contemplating darting out the door, running and hiding before any of this can take place, when the door behind me swings open. I stand, bowing my head at the man who steps before me.

“Elder Barker, thank you so much for coming.”

I reach out and shake his hand. “Thank you, Elder Shaw. I appreciate you taking time out of your busy schedule to meet with me.”

Kiss-ass, Jafar whispers in my ear.

It strikes me then how long it’s been since I’ve heard from Jiminy. He’s been pretty much nonexistent these last few weeks, letting his counterpart take the wheel in almost all my decisions. I thought that was a good thing, Jafar being the one to allow me to explore my thoughts and feelings without making me feel like garbage. But maybe it wasn’t. Maybe Jiminy was the small voice of the Holy Ghost, and I’ve all but lost him with my recent behavior.

Bull honkey, Jafar sounds off again. Maybe, for the first time in your life, you’re actually thinking for yourself, not just following along blindly with what the church and Jiminy tell you to do.

I think back on the last few weeks—the time I’ve known Quinn. Regardless of what happened to Jiminy, I can’t bring myself to regret a single second. Especially not the past few days where I’ve stayed up late into the night, texting Quinn and getting to know him. And the night before last? When he took me out with his friends and truly let me see a side of him I never thought I’d get to see?

It was the best night of my entire life.

Quinn showed me who he really was, but more important than that, he helped me break off a piece of the shell that had been hiding who I was for the past nineteen years. He made me feel special. He made me feel desired. He made me feel…good.

Kissing him was the highlight of my existence. It wasn’t my first kiss—not technically. I’d gone out on plenty of dates throughout high school. All girls, of course. And I’d even kissed a fair share of them, always trying to fix something I’d thought was broken inside me.

But after kissing Quinn on Saturday?

Nothing was broken. I wasn’t broken. At least not in the way I’d thought. I’d kissed a dozen girls, searching for something more, something deeper. And I’d never found it. Not until my lips touched Quinn’s. The second his lips found mine, I realized what it was that I’d been missing.

Him.

My lips tingle just from the thought of that night, Quinn’s hard body pressed against mine as his tongue worked its magic inside my mouth. It took everything in me not to slither to the floor, my knees feeling like they turned into silly putty in an instant. And, out on the dance floor, each time his mouth found mine, it was like adding fuel to the fire, the inferno raging deep inside me heightening with every touch of his body.

Elder Shaw clears his throat, snapping me out of my daze and calling me back to the present. The questioning lift of his eyebrow as he regards me tells me just how red my face must be at getting caught thinking of the man I’m falling for in front of the mission president.

I do my best to give him a sheepish, innocent look. I drop my shoulders, lowering my chin to my chest, as I stare down at the papers on his desk. He gathers the stack in his hands, straightening the papers and tapping them on the edge of his desk before placing them back where they were. There was no point to the motion. I think he just needed something to busy himself as he decided the best way to proceed.

“So, Elder Barker, you’re probably wondering why I asked you to join me this morning.”

I nod in answer. When he gives me another wary look, clearly not pleased with my response, I clear my throat, straightening my spine in my seat.

“Yes, sir.”

Elder Shaw leans back in his chair, linking his fingers and resting them across his protruding belly. His silver hair is thinning on top, and from the contrast of the skin of his cheeks and the skin of his chin and jaw, I’d guess that he had quite a beard before being called as a mission president, forcing him to shave it off.

Another thing not allowed in the mission field—facial hair.

A few years ago, a man in my ward back home was called, and he shaved off the mustache he’d had as long as I’d known him. It was slightly creepy, seeing him with that baby-soft skin, three shades paler than the rest of his face. It’s strange, how something as small as a mustache can alter a person’s appearance.

My focus drifts from Elder Shaw’s jawline to his eyes where I find another quizzical look, only this time there’s a touch of annoyance. My thoughts are all over the place today, my brain going off on tangents without warning, and evidently, Elder Shaw can read it all over my face.

He straightens, placing his elbows on the desk and propping his chin up on his fist. He looks down at me with an air of authority and arrogance, his lips pursed in a disapproving frown, his nostrils flaring, as if he smells something foul. And I’m struck with the sudden need to laugh. This man is staring down his nose at me, superiority emanating from his every pore, yet all I can think is how strange he looks missing a beard. Then, I have an image of him dressed as Santa, bushy beard in place, turning his nose down at little children as they wish for ponies and PlayStations for Christmas.

No, no, Johnny. You don’t want a fire truck for Christmas. Here’s The Book of Mormon. Read it, and think about what you’ve done.

Before I’m able to stop it, a laugh bubbles up from my chest, blowing past my lips with a sputter. I try to cover it with a cough, telling Elder Shaw I have a tickle in my throat, but I can tell he doesn’t buy it.

When he finally speaks, he confirms that he knows I’m full of crap. “Well, I can see why your companion is so concerned with your behavior.”

His words are like ice water down the back of my shirt. Elder Fisher is behind this. Suddenly, Elder Shaw’s baby face doesn’t seem so funny anymore. The stern look in his eyes overshadows any friendliness I might have detected earlier, the firm set of his jaw telling me that what he’s going to say is no laughing matter.

“Elder Fisher has raised some rather unsettling issues as far as you’re concerned. He says, in the month you’ve been here, you’ve been distant, unreliable, and unmotivated. He told us he’s tried speaking with you on multiple occasions, and while you seem to shape up for a short period following these discussions, you always seem to fall right back into old habits. He’s asked us to intervene, as he feels you’re not giving it your all and not getting the full missionary experience. And, in turn, you are hindering his own efforts.”

I sink down in my chair, wishing more than anything that I could just vanish into thin air. Where’s that dang invisibility cloak my pal Harry P. had when you need it? It’d sure come in handy right about now. Or the ability to apparate.

I have nothing to say in my defense. I know I’ve been a crummy companion. I’ve tried to be better. But I can’t force something I don’t feel. Quinn is the actor, not me. I can’t put on a character and play it out in front of an audience, hoping they’ll buy into what I’m selling. I’ve been trying to do that very thing my entire life, and I’ve always come up short. Out here, well, it’s just a broader stage to showcase my lack of talent. A grand arena in which I choke.

When I don’t speak, Elder Shaw continues, the grim set of his lips slackening slightly. “Now, Jaden,” he says, surprising me with the use of my first name.

It’s the first time I’ve heard it from someone other than Quinn in several months, not since the day my parents dropped me off in front of the MTC. Even then, my parents tried to help me get into my new role, addressing me as Elder as they hugged me and said their good-byes.

“We understand that being out in the mission field can seem like a daunting experience. There is always a brief adjustment period, no matter how much training and preparation the Elder has had. For some, that adjustment period takes a little longer. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s hard, being away from home. From your family and friends. I completely understand that.”

I nod, clasping on to that thread and hanging on for dear life. “Yes, sir. I’m having a difficult time adjusting.”

He smiles gently, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “That’s just fine, Jaden. We still have faith that you’ll find your way and become the missionary we know you can be. We just need you to try a little harder. Push yourself to try things outside of your comfort level. Elder Fisher says he gives most of the lessons. Why don’t you try giving them this week? See how that feels.”

I want to tell him that Elder Fisher doesn’t give me a chance to speak even if I wanted to. I find it hard to believe that Fisher complained about my lack of participation in the lessons. He likes the sound of his own voice too much. He’s not going to like being told to take the backseat to me. But, instead of telling Elder Shaw all this, I nod.

“I’d like to try that,” I lie.

This seems to placate him, his smile widening as he steps out from around his desk. “Good. Let’s bring in Elder Fisher, and we’ll work out the logistics of this week. Let’s schedule a follow-up for next week and see how it goes.”

He opens the door and ushers Fisher inside from the hallway. Fisher seems almost relieved to be let into the room, looking like he was two seconds away from breaking out in hives from being left on his own.

If only he knew he was alone the entire night on Saturday.

When I snuck back inside, I found Fisher in the exact same position I’d left him in, his arm thrown over his head and his mouth gaping open, as his loud snores filled the room. He didn’t stir as I climbed inside the window and changed my clothes. Didn’t make a single peep as I crawled into bed. He woke me just two hours later, not looking any wiser to the fact that I’d snuck out the night before.

And, now, sitting in the president’s office, listening to him drone on about how we need to work together to bring ourselves closer to the Lord, I realize I completely got away with it. I had been fairly confident of the fact as I lay in bed that night, but after hearing from the president, I was concerned. I couldn’t see Fisher keeping something like that to himself if he knew I’d been out, but maybe he wanted to wait and watch the mission president ream me instead of doing it himself.

But there’s no way he wouldn’t have said anything at all—to me or Elder Shaw—if he knew.

I pulled it off.

We pulled it off, the entire idea having been Quinn’s.

I can’t wait to tell him. And I hope we can do it again soon.

I turn my attention back to Elder Shaw, realizing how much of a hypocrite I’m being, listening and agreeing with everything he’s saying to his face while, in my head, planning my next excursion with Quinn. But I’m convinced I can do both.

I can be with Quinn. And I can be a good missionary. I know I can.

Because I prayed last night. I asked God to give me a sign. To tell me if what I was doing was wrong. I begged for him to show me the light, to let me know if I disappointed him.

Nothing happened. I prayed and prayed and prayed some more, waiting for my answer. But, again, it never came.

Until the phone under my pillow vibrated, pulling me out of my turmoil. If I wasn’t going to get my answer from God, then the least I could do was talk to the only man who knew and understood me. The only man who made me smile.

An overwhelming sense of peace and love washed over me, and I knew then that I had my answer. I’d had that feeling before in my life. That all-consuming feeling of acceptance and understanding. The power of the Holy Ghost.

God answered my prayers, filling my body with warmth and affirmation when I saw those few words from Quinn. And, if he didn’t have a problem with Quinn and me being together, then I sure as heck wasn’t going to fight it any longer.

I could bring the Lord’s word to people and still be true to myself.

He gave me permission. He opened my heart to the truth, and I was going to do everything in my power to make Him proud.

As long as the church didn’t stand in my way.