My hands tremble as I grab my suitcase from the overhead bin of the plane. The past two weeks of my life are a blur, each day coming and going in a whirlwind of activity and training. And prayer. I don’t think I’ve ever prayed so much in my entire life. First thing in the morning, at the beginning and end of every lesson, at every meal, before and after every gathering, at the end of every night. I’ve never been closer to God than I am right now.

Except that’s the problem, isn’t it? No matter how often you prayed, you still haven’t found the answer to the one thing you need to know.

Am I doing the right thing?

I attempt to shove down the thought as I get in line to deboard the plane, but it’s finally starting to hit me that this is real. I’m actually on my mission. For the next two years, I’ll be spending my days sharing the gospel of the church. A gospel I’m still not sure I believe in anymore.

I shouldn’t be here. Nothing about this feels right. I was hoping I’d have my moment at the MTC. The moment where everything snapped into place, and I was overwhelmed with my undying faith and testimony.

Only it never came.

Being around thousands of other missionaries in training only seemed to further solidify that I wasn’t like them. That I would never be like them.

And, now, here I am, seconds away from stepping off an airplane and into the next part of my journey.

Here goes nothing, I think as I step off the plane and into the jetway.

It’s easy to spot my mission president in the throng of people waiting at the end. There are dozens of men in suits around, but only one has that vibe most members of the church seem to carry around with them everywhere.

Even growing up in Utah, surrounded by thousands and thousands of Mormons, I could always tell at first sight if someone was a member. And ninety-nine percent of the time, I was right. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. There’s just a certain air people of the LDS faith possess. When I mentioned this observation to my mother several years ago, she told me it was the spirit. Now that I’m older, I’m not sure I believe that. But there’s definitely something…different about them.

And, if that isn’t enough of an indication, the fact that the man wears a mission badge on his left breast is a dead giveaway to who he is. It perfectly matches the one on my own chest, except for the last name. As such, the second I step out into the terminal, the man steps forward, greeting me with that familiar missionary handshake.

“Elder Barker. It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Elder Shaw, and this is my wife, Sister Shaw,” he introduces, his arm stretching out behind him.

It isn’t until that moment when I notice the woman standing there. Dressed in a long skirt and fitted blazer, she’s every inch the female version of her husband. Their postures, their demeanors, even their mannerisms are all the same as the woman steps forward to take my hand.

“We’re so pleased to have you, Elder Barker. I hope this mission brings you as much joy as it has to us. We’ve been here for about eighteen months now, and it’s just been wonderful. So many blessings have been bestowed upon us.”

I smile at the woman. She and her husband both look to be in their sixties, which is pretty typical of mission presidents and their wives. People who serve missions later in life are usually retired, all their kids grown with families of their own. It’s always made more sense to me for these people to be the ones spreading the word of God. They have years and years of experience and testimonies made of steel. Yet they aren’t the ones out proselytizing. They only meet with investigators once they start attending church services, leaving all the teaching to us—the scared eighteen- to twenty-one-year-old boys who have no idea what life holds.

Or maybe that’s just me.

Elder Shaw and his wife quickly lead me out to the car. As we make our way to the city, they tell me all about the area and my fellow missionaries. Everything about this area is different from what I’m used to. I stare in wonder at all the people on the streets—the well-dressed businessmen making their way between meetings, the elegant women strolling down the sidewalk in their six-inch stilettos with tiny children trailing behind them. Even the kids seem glamorous here. No hand-me-down clothes and chocolate-smeared faces. These kids are stylish, their outfits probably costing more than everything I have packed in this suitcase combined. In fact, that kid over there appears to have highlights in his blond hair. I’m not entirely sure he’s out of diapers yet.

Where in the heck am I?

It doesn’t take long for the scenery to change though. As we drive, the storefronts go from shiny and glossy to boarded up and barren. Homeless people dot the streets with shopping carts crammed with what looks to be piles of junk parked next to them. A woman stands on a corner, her skirt so short that, if she moves, the entire neighborhood will get a free show. I turn in my seat to watch her as we pass by. A car stops, and a man leans out the window as she steps up.

Did I just witness a real-life prostitute?

I turn back around, a small smile spreading across my face. I should be terrified. And, deep down, I am. But something about seeing that exchange made me feel better. Like a weight was lifted off my shoulders. Not because I enjoy watching a hooker being picked up by a john. In fact, the thought of that woman having to sell herself for money just so that she can make ends meet makes me sad.

But things like that don’t happen in Lehi, Utah. I mean, I’m sure they do somewhere. But not out there in the open like that with people just casually strolling past, as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening to their left. If that sort of thing were to happen in Lehi, it’d be on the six o’clock news, and everyone and their brother would be up in arms about cleaning up the city.

Everyone here seems to be okay with letting others live their own lives, instead of butting in with their unwarranted opinions and observations every ten seconds. That’s something I’ve never been part of before—people just letting people be. It feels nice, knowing I’m finally somewhere I can be myself.

Until I remember that’s the exact opposite reason of why I’m here. I’m not here to be myself and let others do their thing. The whole point of my being here is to change these people. Turn them into something they’re not.

My smile falls. My vision locking on the front windshield, I stare blankly out of it for the rest of the ride.

My feet ache as I turn the corner behind my companion, Elder Fisher. The sight of our apartment building greets me, and I all but sigh with relief.

After the mission president and his wife dropped me off at my new home earlier, Elder Fisher and I started out tracting right away. I hadn’t even had a chance to settle in. I’d been told we’d get right to work as soon as we were out in the field, but I had no idea they meant that quite so literally. I’d thought I’d have at least the day to adjust. Unpack. You know, the things you do when you move somewhere new. But, nope, I’d put my suitcase on the bed I’d be sleeping in for the next six weeks, Elder Fisher had said a prayer, and we’d set out. He’d said we were already behind on the day, so there was no time to waste.

It’s safe to say, my new companion and I are nothing alike.

Aside from asking me where I was from and a few brief questions about my family and my faith, Elder Fisher hasn’t asked me a single personal thing about myself. There hasn’t been any small talk between us. As we walk from house to house, door after door being slammed in our faces, Elder Fisher only speaks of potential investigators and prior experiences he’s had in the two weeks he’s been in this area.

“The man who lives in that house seemed fairly interested when Elder Sullivan and I stopped him the other day. He was in a hurry to get to work. But we left some brochures with him and promised we’d stop back by this week sometime. We’ll start there in the morning. He works evenings,” he says, pointing to a small house with peeling white paint that sits a block down from our apartment.

I nod, trying to act interested in what he’s saying. But, at this point, I just want to go to sleep. My bed isn’t much but it’s soft and squishy and sounds like absolute heaven right about now.

I’m about to start sprinting for the door to our apartment complex when it swings open, and a man walks out. He’s wearing a black leather jacket, his head covered by a black beanie even though it’s at least eighty degrees outside in the June heat. And, although the sun is setting, he slides a pair of black sunglasses onto his face the moment he steps outside, the reflective lenses flashing in the last bit of light in the evening sky.

He walks over to a small motorcycle that’s seen better days, swinging his leg over the side so that he straddles it between his legs. As he plants himself on the seat, he finally lifts his head, a bright white smile stretching across his face when he sees us.

“Evening, boys. How are you doing tonight?”

Elder Fisher smiles back at him. “Good, Quinn. How are you this evening?”

“Could be worse,” Quinn says with a shrug. “Though I’m pretty sure there’s a fucking rat in my apartment. I saw it that first day I moved in, and I’ve seen it a couple of times since. But it’s a tricky bastard. Each time I think I see it, the asshole up and disappears on me before I can get a good look at it. Never mind actually trapping or killing the damn thing.”

Elder Fisher’s spine stiffens at Quinn’s use of profane language. And I suddenly feel as if I’m watching a tennis match, my head swinging back and forth between my companion and the man on the motorcycle, not wanting to miss a single second of the interaction between them.

Elder Fisher chooses to let the language slide instead of commenting. His smile returns as he answers Quinn, “That’s no good. I sure hope we don’t have rats in the building. I’ll put in a word with the super if I see him. Let him know to keep an eye out.”

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it. I told him when I saw him, but if it’s coming from a couple of people, maybe he’ll actually get off his ass and do something about it.” Quinn smiles, placing his hands on the handlebars of the motorcycle, as if he’s about to leave. “Well, I hope you guys enjoy your—”

He looks over at me, seemingly for the first time. Something flashes in his eyes as he looks me up and down, and I feel my cheeks flush as his eyes rake over me.

“Who’s this?” he asks Fisher, turning his attention to my companion. It isn’t gone long though. Before I even have a chance to take a breath, his gaze locks back on mine, his hand coming up to lift his sunglasses and revealing his emerald green eyes. They’re mesmerizing, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t look away.

“Where’s what’s his face?” he continues. “The redhead.”

“Elder Sullivan was transferred to another area,” Elder Fisher answers. “We’re generally only in the same mission for about six weeks. He’d been here for about four weeks before I got here. So, it’s me and Elder Barker here for the next month or so.”

“Barker, huh?” Quinn says as he gives me another once-over. “What’s your first name, Barker?”

I open my mouth to answer, but no words come out. It feels like I’ve swallowed the entire Sahara Desert, my tongue so thick that I’m not sure how it even fits in my mouth.

But, before I can embarrass myself with my inability to speak, Elder Fisher interjects, “He’s Elder Barker.”

Quinn shoots him a quizzical look, his eyebrow arched perfectly over his left eye. “Wasn’t asking you, was I? And I got that much. I was asking for his first name.”

“We don’t use our first names while on our missions,” Elder Fisher tells him. “We’re all ambassadors of the Lord. You can address either of us as Elder. We’ll both answer.”

Quinn’s attention turns back to me, his brow now furrowed in confusion. “Sounds like a load of bullshit, if you ask me.”

Fisher huffs, clearly affronted at the slight at his beliefs. “Elder Barker and I would be more than happy to explain the workings of our church and introduce you to the gospel of Jesus Christ. I think you’d like what we have to say. Isn’t that right, Elder Barker?”

I’m still not able to speak, my eyes glued to the man in front of me. I have no idea what’s wrong with me. I’ve never had this reaction to anybody before. I’ve never felt so…intimidated. So…nervous. So…captivated?

As if he can sense my thoughts, the corner of Quinn’s mouth quirks up in a half-smile. I feel the smirk down to my toes, my breath catching in my throat as he grins at me.

“Maybe some other time, Fisher. I’ve got to work tonight.”

He slides the beanie off his head before strapping on a small black helmet. Cranking over the engine, he revs it twice before locking eyes with me again.

“I’ll see you around, Barkey!” he shouts over the drone of the motor, giving me a sly wink I’m sure Fisher doesn’t see.

I nod like an idiot as he lifts a hand in a wave before backing out of the narrow space he parked in and driving away like a pro.

My heart rate slows as I stare after him, my feet finally planting themselves back on the ground. I’m struck by my desire to know more about Quinn. I want to know everything. What does he do? What does he like to eat? What’s his favorite color? Why do I feel like I can’t breathe when he looks at me?

Elder Fisher’s voice silences my thoughts.

“Elder Sullivan and I met him last week. He just moved in upstairs. He’d be a great candidate if we could convince him to listen to us. He’s really mixed up. The other night, Elder Sullivan and I saw him come home with another man. And the walls in this place are thin. The noises we heard coming from up there were disgusting, to say the least. We had to put earplugs in to block out the sounds. He needs the gospel in his life more than anyone else I’ve met so far. We’ll have to work extra hard on him.”

Finally breaking my gaze from the street Quinn disappeared down, I turn back to Elder Fisher.

He smiles at me, slapping me on the shoulder. “Great first day, Elder. Now, let’s go upstairs and grab a quick bite before we hit the hay. We’ve got another full day ahead of us tomorrow. Lots more tracting to do. Lots more people to bring the Lord’s word to.”

I nod as he opens the door and ushers me inside.

There’s only one person I want to see tomorrow.

The problem is, he’s the last person on earth I should want to be near. Not unless we’re both dressed in white, and I’m dunking him underwater.

But that night, as I drift off to sleep, I’m unable to keep my thoughts of Quinn at bay. The crooked smile he gave me. The wink he threw my way just before he left. And, most importantly, how he made me feel. For the first time in my life, I felt…wanted. And, as insane as it sounds, considering I didn’t say a word to him and he only said half a dozen or so to me, I feel like I can trust him. Like I can show him exactly who I am. And like he’ll not only accept me for who I am but embrace it.

And, for the first time in my life, I want to do exactly that. I want Quinn to see me. And I want to see him.

I want to see all of him.