Pretty soon, all of Roger and Ginny’s friends were introduced to me as “Altar Boy.” Quite frankly, I didn’t mind. It made me different, but I was proud to be so. Word spread of who I was. If I was opening my locker, someone might mutter to his friend, “That’s the Altar Boy. Works up at the church, real nice guy.” And then he’d wave, and I’d wave back. Or a clump of Ginny’s friends might call out, “Hey Altar Boy,” and then they’d giggle. I’d smile. Soon the whole school knew who I was. Our little posse of three fluxuated in size after that. Sometimes a few of Roger and Ginny’s friends would tag along, following the two home; other times it’d be a few people curious about what I did, so they’d follow me to the church. I always got a kick out of it all.

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