I gave the solved puzzle to Chidi when he slipped in beside me at church later that morning. He checked the puzzle. When he was satisfied I’d solved it correctly, he reached into his wallet and gave me a one cedi note.

“I’d still solve them even if you didn’t offer the money,” I said giving the money back.

He refused to take it. “I know but this keeps it interesting.”

I didn’t have anything to solve so I was forced to listen as Dad stood behind the lectern.

Dad was preaching from Job. Chidi had his notes from the first service out and he was studying them like his life depended on them. He underlined passages in his bible, circled things in his notebook. I watched him and listened to Dad.

I turned my full attention to what Dad was saying when he quoted Job—shall we accept good from God, and not trouble? He spoke about how Job maintained his integrity through all his troubles. He talked of Job’s great faith that despite everything he was going through Job could say: though He slay me, I will yet trust in Him. And then Dad asked if the same thing could be said of us.

Chidi shut his notebook and Bible and stared out the window, completely lost in his own thoughts while I contemplated Dad’s question.

Was I being slain—was the rest of my family, for that matter, being slain? We couldn’t even begin to compare ourselves to Job, but that didn’t make it any easier for us.

Did I even have the right to be angry with God? I, unlike Job, still had things to be thankful for.

I didn’t like where my thoughts were leading me. Instead of listening to Dad I tried to mentally outline the steps in the Kreb’s cycle.

Dad signalled me to his office when the meeting was over.

“I’m sorry, we can’t go out today. We have an emergency elders meeting, and I was just told that your grandma has had another stroke. She’s been admitted to the Sunyani Regional Hospital. After the meeting, I’ll have to go and see her. I might not be home early.”

I tried to keep the disappointment off my face, but Dad must have seen it.

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

He took out some money from his wallet. “Take a taxi home.”

“Chidi’s here,” I said.

“I thought you guys were not talking.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Thursday you didn’t want to go to his house.”

“Thursday I had homework.”

“Oh, I was under the impression . . . Never mind. Just keep the money in case he has other plans.”

I found Sarfoa on the swings. When I told her we weren’t going out, she went to extract some money from Dad.

I found Chidi in the pew where I’d left him and asked if he could drop Sarfoa and me home if he didn’t have any plans.

“No plans. I go where the wind blows.”

My mind was in turmoil. Would I have to invite Chidi to stay for lunch? Having Dad and Sarfoa eat my cooking was okay, they knew what to expect, but an outsider?

“I’m not a good cook,” I said.

“Neither am I.”

“Chidi your car is dirty,” Sarfoa said. Someone had written ‘Wash me’ in the dirt on the back window.

“Maybe later this afternoon, I’ll go to the washing bay,” he said as we all sat down and buckled up.

He had to slow down as we got near the Golden Tulip Hotel. There were many posh cars entering the hotel. Ahead of us were three limousines that were part of a wedding procession. Chidi joined the line-up of cars.

“Dad only gave me money for a taxi. It won’t be enough for a meal for the three of us.”

“No problem.”

“Do you have enough money on you?”

“No.”

“They don’t give away free food.”

“I’m aware of that,” he said parking the car.

He turned to the back seat.

“Do you want to be an actress for a day?”

“Like on TV?”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay,” Sarfoa said.

“Chidi we can’t crash the wedding reception. All the guests will have invitation cards,” I said.

“Not a problem.”

He got down and took his camera and tripod from the back seat where they were still lying beside his backpack. Sarfoa jumped out. They came over to my side.

“Sarfoa will join a family that has kids and walk in with them. You’ll hold the tripod and look like my assistant and we’ll just walk in. Will be a piece of cake. No one will stop us.”

“Chidi, this is crazy.”

“Haven’t you done anything crazy in your life? Anything spontaneous?”

I stayed silent.

“Of course you haven’t. Crashing a reception won’t make it onto your list.”

“I’m not going.”

“Oh, come on.”

I got out of the car. “Come on Sarfoa, we’ll take a taxi.”

Sarfoa moved closer to Chidi and took his hand.

“Let’s vote,” Chidi said. “All in favour of going to the reception and having a good meal hands up.”

He and Sarfoa raised their hands.

“Chidi, we start WASSCE in a little over a month. We should be studying.”

“Live a little. Come on, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“Doesn’t it occur to you that we could get thrown out?”

“So what if we are? We just get back in the car and go home.”

I didn’t leave and so he took that to mean I agreed to be part of his insane plan.

“First, we look for a family with kids for Sarfoa,” Chidi said, studying the guests who were arriving.

He turned to Sarfoa and told her as soon as we found a family with two or three kids, she’d pretend to be one of the kids and join them as they entered the reception hall. He and I would pretend to be photographers for the event and bluff our way through.

“Sarfoa,” someone called out.

We all turned. There was a girl waving at her. Sarfoa turned and waved back. Then she turned to Chidi.

“That’s Mefia, she’s in my class. Can I start now? Can I pretend she’s my sister?”

“Yeah, sure, go ahead. Break a leg.”

“Why should I break my leg?”

“Actors say that to wish each other good luck.”

“Okay, bye. Break your legs too.”

She skipped off to join Mefia and her parents.

We watched as the guy at the door took Mefia’s parents’ invitation card. He didn’t even look at Sarfoa and Mefia.

“Here, you hold this,” he gave me the camera. He slung his backpack over one shoulder and balanced the tripod on the other.

“Come on, let’s go.”

“Now?”

“There’s no time like the present, abi?”

“This is crazy.”

“So you’ve said. Act natural,” he whispered as we neared the guy.

“We’re from Picture Perfect,” he told the guy at the door.

The guy looked us over. I nodded a greeting and tried to look unfazed. Chidi looked annoyed. He took out his phone and began punching in a number. The guy held open the door. Chidi stormed in and I followed. I expected the guy to call us back any moment.

Once we entered the reception hall I let out the breath I’d been holding.

“Like I said, piece of cake,” Chidi said, smiling at me.