Jesus Freaks: The Prodigal (Jesus Freaks #2) (11 page)

“Where were you last night?” I ask Kennedy before she’s settled into her seat in the dining hall. I may have sounded a little too eager, but I don’t really care what our friends think, honestly.

She eyes me tiredly and tucks her hair behind her ears. “Just wanted to go to bed. It’s been a long week,” she answers of her absence from Bible study last night. “Wait,” she adds in, “it’s not, like, required, right?”

I shake my head. “No. You’re the one who asked me to come, remember?”

I remember.
I remember the way her hair fell in her face as she challenged me to come with her, and the smell of coconut as she walked pas
t
me.

“Right. I just didn’t know if we had to, like, keep going if we went once, or something …” She struggles to make eye contact with anyone as she pokes at the dense, slightly grey scrambled eggs on her plate.

“Something’s wrong with you,” I say bluntly as the rest of our friends join us.

Without lifting her face, her eyes move upward and stare directly into mine. “Everything is wrong, Matt,” she half-whispers.

“So” Bridgette squeaks, sitting right next to Kennedy, “what are y’all doing today?”

Kennedy’s mouth morphs into a smile and she faces her overly-bubbly roommate. “I was thinking we could study for that Old Testament exam? I need serious help.” She chuckles and continues picking at her eggs. Jonah sits to my right, across from Eden, who’s completed the Kennedy sandwich with Bridgette.

“You guys wanna meet at the library after this and study together?” Jonah asks while he butters his bagel.

With all the lean muscle that kid has, it’s a wonder he’s not a quarterback. Seems like a waste to me to be spending as much time as he does with the worship band.

I shrug. “I’m up for that.”

I’m not up for that. At all. But, if I’m going to have any chance to figure out what’s going on with Kennedy, I’m going to have to spend time with her. And, thanks to the “guidelines,” that’s largely going to have to happen in the confines of a group.

Honestly, I’ll take it.

Eden looks down the table, then over to Bridgette. “Where’s Silas?”

Bridgette’s perm
a
-smile turns down for a moment. “He’s got a peer counseling session this morning. But I’ll text him about the study group, if that’s what we’re gonna do.”

“Peer counseling?” Kennedy looks all the way up and sets down her fork.

“Yeah,” Bridgette sighs a mousey breath, “he’s been struggling a lot with romantic urges, and stuff like that. Gosh, don’t tell him I told you guys that,” she adds quickly. “He wants to keep it quiet, but I think we should all keep him in our prayers.”

I eye Jonah out of the corner of my eye. He looks back, and then away quickly, back to the model-like face of his girlfriend. But, I know we’re thinking the same thing.

Romantic urges?

Silas is the most monk-like guy I’ve ever met in my life. He won’t even engage in so much as a smile when some of us guys are sitting around without any girls around, talking about who has the best features. Most of the time he just gets up and leaves, mumbling under his breath about us being disrespectful. The thing is, we’re not being disrespectful. We’re being guys. Some of our floor mates get bent out of shape about what he says, and they go back to their rooms, seeming to think he’s right and we should all sit around singing hymns all night long, or something.

Even though Jonah’s got Eden now,
he
at least
still
hangs out with us. He won’t comment on the other girls, but he still
spends time with us being one of the guys.
Not Silas.
Pious Silas
is what I’ve come to call him in my head, though I work really hard not to say it out loud.

But, peer counseling for “romantic urges”? I don’t totally buy it. Unless he’s got a secret stash of porn somewhere. Doubtful, though, because that stuff gets sniffed out of places like this faster than I’ve ever seen. Even at summer Bible camp.

I clear my throat and stand up, taking my tray with me. “See you guys in an hour?”

Everyone nods and resumes catching up on their weeks and what lame plans they might have for tonight. Truth is, I’ve never had any exciting plans myself, but I’d at least like to hear about
someone
having a good time. The guys on the team talk a lot about off-campus parties, but they’ve got to be lying or really stupid to talk about that as openly as they do. That, or the coaches just turn a deaf ear, because I haven’t ever heard of anyone getting into trouble because of one of these “parties.”

I don’t make it too far out the door of the dining hall before I hear quick footsteps directly behind me. No one says anything, so I just keep my head down and head for my dorm.

Then, coconuts.

Walking in step with me without saying a word, Kennedy keeps her head down, too.

“Stalker,” I mumble sarcastically, grinning.

“Sorry about leaving you stranded last night,” she mumbles.

I shrug. “Nah, don’t worry about it. I mean a text would have been nice …” I tease.

Before we continue our conversation, a slightly out-of-place voice calls out to us. “Matthew, good to see you!”

Kennedy and I stop, and I turn to my right to find the Dean of Students—Hershel Baker—walking our way, his briefcase in hand and a huge smile on his face.

“Dean Baker,” I greet him
,
as he gets closer, extending my hand. “Good to see you, sir.”

“Likewise, likewise,” he replies, out of breath as usual. “Where you two young folk off to?” He eyes Kennedy and arches one of his heinous eyebrows.

“Back to our dorms to get our books, sir. Then, it’s off to study for our Old Testament exam.”

He nods slowly, his eyes moving to Kennedy once more as if he somehow doesn’t trust her. Though, as far as I know, her demerit record is cleaner than mine. Of course, I’m quick to work them off, but sometimes it feels good to drop a swear here and there. I never was allowed to swear in high school, so eighteen years of frustration slips out in profanity now and again.

“Good ‘nough,” Dean Baker approves in a slow, deeply accented voice. I’ve seen the man on public television before, and when he gets heated about an issue, his words are nearly
indecipherable
.

My mother says he makes Southerners look bad. My dad, of course, holds him in high esteem. More so since my dad’s breakdown. The best I can figure is that it’s because Hershel Baker has never so much as wavered a centimeter to the side o
f
any issue he takes a position on. When my dad’s world fell apart, I think he began clinging to men that he viewed as strong and rooted. I don’t have much of an opinion of Dean Baker, other than he’s kept an eye on me—at the behest of my father—since I arrived on campus.

“Miss Sawyer,” Dean Baker takes a step forward
,
and I watch
,
as Kennedy seems to flinch back just slightly. She straightens her shoulders and clears her throat, though, so I’m not sure which reaction is real.

“Hello, Dean Baker,” she says with curt formality.

“Yo’ classes goin’ along?” he inquires.

There’s a twitch of amusement in Kennedy’s eyes as she processes and translates his words through her Yankee filter. “Yes, thank you,” she finally answers. “Gotta get going so we can study, though. See you later.” She offers a poli
te
smile and begins walking in the direction of her dorm.

Dean Baker offers a nod and turns to me.

“Have a good weekend, Sir,” I say, taking a step in Kennedy’s coconut-scented path.

“Mr. Wells,” he calls casually.

Turning around, I find a grey expression on his usually tomato-red face.

“Yes, Dean Baker?”

He points an overstuffed finger in Kennedy’s direction. “You watch out for that one.”

I nod. “I’ll be sure to look after her. I know it’s got to be hard for her—”

“No,” he cuts me off. “I’m not askin’ you to look after her. I’m
telling
you to watch
out
for her. Her influence may be seen as questionable. Especially by yo’ father.”

I clear my throat, forcing the venom away. The bile that rises anytime someone suggests I give a damn about my father’s opinion. Or should. “I’m not sure what you mean, Dean Baker. Kennedy’s been through a lot. Especially recently. I’m just trying to treat her with the love of Jesus.”

I only talk like this when I need to give someone a bat to the knees. The look on the Dean’s face is not one of caution. It’s one of warning—and the difference sends a chill down my spine.

Dean Baker licks his lips and offers a weak smile. “Of course, Matthew, of course.”
He’s trying to back himself out of this corner.
“But even Jesus had to cast down … Just be careful. It’s in your best interest.”

He offers nothing more before pivoting away and heading to the faculty parking lot.

Jesus had to cast down what?
Demons? Did he just … No
.

Shaking my head a few times to get the dark look in Dean Baker’s eyes out of my head, I follow behind Kennedy.

“Hey!” I shout when she seems to pick up her pace the closer I get. “Kennedy, stop.”

She whips around, looking startled. “Oh, hey. I didn’t hear you.” She smiles, just barely.

“Don’t play with me. What
was
that?” We reach the fork in the sidewalk that will send her to her dorm to the left, and me to mine
o
n the right. We stand there awkwardly until she leans against the light post. Now only one of us is standing awkwardly.

“What was what?” she asks, looking down.

“I said don’t play with me.” My tone is short and firm. My father is who I sound like. I resent it, but I know it’ll get her to respond.

Her eyes narrow and she peers over my shoulder, perhaps looking for eavesdroppers, before she speaks. “Why should I trust you?” she asks passively.

My eyes nearly bug straight out of my head. “You’re kidding me.”

Her face doesn’t move. Not an inch.

“I …” I start and stop speaking several times before forming a sentence. “After everything that’s happened, you’re going to ask me why you should trust me? Why should I trust
you
now? You led me to believe we were friends.”

She huffs and runs her fingers raggedly through her hair, letting out a small growl. “How well do you know Dean Baker?”

I shrug. “He’s taken to looking after me here on campus. My dad asked him to.”

She tilts her head to the side, scrunching her eyebrows. “How well does your dad know him
?
”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I
’
d
never heard of him until I enrolled here. Didn’t you meet with him
yesterday
? Is that what all that weirdness was about? Your talk about Joy?
You
didn’t get into any trouble for that, did you?”

Kennedy’s shoulders drop as she sighs. “No, I didn’t get in trouble. Sorry for being weird. I think I’m just exhausted and super paranoid of everyone right now. Matt,” she looks up at me with watery eyes, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to suggest I shouldn’t trust you. I just … I feel
really
alone right now. With a giant bull
’
s
-
eye on my back to boot.”

I hear the voices of our friends approaching behind us, but I pull her in for a hug anyway. “I’m here for you, two
,
three,” I whisper. She laughs at my play on the rules. “I promise.”

“Everything okay?” Jonah’s voice climbs over the hum of everyone else’s. His eyes move slowly from Kennedy to me, and they stay on me for a while.

It’s as if he’s asking me,
what are you doing
? But I have no answer. He knows I’m into pushing boundaries, and he always gives me a gut check to remind me not to take it
too
far, but maybe he sees something between me and Kennedy that I need to be more careful of. She hasn’t seemed offended by the two hugs I’ve given her, but I also didn’t ask her if it was okay. She hugged me back during the first one, so I figured another one when she seemed so clearly upset was okay.

Maybe I do need to back off a little. Regardless of where I stand with God right now doesn’t mean I need to take her down with me.

“Yeah,” I answer after a few seconds of awkward silence. “Everything’s fine. Just gonna get my books and head to the library.”

“I’ll walk with you. Ladies,” Jonah smiles and addresses Eden, Kennedy, and Bridgette, “we’ll see you shortly.” He gives Eden a squeeze on the hand that’s ever-glued to his before they force themselves apart and the girls take off to their dorm.

“So,” Jonah starts after a few more seconds of silence. “Kennedy …”

I shrug. “Yeah?”

He shrugs back and takes a deep breath. “Is something brewing between you two?”