Jesus Freaks: The Prodigal (Jesus Freaks #2) (12 page)

I typically like that Jonah doesn’t beat around the bush, but I feel weird discussing Kennedy without her here.

“We’re friends, Jonah.” I shake my head and grin. Everyone around here is so hypersensitive about relationships.

“I know,” he replies half-heartedly. “But you guys do a lot of hugging for guy-girl friends, don’t you think? Like, would you be hugging her so much if you had a girlfriend?”

I laugh, but try to keep it to a minimum so I don’t offend Jonah. “So much? Jonah, bud, we’ve hugged twice. Yes, both times have been this week, but they’ve both happened when she’s been really upset. I’m just there for her. She feels really … alone.” I wince internally, hoping I haven’t given anything away.

“Just be careful, man.” Jonah claps my shoulder. “It’s so easy for lines to get blurred. If you want to date her, date her. If you want to be her friend, be her friend. But, if one of you thinks your relationship is something more than it is, then both of you will end up getting hurt.”

“You’ve known Eden for a long time, right?”

Jonah nods. “Like ten years, I guess.”

I stop at the entrance to our dorm. “And you mean to tell me that in the ten years before you two started dating you never once gave her a hug?”

His cheeks turn a little red, which he tries to disguise by clearing his throat.

“No,” he answers with a small grin. “Never.”

My eyes widen. “You’re lying.”

The thing about Jonah is, I know he’s not lying. He may not say much, but when he does open his mouth, nothing but truth comes out.

He shakes his head and opens the door to our building. “No I’m not, I’m serious.”

“How long have you liked her?” I challenge as we make our way up the stairs.

“Dude!” He cracks into laughter. I’ve flustered him.

“Dude,” I echo when we reach our floor.

Jonah sighs and growls a little. “You know how it is, man. I mean, we met at summer camp. Sure the girls had to all wear one-pieces,” his voice drops to a whisper, “but come
on
, I liked all of them at some point. At least I thought I did.”

“Why didn’t you ever hug her, though?” I press.

Jonah’s face turns from playful to thoughtful. “Come on, you know enough about Eden by now. A girl like her? I knew she had a full, bursting heart and I prayed about it like crazy. I knew that if she was the one for me, I would need to approach a relationship when I was ready for one—because she’s
so
intense about her love for God and her ideals of a partner … I just didn’t want to break her heart.”

“So are you guys engaged?”

He looks at me like I’m crazy and shakes his head. “We just started dating!”

“So you could still break her heart then, huh?”

He sighs. “I guess. And she could break mine, too. I know what you’re saying, man, I do. And I’m not suggesting a hug means you’re Kennedy’s boyfriend now. I’m just saying … be careful, okay? You know ho
w
fuzzy those lines can get. Then, before you know it—”

“There’s no way out,” I finish his sentence. He’s one of the few guys on this campus that know
s
my whole story.

“It’s not just about her heart,” Jonah finishes before turning for his room. “It’s about yours.”

After Jonah disappears behind his door, I shuffle toward mine. Just because I’ve given up on my own heart, does that mean I need to jeopardize someone else’s?

Spending a Saturday studying for an Old Testament exam was about as exciting as you could imagine, but it paid off—a week later I received a well-deserved “A” on the exam. I’ve had a mix of A’s and B’s in that class, but they all come with extreme effort. I’m certain I wouldn’t work so hard at Yale or Cornell. I’d be
t
money on it.

If gambling were allowed here.

I’m almost bummed to be packing for the
trip
back to Connecticut for Thanksgiving Break. Almost. Despite the insanity surrounding everything with Roland, the last week has been relatively quiet. Jahara, Roland’s assistant, was able to push back any further interviews with the Today Show until Winter Break, allowing me the space and peace to finish my first semester here.

And, I feel like I’ve finally settled
in
here. Despite everything going on, I’ve developed a routine of work, church, and home—as my grandfather used to say. Roland’s last couple of sermons have been completely Kennedy-free, and he’s stuck to the sermon series he’d begun when the semester started.
Hundred-percenters
is what he’s encouraging the students to be. One hundred percent for Jesus, one hundred percent of the time.

While I don’t know if I have a percentage attached to my enthusiasm, my focus on God has begun to shift from viewing him as a spiritual overseer to
Jesus
—the human and divine God walking among humans. And, what did he say? What did he instruct? That view-shift from
God
to the
human
Jesus has begun stirring my relationship with him in ways I couldn’t have imagined. I’m not sure what I’m going to do with all of that, yet, but it’s there. Churning just below the surface.

“When does your
train
leave?” Eden asks, packing her purple duffel bag.

I glance at the time on my computer. “
Later this afternoon
. Maggie’s driving me to the
train
station soon. What are you all doing for Thanksgiving?” I ask of my roommates.

They share the standard plans of hanging out with family and enjoying huge meals. Then, Eden pauses her packing and leans against the edge of her desk.

“Some of my high school friends have invited me to this party at a cabin in the next town over.” She sighs and looks down at her hands. “I guess a lot of people from my graduating class and the years before
ours
are going to be there. It’s some tradition that’s kept pretty well secret. I didn’t even know about it and I
always
know about social stuff.”

I chuckle at Eden’s admission of her popularity status.

“What’s the trouble?” Bridgette asks. “Is there, like, beer and stuff?”

Eden
twists her lips and nods. “Yeah.”

I shrug. “You don’t have to drink it, though.”

“She also doesn’t have to go,” Bridgette adds a little hastily.

That, too …

Mollie called a few nights ago and directed me toward Facebook—which I decided to avoid for the rest of the semester-where my very own e-vite sat. This one hosted by my ex-boyfriend, Trent.

“Is that against the rules?” I ask, suddenly worried about my own Friday night plans.

“It’s not just about
rules
, Kennedy,” Bridgette snaps, earning her wide eyes from both me and Eden. “It’s about how it makes her feel in her heart and spirit, too. If she’s uncomfortable, she shouldn’t go.”

You know what …

“You know what, Bridgette?” I snap back. “Sometimes life
is
uncomfortable. Do you think it was easy-breezy for me to stand up in front of the school and half the nation to talk about Roland as my dad? Do you think it was
comfortable
for me to come here? No, but despite my misgivings, I felt like I
needed
to come here. And, most days I don’t know why. I don’t get it, and sometimes
I
just want to go home. But beneath my
discomfort
is something deeper. So
back off
.”

Ignoring Bridgette’s horrified stare, I angrily zip my bag and move in front of Eden.

“Look,” I start, breathlessly. “Go, or don’t go, but don’t over
-
think it. No one can force you to do anything you don’t want to do. Talk to your brother, maybe. He’s gone through the same stuff. Don’t
not
go because you’re afraid of what people will think, or whatever.” I eye Bridgette for a second. “Fear causes people to do some crazy shit. Just look at Joy. She was evidently afraid of me, and look where it got her.”

“That’s not fair, Kennedy,” Bridgette states with tears in her eyes. “Eden not going to a party is not the same thing as Joy bullying you.”

“I’m not saying it is, Bridge.” I take a deep breath and back toward the door. “I’m just suggesting maybe you all should start believing in the strength you ask for in your prayers every night.”

Eden holds out her hands. “Guys, I didn’t mean to cause such a problem …”

Bridgette and I look at Eden, then each other, then we drop our emotional weapons. As seems to be happening more and more with Bridgette lately, she breaks into tears. I roll my eyes, then shoot a quick look to my right and find that Eden caught me. She offers a tiny shrug and wraps an arm around Bridgette.

“Bridge,” I say inside another sigh, “what’s going on?”

“Something’s wrong with Silas,” she replies, wiping under her eyes. “I don’t know what it is, but he’s been just … so quiet and angry since we got here. More as the semester has gone on.”

I arch an eyebrow at a still-quiet Eden. “You mean he’s not always … reserved?”

She shakes her head. “At home he always cracks jokes and plays with our little brothers and sisters. He’s not this
super
uptight guy with no sense of humor.”

Eden finally finds her voice. “Maybe he really is just focusing on all of the romantic stuff you said he was in peer counseling about. I know it’s hard when you don’t know the exact details, but you can still be praying for him.” Eden looks to me, pleadingly. “We all can.”

I close my eyes for a moment, knowing what must be done. I need to do this. For Bridgette, for Eden, for our friendship, and, maybe, for me. Dropping my bag, I walk over to my roommates, and silently reach for their hands. I’ve been adding in my own words of prayer during floor meetings over the last couple of weeks, but nothing super personal or involved. But, I can’t leave my roommates like this. And, since Eden is oddly silent and Bridgette is a mess, it’s my turn to step up to the plate.

I just want to go home. Is that too much to ask?

“Father God,” I start with the title Bridgette usually uses to call out to her Savior, “please watch over us as we each head home for this break. Keep our hearts, minds, and souls in the right place, Lord, as some of us face old temptations and maybe some new ones. Lord,” I take a deep breath, “please be with Silas during what seems to be a stressful and troubling time for him. You know his heart, Lord …” I add a silent prayer of thanks that I’ve been able to pick up on common prayer terminology in order to piece this together on the fly. Knowing people’s hearts, guarding those hearts, and watching over them are common requests.

“Thank you, God,” Eden enters. “Thank you for the blessing so far this semester of being able to watch each other grow and strengthen in you.” She squeezes my hand and I have no snarky thought. Eden thinks I’ve grown this semester, and for some reason that fills me with pride. “Please guard our hearts and minds as we depart campus for the next week and enjoy time with our families and friends. In Jesus’ name we pray.”

“Amen,” we say in unison, separating our hands and returning to our previous tasks.

Mine is to get on a train, fall asleep, and wake up in Connecticut.

“Bridge,” I smile, slinging my bag back over my shoulder, “I think this break will be just what you need. Go home and love on your parents and siblings. Silas, too. I think it’s just been a tough transition, is all.”

“Thank you, Kennedy.” Her smile returns and she gives me a soft embrace before stepping back. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a mess lately.”

I give her a quick wink. “No need to apologize for being human. You girls have my phone number, so make sure you text me over the next couple days, okay? Call, too.”

I give them a wave and exhale a premature breath of freedom as I head downstairs where Maggie and the other hall residents who are going to
the
train station will be waiting in a campus van. I get there before a few of them, so I secure a window seat on the front bench. I make quick work of buckling my seatbelt, and then I lean my head on the window and stare at the rain as it rolls down the glass.

“Looking forward to going home?” Maggie asks with a wry smile.

I say nothing, but look at her and return the smile. She’s been good about checking in with me over the last couple of weeks, but our conversations have been highly relegated to text messages. There have been a few “crises” on our floor that have required enough of her time that we haven’t been able to schedule meeting
s
on a regular basis. I air-quote
crisis
because none of them have involved drugs, violence, or the police, so I’m thinking that’s an area where my definition deviates slightly from theirs. Still, I
am
looking forward to meeting with her on a regular basis, but it looks like that might be something we work toward for next semester, since when we return from Thanksgiving break, we’ll all be studying like crazy for final exams.

Once the other girls are in the van, Maggie starts our journey toward the Amtrak station. Unfortunately, the closest station is nearly two hours away in Gastonia. And, from what I saw online, it barely qualifies as a station at all. More like a brick hut that looks like something out of an old Western film. Amidst the chatter of five other girls—some excited to see their high school sweethearts, and others looking forward to getting back to their home church—I begin to doze off. Before I slip fully unconscious, my phone dings.

I’ve changed his title in my phone from “BF” to his real name, but it’s still kind of a shock when it pops up.

Roland: I’m sorry we didn’t connect before you left. Have a
H
appy Thanksgiving.

I smile while I read the message. It seems Roland and I had the right idea in encouraging Jahara to push off the more in-depth interviews for a while. Media interest
seems
to have died down quickly, though not quick enough
,
which is why I’ve avoided all social media. We’ve been able to slip back into our previous roles of student and pastor—his making him far busier than I am—and we’ve only really seen each other in passing on campus or the one intervening Sunday since the Today Show interview.

Part of that is my doing, though, because I really needed to curl into myself for a while. There was far more exposure there than I’m typically comfortable with, and I really just wanted to keep my head down and make
it
t
hr
o
ugh
Thanksgiving in one piece. The rest of the semester will be a piece of cake, and then I’ll get six
entire
weeks away.

Me:
I’m sorry too. Was studying like crazy, but got an A on the OT exam, so … I’m heading to the train station now. See you next week.

Roland:
See you then. Stay safe.

It always makes me a little uncomfortable when he offers parental advice like this. Sure, these concerns were shared with the student body by teachers, RA’s, and friends through the last couple of weeks, but coming from him I know he’s trying on a parental role. It’s not that I
don’t
want him to, I don’t think, but we’ve got a long ways to go there.

I let his last message end our conversation and I fall quickly to sleep for the remainder of the ride.

“Kennedy,” Maggie calls me from my slumber. “We’re here. Wake up.”

Wincing as I try to right my neck after almost two hours in a car-sleep position, I sit up and stretch my arms.

“That felt good,” I admit. Between work, prayer groups, and the excessive studying I need to do to stay afloat, there is little time to sleep at night, let alone steal hours from the day.

Maggie smiles. “Have a good break. Make sure you go to church Sunday, okay?”

Rules.

I nod. “Fine, fine,” I playfully reply.

“Have you checked out evangelical churches in your hometown?”

I laugh. “I don’t think they exist, but I’ll give it a whirl.”

Maggie shakes her head. “Just keep your head on, okay?”

Sliding across the bench toward the door, I flash her a thumbs-up. “You got it.”

She shakes her head, dramatically rolling her eyes. “You’re going to give me a run for my money this year, aren’t you?”

Planting my feet on the ground I give her a circus-worthy smile. “What?” I ask, batting my lashes.

Maggie laughs and turns the key. “Just … stay out of trouble?”

“I will,” I concede, despite the question at the tip of her voice.

Once she pulls away, I stare at the abandoned-looking train station, admittedly bummed that it looks exactly like the picture the
I
nternet provided me. A quick glance to my left shows a cluster of wildly out-of-place-looking CU students. Curiously, though, there are the girls I showed up with, mixed with some males. They must have left campus earlier
,
in their own van, of course.

At first glance I’m tempted to just wander by them and find a dark, urine-scented corner to hide in until my train comes. Interestingly, though, the distinct scent of burning tobacco draws my steps in their direction. There’s much giggling and whispering as I approach the group, but the cigarette smell is stronger.

“Oh, hey,” one of the guys in a CU sweatshirt says when he spots me. “Want one?”

“Dude!” another one half-gasps, slapping his shoulder. “That’s Pastor Roland’s kid. What are you doing?”

At this, the first “dude” turns robe-white. His mouth drops open and he stumbles to find his words. I scan the rest of the group, who have all gone silent in my presence. Do they honestly think I’m about to tattle on them?

“She’s not going to say anything,” Danielle from my floor says, barely believing herself with a pleading look in her eyes.

Unbelievable.

First, I’m a social pariah because of where I came from. Now, I’m a social pariah because of, well, where
I
come from—genetically speaking. Shaking my head, I huff through my nose and pull
my
lip ring from a Ziploc bag in the pocket of my coat. I maintain borderline uncomfortable eye contact with Dude #1
as I slide the cold ring through my lip. I grin as some people in the group look away.

“Don’t worry,” I assure dryly as I plug my earbuds into my phone, “I won’t tell anyone. I’m just going to be over there in the corner listening to Pitbull and swearing under my breath. Enjoy the cancer … carry on.”

Never has a darkened corner in a public transit station looked so inviting. Maybe the hobos have it right after all. I
literally
want to go unnoticed until I’m back in the logical, sane air north of the Mason-Dixon line.
Where I’m sure to never have to reference that invisible geographical separator.

Once I scope out a corner that doesn’t smell too diseased, I slide my back down the wall and sit on my bag. Leaning my head back, I close my eyes and let Pitbull’s philosophical discussions of boot
ie
s, and what he’d like to do with them, help transition me away from Carter University.