Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father(22)

“Yeah? Well who does? Roland sure doesn’t. He’s wandering around all lonely-like in this gigantic church house, ordering roast beef sandwiches and pretending like everything is kosher. Huh? Who has the d—darn answers?”

“God?” My mom says in a questioning tone.

“I’m being serious,” I growl.

“I am too, honey. I’m a Christian, like Roland. Well, not exactly like that, but…” She sighs. “I don’t know, baby…maybe it’s time to pray about it?”

I roll my eyes. I know she can’t see me, but it makes me feel better. “My roommates would tell you that’s the first thing I should have done.”

“Look. I hate that you’re there. And it’s not just because of Roland. It’s politics and common sense and a whole lot of other things you’ve already heard from me. But…for now …pay attention. You’re on a path I don’t understand, Kennedy, but you’re strong. Take this full year and…learn something. About yourself. About them. About God. Just learn.”

“You’re sounding…rational.” My tears dry as I notice the dramatic change in tone of her voice from yesterday when she was begging me to reconsider my enrollment. Though, her assertion that I take this year shows me that she’s still holding on to the hope that I’ll go somewhere “normal” next year.

She chuckles. “Dan talked me off the ledge yesterday. He said he’d call you tonight, so be on the lookout, okay?”

I start walking again, and spot Jonah moving solo down the hill from the UC. He sees me and waves. I wave back and move toward him. “I will. If you talk to him before I do, tell him I love him, k?”

“Of course. Oh. Call your sister,” she adds quickly.

“She can call me,” I tease. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

I feel lighter after our call. Not light enough to call Roland and apologize for my outburst, about which he sent me three texts while I was on the phone with Mom, all asking if I was okay, apologizing, and asking me to call him.

No. Don’t care. No.

Not wanting to risk him hunting me down in some emotional storm, I text him again and assert that I need a couple of days. That I’d see him after my first week of classes when I attend my first New Life service. As planned, I text back to have the last word.

“Hey, you.” I dial up my smile as Jonah and I meet on the sidewalk leading to the dining hall. “Just finishing up with the band?”

Jonah nods. “Yep. They said I can start practicing with them.” His face lights up and I feel genuine excitement for him. I know nothing of this tall, godly boy, but I know the look I saw on his face as he watch the band play. Passion. And the way he interacted with them after the service. Awe.

“That’s awesome. I’m gonna go eat.” I hitch my thumb toward the dining hall door.

“Me too. Can I join you?” He stuffs his hands in his pockets.

Lucky. I need pockets.

I nod, detecting a hint of butterflies in my belly. “Sure. That’s allowed, right? We can eat on campus together? I’m such failure at these rules!” I run a hand through my hair and leave it on the back of my neck for a second before dropping my hand to my pocket-less side.

Jonah laughs. “We’re safe. If you were going to drag me off campus, though, we’d need a chaperone.” He holds the door open for me.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

I avoid the deli station all together, settling for a salad with chicken. Jonah piles his plate with cooked vegetables, beef, and pasta. Judging by the sharp lines of the muscles running through his forearms, I’d say however he’s eating is working out just fine for him.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit much?” I ask as we sit.

“What?”

I stab my fork into some unsuspecting lettuce. “Where do I start? The chaperone thing, for one…”

Jonah clasps his hands together and bows his head for a moment.

Grace.

I wait patiently, closing my eyes for a few seconds so he can see me when he’s finished with his pre-meal prayer. Watching Jonah pray seems too serious for me to make a crack about it. He’s praying over his food like it’s the most reverential thing in the world. Maybe it is.

“I don’t know…” Jonah sounds reluctant as he dives into his penne marinara.

I grin. “That’s a no.”

Over a mouthful of pasta, Jonah seems to ponder his next words. “Okay,” he says after he swallows. “I think it depends on where you come from. Like…these rules are the same I’ve grown up with and went to school with. To me, they’re no different. Actually, I feel freer because my parents aren’t right over my shoulder making sure I follow them. Sure, there are people looking out to see that we stick to them, but it’s really up to me to make that choice.”

“That part I get. I guess I just mean the actual rules themselves. Don’t you think an eighteen-year-old should be able to go on a date with someone without feeling like they’re twelve?”

My question appears to strike Jonah as personal. He blushes and looks down for a moment before regaining eye contact. That’s something else I have to get used to: people actually looking at each other when they talk. It’s a maturity I didn’t really expect from a segment of the population I largely consider sheltered.