Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father(26)

Naturally. Twelve hours away from social media is enough to file a missing person’s report. I hadn’t been seen in forty-eight. Good as dead.

“I will when I get to a public WiFi… Rules,” I grumble. Carter’s internet is heavily monitored to, you know, keep up the moral integrity of its student body.

“Good girl.”

My Facebook page is far from anything considered wholesome, and I don’t want to open myself up to unintentional demerits since I’m sure the questions I have planned for my professors throughout this year will get me into enough trouble.

Jenny’s techie boyfriend, Paul, yanked the phone away from her during one of our conversations this summer and gave me strict orders to limit my internet access while on campus. “School research only,” he’d demanded, knowing how easily my browsing history could raise red flags.

I mean, how many CU students would spend as much time as I do googling Roland Abbot, his personal history, and his sermons? “Might think you’re a stalker,” Paul’d said with the barest hint of humor in his voice. He was mostly serious.

They were perfect for each other.

Jenny speaks again, interrupting my train of thought. “Have you talked to Dad?” She just calls Dan Dad and I call my mom Mom and it saves us a load of time in our conversations.

“We talked briefly last night, but he was at the airport so it wasn’t too in depth.” I take another deep breath, reminding myself how good it felt to just hear his voice.

“Par for the course, huh?” She’s always been snarky about Dan’s mellow nature. Shallow, she calls it. Relaxed by the rest of the world’s standards.

“I guess. I’m just missing all of you.” My throat tightens briefly, but I scold it to stay open. I’ve never cried this much in my life put together.

“I miss you, too.” She makes a kissing sound into the phone before hanging up. Jenny has never been one for goodbyes.

As I put my phone away, a text message dinging through stops me. I have a text from my RA, who’d sent out an email on the campus server this morning asking us for our cell numbers, and giving us hers, so we would always have a spiritual advisor and friend on our side. Her words.

Maggie: Hey Kennedy, just checking in. How was your first day of classes?

The timing of her text reeks of suspicion. Mere minutes after taking off from my dorm following an unfortunate encounter with my roommates…hmm. I think twice before texting back. That’s my rule: think twice, speak once. Almost no one does that anymore…especially where keyboards are involved. Which is weird since you have the chance to delete or revise before you send.

Me: Standard, I guess. I don’t have anything to compare it to.

Immediately, she replies.

Maggie: Do you have a few minutes to get together and check in?

From day one, Maggie has seemed like the perfect CU RA—interested in the spiritual welfare of her floor, and super spunky and friendly to boot. It’s never a bad idea to collect allies, I concede to myself. So, I respond in the affirmative.

Me: Sure, when?

Maggie: Are you around now?

My heart races at the apparent urgency. My roommates likely went to her and tattled on my bad attitude, not to mention my eternal damnation. For a day there I was thinking I’d lucked out with Bridgette and Eden as roommates. Turns out they’re exactly as I’d expected. Feared. Looking down their noses at the unsaved. I don’t claim to have all the answers surrounding salvation, but I know I have it. Screw them for thinking otherwise.

Me: Be right there.





CHAPTER NINE


Lead Me


Maggie’s door is cracked, as I’ve noted it has been since I moved in two days ago. Perpetually available. I still knock, preemptively upping any points I may have already lost—countering with exceptional manners.

A book closes, a chair slides, and the door opens.

“Hey!” Maggie greets cheerfully. Her mid-back-length brown hair is woven into a loose braid that is slung forward over her shoulder. “Come in. Sit.” She gestures to her bed and I’m grateful for the comfort of her room.

There’s your standard-issue Jesus paraphernalia, sure: Biblical verses scripted in a shabby-chic way inside frames, a distressed wooden cross. But her comforter is loaded with colors and flowers, and a reed diffuser emanates a sweet floral smell that makes me feel like I’m in a yoga studio.

Yoga is frowned upon here, unless it’s scripture-centered. Whatever that means.

Maybe it’s Maggie herself who relaxes me. She has the cutest nose, which kind of makes her look like a fairy—another thought I should keep to myself—and she’s literally always smiling. Literally. I know how to use the word, and I take it very seriously. She even smiles in prayer. I’ve never been able to marry prayer and smiling.

“So,” she starts, her smile dimming slightly, but still present.

I roll my eyes. “You’ve talked with Eden and Bridgette.”

It’s tighter than looks comfortable, but the smile remains. Maggie seems caught off guard by my assumption. My apparently correct assumption.

“It’s okay,” I reassure her, putting up my hand. “I figured they’d come report my unsaved-ness.” I slow down over the last word, recognizing it isn’t one.

Maggie chuckles and shakes her head as she looks down. “Oh, Kennedy,” she says lightly, “we’re going to have a lot of fun this semester.”