Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father(31)

I grab my full-strength latte and settle myself in the black cast iron chair, sandwiched between Eden and Bridgette. Frankly, they’re perfect social buffers. They like me, which is more than I can say for Joy. After taking a gratuitous sip, I close my eyes and lean my head back, letting the sun soak my face. “It’s such a nice day.”

“Thanks for suggesting we head down here, Kennedy,” Eden says. “I’ve heard that freshmen at CU sometimes get caught up in…whatever…and stay on campus more than they go off.”

I open one eye toward Eden. “What’s whatever?”

“Fear, probably,” Brent answers. “That they’ll get sucked into all the sin.”

Sin. Sigh. I’ve never, ever heard the word used so much. Maybe because I’ve been living in it, some of my tablemates might say.

I lower my chin, eyeing Brent. “All the sin?”

“Rocks,” Silas mumbles to Bridgette, who then leans down and seems to fumble with her sandal.

“What is that?” I say to both of them, not wanting to stress out poor Brent with all the sin.

Bridget looks up and shakes her head. “Nothing.”

I arch my eyebrow at her, looking to the rest of their table who shrug or offer nothing.

“Rocks,” I articulate. “You’ve each said it to the other since we’ve been down here. Is that, like, sibling code for something? Twin code?”

Bridgette hesitates, but Silas leans forward and anchors his elbows on the table. “It is code, but not in that way. It’s how we look out for each other when we’re out in the world. If we see someone who is dressed immodestly, or engaging in immoral behavior of some kind, we say ‘Rocks’ so our siblings know to avert their eyes. It’s more polite than yelling to look away.”

“You have to be careful about what you let your eyes see,” Bridgette adds. The table has gone quiet and the siblings have taken center stage. “What you see can turn to thoughts and thoughts can turn to actions. When you look twice, that’s where you get in trouble, I think. I’d just…rather not stare at half-naked men until that man is my husband.”

I take this opportunity to look at the people around us. Those walking the streets, enjoying their Friday afternoon—that guy running without his shirt on—all blissfully unaware that they might be causing dirty thoughts in the minds of the disciples of Jesus.

Admittedly, there is a lot of indecency. I’ve never been one to show a ton of skin, but it’s never really mattered to me what other people wore. Sitting on this sidewalk, it suddenly feels like a skin-fest—the warm weather an excuse for some women to wear little more than they might wear in the bedroom. I quickly put my “regular world” eyes back on and pretend like it doesn’t matter.

“I like that you guys do that,” I finally say, returning to my coffee.

“Really?” Bridgette looks at me with wide eyes. I swear she always looks like a four-year-old on Christmas morning.

I nod. “Yeah, I do. I think it’s great that you look out for each other.” All eyes at the table are on me, but no one is saying anything. “What?!” I exclaim. “Look. Yes, I’m from Connecticut and I’m Episcopalian and I was baptized as a baby and haven’t been since, but…” I sigh and run a hand through my hair, leaning back. “But that doesn’t mean I disagree with everything you guys do. I don’t know if you’re all judging me or whatever, but I want to say that I’m sorry for judging you guys. That’s all I’ve done since I walked on campus, honestly. And I’m sorry.”

Eden slides her arm across my shoulders and pulls me close to her in a side hug. “I’m sorry, too,” she says as she rests her head on mine.

“Yeah. Me, too,” Bridgette and Silas answer together, causing a chuckle to ripple through our table.

Brent and Joy are noticeably silent. Brent I can excuse, given we met about a second ago. Joy…well, I’m not surprised. I think she wants to keep judging me. Which is fine, because I want to keep judging her. I’ll pray about it, I guess, since that’s what we’re supposed to do, but I just don’t like her.

Noting Jonah’s silence, I sneak a glance his way and see him looking at me with that endearing half grin. He nods, seemingly in approval of my judgment confession, but says nothing. It looks like he wants to say more than has been offered by our friends, but his mouth won’t open more than his grin. To be frank, I feel some sort of connection with Jonah. I don’t know if it’s romantic, or friendly, or just a general kinship. Exploration of my feelings around him seems unlikely given the rare circumstances men and women are allowed to be alone together during their time at CU.

Before I can give this more thought, Eden speaks up. “Oh! Hey, look. It’s Pastor Roland!”

Naturally.

I don’t hesitate with my game face. It was practiced before I’d even met him in the first place, so putting it on is no more challenging than putting on socks. Just one foot, then the other. I crane my neck a bit to see the sidewalk and, sure enough, down strolls Pastor Roland, looking unremarkably similar to how he appeared on stage on Sunday. Jeans, short-sleeved shirt, Converse sneakers. He earns an A in image branding, if you ask me. Completely approachable one hundred percent of the time.

He spots me when he’s a few paces from the table, and I note the rise and fall of his shoulders in a deep breath. The smile widens and he stops and rests his hands on the wrought-iron fencing that delegates the outside seating area of Word.