Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father(36)

Maggie takes a deep breath. “I did the research on abortion and prepared this amazingly passionate speech from Jesus’ point of view about the value of life and how we’re supposed to guard those who can’t guard themselves. I don’t know what happened, honestly…” She looks off into space for a moment, as if she’s putting herself back on that day. “I took my paper to the front of the class, set it down, and completely ignored it. I called the class and professor Pharisees, scolding them for shaming people instead of loving them. I slammed my hand down on the podium for added effect.”

“That’s brilliant!”

Maggie shoots a stern gaze my way. “It was offensive. While my real opinion lies somewhere between what I wrote and what I said, I knew what the rules were and I disobeyed them. And lost friends in the process. There’s a time and a place to assert your views and personality.”

“And CU classes aren’t them?” I snap.

“Sometimes…no. Something tells me you didn’t come here to study the rules and then break them, though. I hadn’t intended to, either. I almost lost my chance at all the wonderful opportunities I’ve had since then. My recommendation?” Maggie stands and places a firm hand on my shoulder. “Take the cotton out of your ears and put it in your mouth. Then, when you come see me on Wednesday nights, let it out. That’s all I’m asking of you right now, Kennedy. You can do this.”





CHAPTER TWELVE


Beautiful, Beautiful


“So, why do you want to work at a coffee shop?” Asher leans against the end of the counter, staring at me in amusement.

He is perfection. A shaved-bald head, tattoos like graffiti up and down both arms, and hooped earrings in both ears. He’s muscular, but not oppressively so, and his blue eyes soften anything prison-like about his appearance.

You can do this.

Maggie’s words from last night bounce around my brain. My roommates were relieved, obviously, that the demerits weren’t more serious, but it was still a quiet night in our room. There was still lots to learn about each other, but “Rocks,” and insanity? and a brother getting punched while evangelizing seemed to be enough excitement for one Friday.

You can do this.

Refocusing on the attractive coffee shop manager in front of me, I take a deep breath.

“I don’t.” I quirk a grin.

He shoots one back, challenging me for more.

“I don’t want to work at a coffee shop,” I continue. “I want to work at this coffee shop.”

“Why?”

Because I go to Carter University. Take pity on me?

The sentence sounds good in my head, but I edit it a bit before it comes out of my mouth.

“I’m desperate to work off campus.” It does sound a little too desperate.

“Off what campus?” Asher’s eyes make quick work of dissecting my face. He knows what campus, I’m sure of it, but he wants to hear me say it.

I clear my throat. “I’m a student at Carter. There are very few places approved for off-campus employment. This is one of those places, as I’m sure you’re aware, and I just…I need to work here.”

“Freshman?” he asks with a tone that suggests he knows the answer.

“Isn’t it obvious? My cheeks are probably still pink from being slapped with the handbook.”

At this, Asher throws his head back and bellows a laugh that nearly silences the full shop. “You’re hired.”

My eyes widen and I jump. “Are you serious?”

Asher extends his hand across the bar. I shake it as he licks his lips and grins. “Chelsea told me you stopped your friend when she was talking God stuff to a patron.”

I roll my eyes, thinking back to Joy’s shock-evangelism from yesterday. “That girl is not my friend.”

He rocks his head from one side to the other. “Still, that’s the kind of boldness we need behind the counter. Not just for the CU students who use this place to proselytize, either. There are bars nearby and we don’t always serve a sober crowd.”

“Excellent,” I assert.

While it makes me uncomfortable that Joy is not an anomaly with her “Follow Jesus or you’re going to hell,” campaign, I do find comfort in the fact that I was able to diffuse the situation.

“What?” Asher asks, trying to follow my line of vision.

While Word is lined wall-to-wall with shelves of used books, the one immediately to the left of the drink pick-up station piques my interest. It’s the Spirituality section. I wander over to it and note that it’s divided into Fiction, which includes some Christian romance, fantasy books that hover around Wicca, and Nonfiction. This shelf houses various Bible study books plus biographies and autobiographies on everyone from Jesus to Muhammad to the Dalai Lama. As my fingers graze the bindings of the books, I pause. Not over the Bible—which is not out of place to me in the Nonfiction section—but over the Koran, The Book of Mormon, and a Pagan spell book.

“Interesting,” I whisper.

“Isn’t it?” Asher asks with a chuckle.

Turning around, I see him standing a few feet back from me with his arms crossed.

“Decided to go all-in with the nonfiction category, huh?”

He shrugs and I can’t really read his face. Men’s faces are notoriously hard for me to read. They always look tired, hungry, or both. “We had to move this whole section over here to keep an eye on it.”