Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father(66)

We went on a date and back to his house one Saturday night during winter break. We kissed our way through the motions and quickly found ourselves with our shirts off, skin touching skin, as usual. And, as usual, he reached for the button on my pants, and I began the dance of slapping his hand away. It escalated quickly, Trent complaining at how tired he was of waiting for me to be ready. Then, he tried to pin my wrists down, telling me he just wanted to play. But it hurt. His hands were wrapped around my wrists so tightly I couldn’t even make a fist.

“Trent! Stop!” I screamed at my max volume right away, scaring both of us.

My heart raced as I collected my things and ran out of his house without a word. He came to my house a few days later, horrifically apologetic. I told him I didn’t want to see him anymore, that sex was clearly more important to him than I was, and he should enjoy the remainder of his senior year with all the sex he pleased. He begged and I cried, and in the end it was just that. The end.

The rumor mill ran its course for the rest of break, especially since I attended Jessica Shell’s New Year’s Eve party without him, but by the time we got back to school, everyone had moved on. Except Trent. He went through the rest of the school year without asking anyone else out on a date.

Once in a while he’ll “like” something of mine on Facebook, but we don’t really talk much. And I still haven’t had sex, because it’s hard for me to separate what happened that night from what sex is supposed to be like.

“Yo!” Someone whistles and snaps their fingers in my face. “You with us?”

With the real world coming into focus around me, I feel throngs of people pushing past me as they head for food. Roland is standing front of me with a slightly concerned smile on his face.

“Yo?” I question, forcing a smile of my own.

He chuckles. “Are you okay? You seemed kind of lost there.”

Moving to walk inside, I motion for Roland to follow me. “Just lost thinking about an old boyfriend,” I admit, trying not to sound too burned.

“Ah,” he replies. “Not really sure how to respond here.”

I laugh. “Like Pastor Roland Abbot, I guess.”

We reach for our plates at the salad bar and begin piling them with leafy vegetables.

“In that case,” he sounds mildly relieved, “I have to tell you I’m a fan of courtship.”

I drop my tongs and stare at him like a train wreck is happening on his face. “You’re kidding. Do you think people should save their first kisses for marriage, too?”

“I didn’t say that,” he replies with a small laugh. “Courtship is about more than kissing or sex.”

“So is dating,” I challenge, nodding for him to follow me.

I’m comfortable asking him to come sit with me and my friends—who I’ve spotted at a table in the middle of the crowd—because Roland has made it a point of being a very accessible member of the faculty. And clergy.

Wait, it’s not called clergy here. What is it?

The point is, Roland is frequently seen dining with groups of students, or even one-on-one. We’ve never shared a meal together in Mission Hall, but I’m feeling confident enough at this point to do so. We have an easy banter between us that no longer reeks of awkwardness, and I’ve gotten good at making up reasons for our chats in case anyone should ask. No one has, which is a relief, but it’s best to be on the safe side.

“Look who I found,” I say to the table as I sit and point to Roland.

Most freshmen at Carter have a similar schedule. The school is small enough to work it that way, so we almost always have lunch at the same time. Sometimes I long to dine alone, but I know self-isolating would just garner me more attention.

“Pastor Roland,” Jonah says, standing to shake his hand.

“Good to see you, Jonah,” Roland replies. “I’m looking forward to seeing you with the band on Sunday.”

My eyes widen and I smile broadly at Jonah. “You didn’t tell us you’re finally playing!”

Jonah grins like he’s blushing, but his skin tone remains even. “Thanks.”

“Where’s Eden?” I question, noting that Jonah is flanked by Silas and Matt.

“She’s volunteering at Planned Parenthood today.”

Everyone carries on as though this is a normal conversation.

“I—” I sputter out a few more consonants before settling on, “What?!”

Jonah looks up from his plate. “Huh?”

“She’s volunteering at Planned Parenthood? Isn’t that, like…”

Quick, answer me before I have to finish the sentence.

“Pamphlets,” Silas cuts in. “Bridgette is with her. They found out about it at some student activity meeting.”

I arch my eyebrow, imploring more information.

“Don’t kill your baby pamphlets, Kennedy,” Matt blurts out with a challenging half-grin on this lips.

Despite the crude nature of his reply, I appreciate the direction. “Oh,” I reply. “Got it.”

“You don’t have to be so vulgar, Matty,” Roland says while chewing on some salad.

Vulgar? Matty?

Matt used language that I’ve heard for several weeks at Carter; it came as no surprise to me. That Roland is asking him to tone it down does come as somewhat of a shock, despite his tendency to lean left. But Matty?