Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father(70)

I shake my head. “Not now, Eden. I just want to go, k? Besides,” I look to the sky, which is greying by the second, “it looks like it’s going to rain.”

Matt retains his position next to me, but doesn’t try to hold my hand. I kind of wish he would, but I’ve depleted all of my emotional energy for the day, so making the move myself isn’t currently an option.

Making our way to Word, Eden recounts the events of the sidewalk to Jonah and Silas who, apparently, were there to hear my plea to the nameless women that they call me or visit me at work.

“She told them where she works?” Silas whispers.

Then, I do reach for Matt’s hand. He’s ready, and takes it without making a scene about it, or even looking at me. He understands. I need to hold on to someone who understands me and where I come from. Even if I’m not sure where he comes from. Or where he wants to go.





“I didn’t realize your mom was that kind of policymaker.” Eden is the first to speak after several minutes of heated silence in Word. Thankfully, my latte has enough caffeine and sugar to buffer me against the sting of her emotions.

“Seriously?” I ask, annoyed. “That’s what you took from that whole thing? That my mom supports women’s rights?”

Eden looks wounded, and I immediately feel bad. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she whispers.

“I’m sorry.” I sit forward and put my hand on hers. “I’m just…that was the most stressful thing I’ve ever done, I think.”

“It’s okay,” she replies, and I believe her. “It just confused me more about you. Like, if you were raised in a home and church like yours, what really would make you come here?”

Matt’s eyes fix on me intensely as Eden speaks.

He knows.

He has to know about Roland being my dad, or he wouldn’t care so much about this topic. It makes sense, now, why he was so willing to go to Bible study with me without much of a fight. He really did want to see how I fit in. And to be close enough to Roland that Roland calls him Matty—of all things… And Matt called him Roland. Not Pastor Roland like the rest of us—including myself in mixed company. Crap. He definitely knows. I keep my eyes on him while I swallow, trying to communicate that I know he knows. Either he’s not receiving my signal or he has an excellent poker face, because nothing about his expression changes.

“I needed more Jesus,” I say, turning my attention back to the table. “I needed more than I was getting at home. And more than I’d get from any of the Ivy League schools that accepted me.” While this is true now, it only became true half an hour ago. They don’t need to know that, though.

“Which ones did you get accepted to?” Jonah asks.

While this is hardly the point, I’m relieved to answer an easy question. “The three I applied to. Dartmouth, Yale, and Cornell.”

Silas’s eyebrows lift almost to his hairline and he whistles. “Wow.”

I don’t respond. Instead, I watch the faces of everyone at the table except Matt, who is next to me. They’re all looking at me and then at each other, or just looking down. Eye contact seems incredibly difficult. It’s not like I stood there proclaiming the name of Satan, yet they can’t look at me? I did the right thing, didn’t I?

I don’t get it. Until I hear Chelsea’s voice behind me as she clears tables. “Holy shit, is that Kennedy looking punked out and sexy?” My cheeks burn and I whip around to face her. She gives me the thumbs up and moves on to another table.

In the emotional upheaval of the aftermath, I’d completely forgotten what I looked like. Which is likely why my friends were having a hard time holding a conversation with me. I’m irritated.

“Oh, God,” I huff, pulling the elastic from the back of my shirt. “Whatever. It’s just clothes.” Pulling my shirt down and my skirt up, I opt to leave my hair messy and my lip ring in. Just for now. I care so little about demerits at the moment it’s almost startling. I hold out my hands. “Better now?” I snap.

Matt puts a gentle hand on my shoulder and, without saying a word, I understand his intent.

“Sorry,” I mumble to everyone. “Can you tell me why you guys were shoving those pictures into everyone’s faces?” I ask of Bridgette and Eden. “Is that seriously what the school handed out to you?”

Bridgette starts. “They have lots of different things we can choose from. Those seemed the most shocking.”

“You think?”

She winces against my tone.

“And you,” I address Eden. “Going with just Bridgette when you know how testy this protesting stuff can be?”

Eden is less than affected by my words. She straightens her shoulders. “It’s in the name of Jesus, Kennedy. The outcome is governed by God, and I felt protected.”

“And if you got hurt?” I challenge.

She shrugs. She fricken shrugs. “If I’m hurt standing up for my beliefs, isn’t that better than staying mark-free in hiding?”

My mouth drops open. I think back to Roland’s mission trip to Africa, one I haven’t asked him about in detail. I know the horror stories of missionaries dying on the front lines of God’s war, but was Roland a soldier, too? Was everyone around me truly willing to die for this?