Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father(75)

Throughout the semester I’ve ignored friend requests from everyone at Carter, including my roommates and close friends like Silas and Jonah. I told them all that there is zero censoring among my secular friends, and I didn’t think it was wise for me to mix the two. That was true, but in reality it was me who didn’t want to mix the two in my head. A decision I’m regretting now. I haven’t let anyone all the way in. I’ve sent texts to my roommates assuring them that I’m fine and I’ll get ahold of them as soon as I can. I hated sending a second text asking them not to talk to any news outlets that got ahold of them, but Jahara insisted.

Scrolling through the names on my request list, I see that they’re mostly CU students. There are new request notifications beeping through my phone every few seconds, including friends of high school friends who must be hearing things through the gossip mill.

A thousand damned friend requests, I text to Mollie, who I’ve been in constant text contact with for the last hour.

Maggie: Why is your page still public?

Me: I only have my phone. Can’t change privacy settings with this piece of shit app.

Maggie: Nice language ;) Use Roland’s computer.

“Can I use your computer?” I ask, looking up from my phone. “I need to change my Facebook settings.”

“Sure. It’s in my office. Help yourself.”

“Told you,” Matt teases. “Most popular girl on campus.”

“It’s not funny,” I snap as I leave the room.

Sitting at the computer, I navigate to Facebook. While on my phone, I didn’t look at my actual wall, given I was sidetracked by the sheer number of friend requests, so I take a minute to peruse the messages posted by people out there.

Is it true? A girl from my high school band posted in an attempt to be cryptic.

Several CU students posted pictures of the flyer Joy handed out. Beneath each of them were a varied array of comments.

Sinner.

Repent.

This is what CU is coming to? Looks like I’ll have to transfer.

Whore.

Whore. Someone who calls God their personal friend called me a whore. Luckily, a few posts down, someone called them out on it.

Number one, don’t call her a whore. Or anyone, for that matter. Number two, why don’t we wait for the real story before we get all up in arms? Let’s pray for them, guys. Come on, we’re better than this.

I click on that person, Danielle Market, and see they’ve friend requested me as well. I accept her request and send her a quick message that just says “thank you.”

The messages higher up on my newsfeed, posted after my outburst in Mission Hall, are completely different.

Crap, Kennedy, are you serious? That guy’s your dad?

I’m sorry for the things I said about you a few minutes ago. Forgive me.

It’s all mind-numbing, so I quickly accept requests from Bridgette, Eden, Jonah, Silas, Maggie, Matt, and Roland, before making my page as un-public as possible. I also completely delete my Twitter and Instagram accounts for good measure. I haven’t used those sites at all since arriving at CU anyway.

I walk back into the living room to find three men in suits who weren’t there when I retreated to Roland’s office. I recognize them from New Life, but I’m not entirely sure what their roles are or why it’s necessary for them to be here.

“Kennedy,” Roland hurries over to me, gesturing to the starched-looking trio, “these are a few Elders from New Life. Rich, Chris, and Zeke. They’re here to help us figure out the next step.”

Rich is a short, stout white man with thinning hair. He looks to be in his late sixties. Chris is younger, but how much so is hard to tell given what great shape he’s in. He’s tall, like Roland, with hair similar to his as well, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s putting himself on a pastoral track. Zeke, whose name is probably Ezekiel, is the youngest of the bunch. His skin is the color of charcoal, and when he says “hello,” I think I detect a slight French accent.

I offer them a polite wave, but speak only to Roland. “Can we go outside for a second to talk?” My voice sounds startlingly tired.

Amidst various vocal protests from Jahara and the three wise men, Roland takes my hand and leads me to a back porch I didn’t know existed.

“Thank you,” I whisper, sitting on a porch swing. “I need a minute.”

“Of course.” Roland nods and leans against the railing, facing me.

“Mom’s on her way.” I don’t say my mom, and I don’t have the energy to correct myself.

“I know,” he replies. “We’ve been texting.”

“She’s pissed.”

“I know. So am I. Kennedy,” Roland drops his hands to his sides and lowers his head, “I’m so sorry. I never meant for things to spiral out of con—”

I put up my hand, stopping him. “This isn’t your fault, Roland. You didn’t have Joy spy on us or make that vile poster. If anything, I’m sorry. I should have let you tell people about me. About us. Maybe I should have been honest with everyone from the start.”

Roland gestures to the space on the swing next to me and I nod, allowing him to sit. “You were doing what you thought was right, Kennedy. I don’t blame you. You were protecting yourself.”

“I did a bang-up job of that.” I look up to see the stars, but am greeted with a roof and some ceiling fans. Only in the south would there be ceiling fans outside. “So, what now?” I sigh. “What do Jahara and all the suits say?”