Jesus Freaks: The Prodigal (Jesus Freaks #2)(26)

“Now, Miss Sawyer,” he drawls out. He says my last name the same way everyone south of the Mason-Dixon line does. Really they just say it the way it’s spelled. Emphasis on the “saw” and not “soy”, like I say it. Like it’s actually pronounced.

He clears his throat again, but to no avail. “I’m sure you know we’re here to discuss your unfortunate dealin’s with Joy Martinez.”

“Yes.” I nod. “Because she spread a vicious rumor about me and slandered Pastor Roland.” I don’t like the way he’s looking at me—condemning—so I feel the need to remind him exactly what it was that happened between me and Joy. And, there really was no between. She was the perpetrator and I was the victim.

“Mmhmm,” he mumbles dismissively. “But first I want to talk to you about your Old Testament class with Professor Towne.”

Oh what now?

“Okay …” I trail off, uncertain where he’s going.

“Seems on Monday you cracked a joke about the lion’s den, disruptin’ yo class?”

Despite myself I laugh. It just shot its way through my chest and out of my mouth. I’d honestly forgotten about my quip days ago. The rest of this week has been filled with curious stares from CU students I don’t know in the dining halls, friend requests on Facebook from just as many, and whispers and giggles as I walk by groups of students. Those mainly come from the freshman, and I’m thankful that the upperclassmen have the clout to at least pretend to be interested in me before fishing for information. The point? I’d left Monday’s OT class exactly where it sat. On Monday. To be discussing “the matter” so seriously on Friday seems trivial.

“Somethin’ funny, Miss Sawyer?”

I do wish he could pronounce his G’s.

“Dean Baker,” I start with renewed poise. “With all due respect, I was put on the spot after Professor Towne made a snide remark about Roland being my father, and—”

“Are you suggestin’ that a member of our faculty is disrespectful to the students?” His face slowly reddens from the chin up, like his Indignation Meter might blow his head off should the crimson reach his snow-white hairline.

I take a deep breath, assessing my options for response. “No,” I settle on, feeling defeated.

“Professor Towne was simply makin’ a point that you will receive no further special treatment because of who your father is.”

“Further?” I interject.

An aged caterpillar of an eyebrow flexes upward as he supports himself on his desk to get to his feet. Once this task is complete—and it does look like a task for the sphere of a man—he wobbles his way to the picture window that overlooks campus. As gracefully as one can wobble, I suppose.

Gesturing to the landscape three stories below us, Dean Baker speaks again. “Kennedy,” he uses my name for the first time, “what do you see out here?”

Glued to my seat, I take a shot. “Carter University.”

He snaps his fingers, a mocking smile on his face. “Carter University. Now, what can you tell me about Carter University? About it’s history.” He paces in front of the window, his hands behind his back.

I suppress the sigh so desperate to be heard. “It was founded in 1925 by Jedediah Carter,” I start.

Dean Baker waves his hand and leans against the window. Meanwhile, I pray the glass can support him. “Yes, yes.” He sounds impatient despite my correct answer to his question. Maybe because of. “I mean biblically.”

“I …” My eyes widen, and suddenly it becomes very clear that I’m not here to discuss Joy, or the wrongs done against me, at all.

“Carter University was founded on sound biblical principles. We are a Bible-based university, Miss Sawyer. We follow the words written in that book, and the university was designed around filtering all of its principles into every subject it instructs.”

I nod. “Yes,” I assure him, “I know.”

Dean Baker heaves himself forward and resumes his pacing in front of the oversized window. “What you may or may not know, Ms. Sawyer, is that the university has come under great scrutiny in the last decade.”

No shit.

He continues, pacing. “Some coming from liberal Christians, claiming we’re too exclusive—that we aren’t interpreting Jesus’ words accurately and are hurting millions of self-identified Christians in doing so.” He chuckles a little and I kind of want him to fall. Not out the window, or anything, but just … down. It would be interesting to watch him get up.

“I’m aware of the controversies,” I respond when his silence grows a little too heavy.

“The other camp,” he resumes, “are the Evangelicals. The ones this university was founded to serve.”

I thought it was founded to serve Christ.

Say it.

Shh.

“This group, you see, thinks we’re moving too far to the left. A direction, you see, they believe was most highlighted when New Life hired Roland Abbot as pastor and the university board tapped him to be the spiritual liaison, and gave him a few upper-level classes, to boot.”

“Forgive me for speaking out of turn,” I interrupt through the pounding in my chest. This guy gives me the creeps. “But I’m failing to see what this has to do with Joy spreading vicious, sexualized lies about me.”