Jesus Freaks: The Prodigal (Jesus Freaks #2)(38)

“Sorry, I’ve been … busy.”

Matt tilts his head in question, and I pick up my bag, directing us to a bench that’s freed itself of what I hope to be the last group of CU students passing through here today.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, bending forward to stretch once more before sitting gain.

“I, Ms. Valedictorian, am taking the train home.”

“Jerk.” I stick out my tongue and playfully smack his shoulder.

Matt sits next to me, but the strange thing is, when our legs brush against each other, he slides over a few inches.

Staring at the new, weird space between our bodies, I stare at him blankly. “I don’t have cooties, promise. I was just tested.”

He chuckles somewhat nervously, not changing his position before changing the subject. “Busy doing what?” He redirects our conversation.

“Oh! Right. Well, I don’t know if this is CU-legal, or whatever, or if it’ll make you uncomfortable, but … look at these.” I thumb my way back to my most recent Facebook stalking session, open the album “Fall Semester” from Dawn Davis—in our class’s top ten—and hand my phone to Matt.

His eyes take a moment to focus on the screen, and when they finally do, he immediately looks at me. “What? What is this?”

He’s now holding my phone like it’s a bomb, making strong eye contact with me as he awaits his answer.

“It’s someone from my high school. Who goes to UMass Amherst.”

“That is at college? That looks like something you’d see in a movie about college.” He sets the phone on my lap and runs his palms on the front of his jeans.

“Hey,” I place a hand on his shoulder, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I’m just … kind of freaking out.”

Matt exhales and runs a hand over his face, then slowly picks my phone back up. “What’s wrong, K. Sawyer?”

Internally, I sigh a bit of relief. For a moment there, I thought Matt would run for the hills, thinking I was showing him porn. But, his use of my nickname—one he created, no less—calms me.

“I’m weirded out. Like, I knew the stereotypes of college, too, but it was never an option for me when I enrolled here. If I went to UMass with Dawn, would I be next to her in this picture?” I point to her bedazzled denim hot pants as Exhibit A.

Setting down the phone on the bench between us, Matt folds his hands in front of him and leans his elbows on his knees. “You’re worried about what might have happened?”

Mimicking his position, I don’t offer a verbal answer. I let us sit in silence since I feel his question is more rhetorical.

“Kennedy,” he sighs, “if you wanted to behave that way, you would have found a way by now.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sitting up, I lean against the back of the bench and tuck my knees into my chest—making sure my skirt is tucked around my body.

Matt stays forward. “I mean, if you wanted to go out and drink, you would have. You’re in town enough, and have plenty of opportunity. More than a lot of other kids on campus.”

“Yeah,” I huff, “if I want to get kicked out of school. I’m not exactly CU’s most low-profile student. And, anyway, it’s against all the rules, and stuff. I don’t really know anyone off campus, anyway, besides who I work with.”

He laughs and finally sits up. “Logistics aside—because you do know a ton of people off campus—do you think no one at school does that kind of stuff?” He gestures flippantly toward the phone.



My eyes bug from my head. “Uh …”



“Okay, maybe not that.” His smile broadens and I take a second to admire the tiny creases on the edges of his eyes. One of the side effects of living somewhere with sunshine most of the year. “But kids drink. Not a lot of them, but they do.”

“Who? The football players?”

“Nice,” he muses. “Some of them, and some other kids. Just … people.”

“And you know this because …”

“I’m not naive,” he quips.

I shoot him a dirty look.

Matt holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. I know this because, yes, I have gone to a couple of parties with guys from the football team.”

“How does no one get caught?”

He shrugs. “Grace?”

“Matt!” I slap his shoulder.

“Stop hitting me!” he teases.

“I’m serious!”

“So am I.” He takes a deep breath and seems to regroup. “We’re college kids, Kennedy. We’re supposed to test stuff.”

“But, Jesus …” I’m a little more serious than I thought I’d be when I planned that sentence in my head.

Matt shrugs. “Some of your friends are Christian, right? The ones doing the body shots?”

My mouth hangs open. “I’m sorry, I’m hung up on your proper use of the term body shots.”

“I’m from the South, Kennedy, not under a rock.”

I arch an eyebrow to give a quick retort, but he cuts me off.

“Don’t even,” he warns.

“Okay,” I take a deep breath, “so I know that now no one is likely to invite me to one of these … gatherings. Because, Roland. But, why didn’t anyone before? Like, when they thought I was the scary Pagan from New England?”