Jesus Freaks: The Prodigal (Jesus Freaks #2)(71)

My ears burn, but I silently beg my cheeks to maintain their grip. Roland remains straight-faced as he slowly shifts in his seat to face me. Yes, he must have experience in poker. Or blackjack. He must be fuming, or exclaiming something inside, but he looks collected, rational, and calm.

“Kennedy?” he asks simply. “What’s this about?”

That’s what the hell I’d like to know.

Instead, I tilt my head and throw it back to Dean Baker. “A party? When?”

Challenge him. Cautiously.

Dean Baker lifts his chin, which annoys me. “Rumor has it, it was at a very large estate, and there was alcohol served.”

Roland shifts again, but I take a deep breath, focusing on the prize. Making Dean Baker look foolish.

“The only party I attended was at my mother’s house for Thanksgiving dinner. My sister and her fiancé were in attendance, as was my stepdad and my grandfather. Wine was served, if that’s what you’re referring to. I’m sorry,” I furrow my brow to exaggerate my confusion, “did someone send you pictures, or something? Because the last time that happened—”

“Don’t toy with me, Miss Sawyer,” Baker snaps without a single ounce of grace.

Roland stands so quickly it makes me lightheaded. “I suggest you don’t speak to her that way Dean Baker.” His tone is protectively dark, and his nostrils flare. This isn’t a side of Roland I’ve ever seen, or expected to see.

Dean Baker arches his eyebrow, and addresses me with what little composure he can muster. “There are no pictures, no. And,” he clears his throat in an effort to sound sincere, rather than cover up his misstep, “I hope you know we would take something like that under serious consideration before bringing you in here.”

“Then why are we in here?” Roland asks, only sitting once Dean Baker does.

“There was talk,” Dean Baker finally admits. “That yo daughter was at a party of some very wealthy high school friends with inattentive parents. Alcohol, drugs, and Lord knows what else was goin’ on there.”

At this point, I don’t know, or care, if word got back to Dean Baker. He’s smart enough to read Wikipedia and discover the average household income of my hometown, and he’s no doubt watched enough network television to make assumptions about the “unsaved” to garner a wild guess as to what I’d be doing during my time away form campus. Despite having gone to that party at Trent’s parents’ house, I didn’t do anything wrong. Explaining that, though, if I admit that I’d been there at all, would be a mountain I’m not yet equipped to climb. Instead, I’ll stay with my denial tactic.

“You can call my mother,” I interject. “She can account for my whereabouts for the entire break. I spent most of it on the couch eating sugar.” I flick my left eyebrow upward, challenging him to push me.

He leans forward, miraculously interlacing his fingers. “Evidence aside, Miss Sawyer, if there’s enough talk about concerning behavior, we have to investigate.”

“That makes her sound like a criminal,” Roland challenges.

Dean Baker straightens his shoulders. “Not at all, Pastor Abbot. The safety and security of our students is our top priority.”

And sanctity, I think, almost mumbling it.

“What we’re inclined to do,” he continues, “is send a chaperone home with Kennedy for the break.”

“You’re kidding.” Roland laughs. “That’s unheard of. She’ll be with her mother.”

“Who works a full-time job,” Baker shoots back. “And for our students with both parents working outside the home, the university sometimes sends prayer buddies home with them on breaks or long weekends, to help them maintain the moral code the university prides itself on.”

Friggen prayer buddies?

Regardless of how comical the whole situation sounds, I can’t have someone come home with me. I can’t have a shadow while Mollie tells me the dirty tales from her dorm, or while I discuss my own very savory thoughts about men around campus, or my general critical thinking around the rules, the classes, or—God help me—the Bible.

Roland holds up his hand. “So far during her time at Carter University, Kennedy has endured slander by a dorm mate, intense scrutiny and national attention, and unfair treatment from at least one of her professors.” My mouth falls open as Roland talks. I don’t know how he knows about Professor Towne, but in this moment I’m grateful. “As far as I can tell, if she chose to walk away at the end of this semester and attend another school, what would she have to say about Carter and how the love of Christ was bestowed on her?”

My eyes sting with tears brewing from an unfamiliar emotion toward Roland. Not only is he sticking up for me right now, but he’s been paying attention—detailed attention—all along. He’s been watching over me and I haven’t known. As unsettled as this may have once made me feel, it does something much more to my heart in this moment.

Dean Baker lips. “Pastor Abbot, rules are rules. Kennedy has been lax in her mid-week church attendance, has had a handful of foul-language demerits, and now there’s talk about her attending parties she has no business attending. If this were any other student, we would be offering the same pastoral care. Shepherding.”

Roland opens his mouth, but I cut in. “Can I choose my chaperone? I don’t want just anyone hanging out in my house.”