Jesus Freaks: The Prodigal (Jesus Freaks #2)

by Andrea Randall

  Please stop putting your hands all over me.

  He doesn’t hear my silent prayer. Instead, he leans forward and positions his lips an inch away from my ear. “One of these days you’re going to give me a second chance, Kennedy.”

  I turn my face toward him, so he can see my grin. “You’re awfully sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

  He grins back, and slides his hand briefly over my butt before reaching past me and opening the door.

  Reentering the party, I immediately make my way to Mollie. “I’m leaving. Are you coming?” It’s not really a question since we never leave a party without each other.

  “Yes. Assholes are lame,” she bemoans as loudly as possible.

  A few minutes later, once we’re back on the road and I’m thankful that the interior of my car appears pee-free, I let out a frustrated growl.

  “So,” Mollie feigns disinterest, “did you have a nice chat with Trent?”

  I puff my cheeks like I’m going to throw up. “He was trying to be all sweet and swoony and he just came off like the ass he’s always been.”

  “And I’m sure it seems dialed up since you’ve changed so much, even if he’s remained the same.”

  “What?” I whip my head toward her. “I’ve changed so much?”

  Mollie shrugs. “Calm down. I mean … like … in this context. Come on, Kennedy. Sure you’re lip is still pierced and you let your hair do that messy wavy bedroom-looking thing you do, but look at what you’re wearing. You’ve worn less to church before. I’ve seen it. Sundresses, much?”

  “It’s thirty degrees, Mollie.”

  She waves her hand. “I’m not saying it’s bad. I’m just … saying.”

  “Saying what? That my clothes are different?”

  “And you immediately clammed up when we walked into Trent’s. You seemed insecure sort of, and you were staring at everyone. I get you were nervous that they’d be staring at you, but you seemed like you were looking at a circus side show.”

  It’s amazing how a few months can change things so drastically. In September, it was my CU friends who were in line next to the Bearded Lady. Tonight, it’s my high school friends. Revealing clothing, underage drinking, and undiscussed drug use. What was once taken for granted in my everyday life now sits unsettled in my stomach.

  I just want to go home. And, horrifyingly, back to CU to finish out the semester.

  “Just don’t change too much, okay?” Mollie begs cheerfully. “I need my snarky best friend to make fun of everyone with me, okay?”

  I force a grin. “Of course. Who else can I talk to about what the hell Tara is always doing with her damn hair?”

  In a chorus of giggles, Mollie and I make our way back to my house talking about who’s gained weight, lost weight, and seemingly changed genders or sexuality. Mostly, conversations I never have with my CU friends.

  Still, I’m missing them now. Badly. Especially Matt, who wouldn’t dream of putting his hands all over me and dragging me around like Trent did tonight. All except that one time he threw me over his shoulder and raced me to his dorm. The thought puts a contented smile on my face.

  “Nice face,” Mollie calls me out. “Did Trent’s lips really feel that good on your forehead?”

  I flip her the middle finger and turn down my driveway, longing for the security my CU friends offer me.

  Mollie aside, I don’t want to be one of these people anymore.

  I’m not sure I want to be one of those people either, thinking through my classes and the people in them.

  Sigh.

  I miss Matt.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Just Tonight

  Matt.

  One might think that an entire semester of Old Testament class might be able to cover, you know, the whole Old Testament.

  That person would be wrong.

  Fighting to keep my eyes open in the middle of our second week back from Thanksgiving break, I’m also fighting to rid my mind of the images from that night at The Pink Pony.

  I can’t ever do that again.

  Whatever high I thought I felt that night while falling asleep was obliterated by sickening regret as soon as the sun rose. I didn’t sleep much that night, and what sleep I did get was littered with dreams of images I shouldn’t be seeing anywhere, never mind my subconscious. The next morning it was easy enough to lie my way out of why I hadn’t shown up at the Homecoming party.

  Of course, Brad Jenks’ mom had called my mom, asking where I’d been. With a simple wave of my hand, I told them I ended up going out for a drive, exhausted from a long semester at school.

  I couldn’t look my mom in the eye.

  Right now, though, the only thing keeping my eyes open and focused during class is Kennedy. She’s taken to sitting next to me every class, and even though I haven’t talked that much with her since we arrived back on campus, it’s comforting to have her nearby.

  With her eyes forward on the professor, she lightly elbows me and slides her notebook to the left side of her desk, allowing me to see her writing on the page: You’re staring at me. Don’t be weird. Flickering my eyes back to her face, I watch half of her mouth turn up into a grin.

  To be honest, I’ve thought she’s been a bit weird since break. Quieter, not scrunching her eyebrows and forehead as much, and seemingly more peaceful. Not that I don’t want any of these things for her, but she’s not really indicated a reason for the sudden change in her demeanor.

  I have a million things I want to write back to her. Like, of course I’m staring at you, you’re gorgeous. But, that would be inappropriate. I have no business going after a preacher’s daughter. Not when I think God can take a flying leap. Even if I don’t know exactly where Kennedy’s heart’s at right now, I know where mine is, and no one should come within ten-feet of it.

  I haven’t prayed in weeks. During nightly floor prayers, my mind keeps going back to the girls on the stage at the strip club. How did they get there? Why are they staying there? What did I hope to find there? I know I said I could never go there again, but, really, I’m visiting that place in my mind every few minutes—seconds—during the day. Maybe I really am exactly like my father, after all. Some sick anti-hero in God’s bullshit of a play.

  “Mr. Wells?” Professor Towne calls from the front of the room.

  Because he can’t ever just leave me alone.

  “Yes sir?”

  “You’re looking a little ill. Are you feeling okay?”

  Chairs creak as the entire class turns back to assess me. Casting a side-glance at Kennedy, I clear my throat and stand.

  “No. Sorry, Professor Towne, but I have to go.” Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I step over the back of my seat and beat it to the nearest exit.

  I have two hours to kill before my next class, and usually have lunch soon, but I’m far from hungry right now. Lowering my head, I begin my trek across campus. I don’t make it far before I hear Jonah’s voice.

  “Matt, wait up,” he calls calmly.

  I like Jonah, and have no reason to want to be an ass to him, so I stop my feet and turn around. Unfortunately, Silas is with him. It’s not like I don’t like Silas—okay, I don’t like Silas. He’s massively uptight and always looks at everyone like he’s better than they are. I should cut him a little slack, though, since he seems to have loosened up a bit since break.

  It’s amazing what can happen in four days.

  “You guys should still be in class.” I nod toward the building I just exited.

  “Professor Towne excused us,” Silas says. “He wanted us to make sure you were okay.”

  I meet Jonah’s eyes, look at Silas, and back to Jonah. Trying to ask Jonah what, exactly, Silas is doing here. Jonah shoots me a sympathetic grin and offers a shrug, seeming to completely understand my thoughts. I don’t even know what I would say to Jonah if we were alone, but I know it’s roughly a hundred-times worse than what I’ll say with Father Silas here.

  “Look, Silas,” I huff,
“I’m not in the mood for a mini sermon right now, okay?”

  Silas’ eyes fall to the sidewalk and he closes his eyes, taking a slow breath.

  “I know,” he says softly. “I’m sorry, man.”

  Jonah and I look at Silas with identical shock.

  “What?” Jonah asks.

  Silas shrugs, making eye contact with both of us as he speaks. “I’m sorry for how I’ve acted so far this semester, guys. I’ve been working up the courage to speak out about it at the prayer meetings, but I’ve been afraid, honestly. I’ve acted so foolishly … I’m sorry. I think I was just overwhelmed by a lot of things when I got to school and I went into hyper-protective mode, or something.”

  My mouth falls open a little as I watch Silas repent for being … Silas. Or, what I thought was Silas, which, it seems, was not.

  “What changed?” Jonah asks, taking over for my inability to speak.

  Silas folds his long, lanky body onto a nearby bench. Jonah sits on the other end of the bench, while I keep my feet in place, facing them.

  “When I went home for break, I had a long talk with my dad. He’s been through all of this before—going out on his own and dealing with temptation, new situations … everything. We prayed a lot together and, you know my sister, man, she’s so great. Such a servant’s heart in her. She prayed with me a few times, too, and helped me see that I need to repent.”

  Repentance.

  Such a tenuous concept in the Christian tradition. While most people, Christian or not, recognize the term to mean admitting when one has done something wrong, most people—Christian or not—miss the second part. Changing the behavior that caused the need to repent in the first place. It’s not enough to say sorry. This. This is at the crux of my rapidly disintegrating relationship with my father. His in-friggen-ability to turn away from sin. Or his unwillingness.

  But, in front of me, Silas exhibits what I deem to be the face of someone shoulder-deep in repentance. Humility rather than guilt, determination rather than condescension.

  “I’ve been harsh and unforgiving,” Silas continues his confession as classes begin to let out around us. “And, in doing so, I’ve been putting blocks up between me and God, and me and you guys. Matt,” Silas stands and puts a hand on my shoulder, “I’m sorry. Even if I don’t agree with all of your words and actions, I shouldn’t have come down so hard on you every chance I got. I’ve been missing the point, man and I’m really sorry.”

  I shrug, offering a firm handshake. “Thanks, man,” I reply. “I really appreciate it.”

  “Me, too,” Jonah adds, standing. “We’ve all got to help each other, but I admit I haven’t done a great job of that myself. I should have pulled you aside and talked about what was going on with you, Si. I’m sorry, too.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Kennedy making a beeline toward us. Knowing her, she’s going to want to crawl inside my head and pick out all the reasons I’ve been standoffish in the last couple of weeks. I don’t want her to see what’s in there. She’s too good for that, and if she saw what was in there, she’d flee. And she’d be right to; my moods and actions have been inconsistent. While it’s unfair to her, I don’t really have any appropriate answers. So, I need to avoid her until I get my head on straight.

  “I’ve gotta get going, guys. I’ve got Statistics now. See you at lunch?” I barely await their affirmative responses before turning back down the sidewalk for my next class.

  A mass of students crowds the sidewalk full within seconds, and I hope to blend into the crowd and make it safely to my stats class without much fanfare.

  “Matt!” Kennedy calls over the crowd. “Wait!”

  Crap.

  I try to ignore her, but the honest concern in her voice is too much to ignore. She may deserve better than me as a friend, but that doesn’t mean I have to prove it every chance I get.

  “Matt, stop!” she pleads again.

  To avoid a pileup of annoyed students in the middle of the sidewalk, I step to the side and lean against a large tree as nonchalantly as possible.

  “What’s up?” I ask casually.

  Kennedy’s face tightens as she pushes my shoulder. “Don’t what’s up me. What the he—ck is wrong with you? You haven’t stopped by the coffee shop when I’m working, and you were MIA from Bible study last week. What’s wrong with you? Did I do something to ... I don’t know ... offend you? Though I find that hard to believe since you’ve been staring at me all weird for the last week.”

  “Sorry,” I blurt out faster than I can think about it. “It’s just … break was … not really a break, and I just had a weird conversation with Silas …”

  Her face relaxes slightly. “About his transformation?” There’s a pleasant hint of sarcasm in her voice.

  “He’s talked to you about it?”

  She nods. “Once. But its all Bridgette can talk about. She was legitimately freaked before Thanksgiving, but, apparently things are all Kosher—or whatever—with him now, and we’re supposed to walk around and pretend like he hasn’t been a giant fuckwad for the last—” She slaps her hand over her mouth, stopping her words. “I’m sorry,” she whispers after a few seconds.

  I shake my head. “It’s okay.”

  “It’s not. I really need to get a grip. I can’t walk around here like the rules don’t apply to me.”

  I chuckle. “You don’t walk around here like the rules don’t apply to you, K. Sawyer. You’re as much of a stickler for the rules as our RA’s are.”

  She looks down. “Not in my head, I haven’t been. And, really, I’m sorry. I haven’t taken the whole culture here seriously enough, Matt. I haven’t been respectful to the rules and values you guys all have. Look, I don’t want to talk about this here … on Friday can you please go to Word with the other PK’s while they have their little emotional jam-session, or whatever it is y’all do?”

  Laughing, I take my hand and rest it on her forehead, making like I’m checking her temperature. “Did you just say y’all?”

  She winks and gives a small grin. “If I’m going to come spy on you in Georgia, I’ve got to blend in.”

  I take the tip of my index finger and point softly at the almost invisible hole just below the center of her bottom lip. “I don’t think blending in should be a goal for you.”

  My finger stays on her skin for a second longer than it should. Really, it shouldn’t have been there at all. Kennedy’s lips part as she takes a quick breath, and I move my hand to my pockets. Where they should probably stay when I’m around her. Her eyes seem to gloss over like she’s about to cry.

  “Sorry,” I say quickly. “I didn’t mean to make you … uncomfortable.”

  Clearing her throat, Kennedy shakes her head and tucks some hair behind her ears. “No, it’s not that, just … come to Word on Friday, okay? I need to talk to you.”

  Turning on her heels, Kennedy moves back in the direction she came from, which is weird, since I know her next class is in the building next to mine. I stay in place long enough to crane my neck and follow Kennedy’s path, watching her duck into the University Chapel. I don’t think I’ve ever known her to go there—or any church—unless it’s been required.

  Shrugging it off for the time being, I book it to class, and barely make it to my seat on time. My body stays in class for the entire time this time, but my mind is far, far away. Between resisting the urge to track Kennedy down in the UC, wondering what drove her there, and the unwelcome images from the strip club still swirling through my mind, I don’t have a hope of focusing today.

  Sure, I could pray for God to rid my mind of damaging clutter, and restore me to a place of faith, but I won’t.

  Faith is dangerous.

  It’s like falling from thirty-thousand feet with the mere inkling that there might, just might, be a net to catch you before you splatter against the earth.

  I think I’ll just stay in my perfectly good airplane.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The Monsterr />
  Kennedy.

  I skipped my first class at CU on Wednesday. To pray. I skipped my first college class ever to sit in the silence of the ornately beautiful, stain-glassed UC and pray. Between my feelings of discomfort around my high school friends while at Trent’s house, Silas’ renewed commitment to following Jesus’ love walk, as he calls it, and things being a little weird with Matt—I just needed a minute.

  I’ve become an active participant in my nightly floor meetings, thrilling my roommates and Maggie. But, you know what? I’m worn out from trying to live a double life. I’ve said it a thousand times over the last three months—that I’m diving in, or committing to a real life here at CU—but I’ve not changed my behavior or mindset in the least.

  Sitting on my knees for an hour in the UC helped me fully commit to that transition. One in which I’ll let go of my old behaviors while I decide which new ones to adopt. The inner struggle will be a daily one, I’ve reasoned. I can’t let go of my political beliefs—and shouldn’t have to—and I’m constantly reminding myself not to view every interaction I have as a me vs them conversation.

  In short, I’m going to stop talking about it to myself and just start doing it. Step out in faith, or whatever it is I hear everyone talking about all the time. I’m doubting that I’ll ever have all my ducks in a row, so I should stop waiting for that as the moment where I can truly explore God. I just have to start putting one foot in front of the other.

  We’ve spent a great deal of time in our OT class talking about repentance. The methods by which people repented for their wrongs before Jesus involved a many-tiered system. The ways in which people were expected to repent depended on the wrong they had done, and often involved a bloody sacrifice of some kind. Alas, the teacher taught ahead without a spoiler-alert, God sent Jesus as the ultimate in final sacrifice so we wouldn’t have to do that stuff anymore. Of course that’s only one of the many things Jesus came for, but it got me thinking about what repentance looks like now.