Once inside our building, I veer off and stop at Maggie’s door while my roommates continue toward ours.
“I’ll be down in a minute,” I say with a shrug as I knock on Maggie’s door. They nod their understanding and continue down the hall.
Maggie opens the door and her eyes immediately fall to my bags. “Kennedy,” she says with a hint of hesitation, “did you enjoy your time off campus today?”
I take a step forward and she holds her door open so I can enter all the way. Without a word, I plop my belongings, and myself, on her bed.
“Joy,” I mumble.
“Yeah,” she mumbles back, sitting next to me.
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d just like to get this over with,” I say, silently referencing the demerits I know are coming my way. “I know it was wrong of me to call her insane and she probably feels all wounded and whatever…”
For once, my tone isn’t snarky. I think back to the conversation I had earlier with Maggie regarding my roommates. Then, the guilt sinks in further. Joy probably really felt like she was doing the right thing by those patrons. Still, I remind myself that her perception of right doesn’t make it right or safe.
“Want to plead your case?” she asks and walks to her desk, pulling out a stack of three-ply papers.
Demerits.
“Can I plead insanity?” I lift my eyebrows and hold back a laugh until I watch Maggie stifle one of her own. “I know I shouldn’t have called her insane.”
“No, you shouldn’t have. But I can’t really write you up for that.”
I give a nice, long exhale. “You can’t? What are those for then?” I ask, gesturing to the papers she’s writing on.
“As you can imagine, Joy was quite upset. But I explained the rules to her and offered a concession.”
“A lesser sentence?” I ask hopefully.
Maggie chuckles. “Yes. I told her I would write you up for not checking out before you left campus. And that I wouldn’t write her up for the same exact offense.”
Oddly, this is satisfying. We all screwed up just a little bit in our effort to leave campus for the first time. Even Joy. Knowing that she’s not perfect fills me with slightly more gratification than I’m comfortable with.
Maggie separates the demerit sheet into its three parts. The white copy goes to the school’s disciplinary office, yellow stays with Maggie, and I am now the proud owner of my very own pink copy. I fold it and shove it in my pocket with a satisfied sigh.
“Pockets,” I say in my exhale.
Maggie laughs, then takes a seat next to me again. “Joy also happened to mention that you were going to apply for a job at the coffee shop?”
“Of course she did.”
Maggie shakes her head slightly. “Are you sure you’re ready for that?”
I scrunch my face and look at her. “Are you serious? Maggie—”
“I don’t mean it in the way you think I mean. I know you’ve spent your life free of the rules that govern this place. What I mean is, do you think you’re ready to live in both worlds and be able to adhere to the standards here? Sometimes for kids that are more secular, like I was when I first got here, having some of both places seems like a good idea, until the secular bleeds into your school life more than the other way around.”
I sigh, frustrated with the conversation already. “I don’t intend on having wild sex during my breaks at work, if that’s what you mean.”
Maggie’s face twists up like she’s sucked on a lime. “Kennedy…”
“I’m sorry.” I put up my hand. “I’m sorry. I am. No, I don’t think it will be a problem and, yes, I think I can handle it.”
She places her hand on my knee and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Just… Please come talk to me. Any time. In fact, I’d like to set up a weekly meeting time with you. To make sure you’re adjusting okay and to kind of check in.” She rises again and fetches her planner off her desk.
“Are you serious?” I feel like I’m in the principal’s office.
Maggie’s bright smile returns. “Mmm hmm. It’s part of our job, actually. We’re supposed to check in regularly with our floor.”
“Weekly? Or am I just special?” I sound rude.
Maggie sets her planner on her lap when she sits again. “I don’t want you to feel defensive. I’m on your side, you know. I’m thrilled you’re here. It’s been a long time since I’ve met someone on this campus who hasn’t grown up in this lifestyle, let alone one who seems to be willing to give it a real shot like you are.”
I’ve heard rumors that there are people out there on campus who are like me—some who aren’t even Christian at all. There are students here at Carter University who won’t ever go on a mission trip, will never hand someone a “Get Out of Hell Free” card, and who don’t necessarily believe in God. Some of them are athletes who want to play sports at the college level, and this was their best shot at lots of playing time. Others are local residents who want a decent education at a low cost. This is the place for them. I’ve heard they exist, much the way people hear billionaires exist. I haven’t met one, but I know they’re out there.
I clear my throat. “If we meet, can you teach me things?”
“Like what?”
“How to be…socially appropriate? I need a church kid social boot camp,” I admit.
Maggie laughs, flipping to a calendar spread in her planner. “Just because you asked that way, yes, I will. Honestly, I wish I had that when I was here. I had to be put on probation my second semester before I got a clue.”
“Really?” I gasp.
“Yep, really. My first semester I kept my t’s crossed and my i’s dotted. I applied every rule and regulation to myself that I could, even beyond the school rules. I didn’t want to step out of bounds even for a second.”
I get where she’s going with this, given my new habit of isolating and studying the rules and then studying them again. “What happened?”
“I snapped,” she admits, laying her calendar in front of me and gesturing to a day she has open. I nod and she scribbles my name in for Wednesday evenings at nine. She knows I’ll be in the dorm by then, since that’s our curfew on school nights.
“It was quite a sight,” she continues. “We had to give an oral report in our New Testament class. It was open-ended. We had to give a speech on a current social issue as if we were Jesus speaking on the topic.”
“Fancy,” I blurt out, rolling my eyes.
Maggie takes a deep breath. “I did the research on abortion and prepared this amazingly passionate speech from Jesus’ point of view about the value of life and how we’re supposed to guard those who can’t guard themselves. I don’t know what happened, honestly…” She looks off into space for a moment, as if she’s putting herself back on that day. “I took my paper to the front of the class, set it down, and completely ignored it. I called the class and professor Pharisees, scolding them for shaming people instead of loving them. I slammed my hand down on the podium for added effect.”
“That’s brilliant!”
Maggie shoots a stern gaze my way. “It was offensive. While my real opinion lies somewhere between what I wrote and what I said, I knew what the rules were and I disobeyed them. And lost friends in the process. There’s a time and a place to assert your views and personality.”
“And CU classes aren’t them?” I snap.
“Sometimes…no. Something tells me you didn’t come here to study the rules and then break them, though. I hadn’t intended to, either. I almost lost my chance at all the wonderful opportunities I’ve had since then. My recommendation?” Maggie stands and places a firm hand on my shoulder. “Take the cotton out of your ears and put it in your mouth. Then, when you come see me on Wednesday nights, let it out. That’s all I’m asking of you right now, Kennedy. You can do this.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Beautiful, Beautiful
“So, why do you want to work at a coffee shop?” Asher leans against the end of the coun
ter, staring at me in amusement.
He is perfection. A shaved-bald head, tattoos like graffiti up and down both arms, and hooped earrings in both ears. He’s muscular, but not oppressively so, and his blue eyes soften anything prison-like about his appearance.
You can do this.
Maggie’s words from last night bounce around my brain. My roommates were relieved, obviously, that the demerits weren’t more serious, but it was still a quiet night in our room. There was still lots to learn about each other, but “Rocks,” and insanity¸ and a brother getting punched while evangelizing seemed to be enough excitement for one Friday.
You can do this.
Refocusing on the attractive coffee shop manager in front of me, I take a deep breath.
“I don’t.” I quirk a grin.
He shoots one back, challenging me for more.
“I don’t want to work at a coffee shop,” I continue. “I want to work at this coffee shop.”
“Why?”
Because I go to Carter University. Take pity on me?
The sentence sounds good in my head, but I edit it a bit before it comes out of my mouth.
“I’m desperate to work off campus.” It does sound a little too desperate.
“Off what campus?” Asher’s eyes make quick work of dissecting my face. He knows what campus, I’m sure of it, but he wants to hear me say it.
I clear my throat. “I’m a student at Carter. There are very few places approved for off-campus employment. This is one of those places, as I’m sure you’re aware, and I just…I need to work here.”
“Freshman?” he asks with a tone that suggests he knows the answer.
“Isn’t it obvious? My cheeks are probably still pink from being slapped with the handbook.”
At this, Asher throws his head back and bellows a laugh that nearly silences the full shop. “You’re hired.”
My eyes widen and I jump. “Are you serious?”
Asher extends his hand across the bar. I shake it as he licks his lips and grins. “Chelsea told me you stopped your friend when she was talking God stuff to a patron.”
I roll my eyes, thinking back to Joy’s shock-evangelism from yesterday. “That girl is not my friend.”
He rocks his head from one side to the other. “Still, that’s the kind of boldness we need behind the counter. Not just for the CU students who use this place to proselytize, either. There are bars nearby and we don’t always serve a sober crowd.”
“Excellent,” I assert.
While it makes me uncomfortable that Joy is not an anomaly with her “Follow Jesus or you’re going to hell,” campaign, I do find comfort in the fact that I was able to diffuse the situation.
“What?” Asher asks, trying to follow my line of vision.
While Word is lined wall-to-wall with shelves of used books, the one immediately to the left of the drink pick-up station piques my interest. It’s the Spirituality section. I wander over to it and note that it’s divided into Fiction, which includes some Christian romance, fantasy books that hover around Wicca, and Nonfiction. This shelf houses various Bible study books plus biographies and autobiographies on everyone from Jesus to Muhammad to the Dalai Lama. As my fingers graze the bindings of the books, I pause. Not over the Bible—which is not out of place to me in the Nonfiction section—but over the Koran, The Book of Mormon, and a Pagan spell book.
“Interesting,” I whisper.
“Isn’t it?” Asher asks with a chuckle.
Turning around, I see him standing a few feet back from me with his arms crossed.
“Decided to go all-in with the nonfiction category, huh?”
He shrugs and I can’t really read his face. Men’s faces are notoriously hard for me to read. They always look tired, hungry, or both. “We had to move this whole section over here to keep an eye on it.”
“Oh?”
“Yep. It still happens sometimes, but a while back there was a hefty effort on the part of some customers to make the nonfiction shelf Christian-only.”
I snicker. “CU customers?”
Asher shrugs again, his shoulders coming down with a near-audible thump. “There are a few more Christians in Asheville besides CU students.”
I arch my eyebrow. “How PC of you.”
He nods his head to the barista station. “Come to my office and we’ll get your paperwork started.”
After filling out tax paperwork and signing my name several times, I lean back in the chair, feeling the cracked upholstery rubbing against my lower back.
“So,” I ask Asher, “what made you apply to be CU-approved?” Last night I did my research, and learned that local businesses are either sought out by Carter for student employment (this usually includes libraries and hospitals) or they must apply for approval. Word was approved only a few semesters ago.
Asher scratches the back of his head, twisting his lips just before he speaks. “CU students—while sometimes intense—tend to have the best work ethic around. They show up on time, work hard when they’re here, and I don’t typically have to worry about theft.”
I lift my eyebrows. “Those are some hefty assumptions.”
“They haven’t let me down yet.” He arches his eyebrow and stares me down with that mild humor still playing in his eyes.
“I won’t let you down, either,” I assure him.
“Do you have any tattoos to go with that lip ring?” he asks out of nowhere.
Though I know I’m not wearing it, my fingers rush to my bottom lip, searching. “How’d you—”
“You suck in your bottom lip a lot before you speak. I’m no stranger to the body modification game, and I spotted the piercing hole.” His accent is southern by my ears, but I recognize it to be less so than some of the other people toddling around Asheville. It’s a little gritty, too. I like his rough edge, especially in comparison to the plush ones I’ve been around for the last week.
“Huh,” I reply, puzzled and amused by his people-reading skills. “No. No tattoos. Yet.”
“You seem more irritated than usual for a freshman,” he continues. “Did your parents make you come here?”
I laugh out loud, a sharp laugh that widens Asher’s eyes. “No. Ha. Um, my mom actually fought me on coming here.”
“Interesting,” he says in the same tone I’d used when looking at the book shelves earlier.
“I guess…”
Asher stands, indicating we’re through in his office. “Chelsea told me you had a literal run-in with Pastor Roland?”
He opens the door leading back into the cafe, and I follow. “You know who he is? She knows who he is?”
The door clicks behind us and Asher raises his voice to compete with the crowd. “Everyone knows who he is, kid. Didn’t you before you came here?”
“Of course,” I spit out a bit too enthusiastically. “And don’t call me kid. You’ve had, what? A handful more birthdays than I have?”
Asher laughs another deep, full-chested laugh as he puts his arm around my shoulders. “I know you can’t work Sundays, so how about you start next Friday? See you at four?”
I throw my bag over my shoulder and scan the room for Eden and Bridgette. As I’m not yet permitted to leave campus by myself—like most other freshmen—they came downtown with me. They spot me before I do them, and wave excitedly.
With a deep breath, I turn back to answer Asher but he’s gone. I crane my neck different ways and step to the counter, but no one is there. I shrug and meet my roommates at the front of Word and we board the bus for our short ride back to campus.
“You got the job? Exciting! We’ll have to come see you all the time.” Bridgette seems genuinely pleased as we take our seats.
“You’re lucky,” Eden reminds me. “I’ve heard that place usually only hires upperclassmen.”
“Really?” I lift my head, suddenly interested. “Asher didn’t mention anything.” I shrug and continue thumbing through my phone, sorting missed texts.
“He looks a lit
tle scary,” Bridgette whispers.
I look up again. “Who? Asher?”
She nods.
Eden laughs. “Oh, sweetie. We need to get you out more.”
Now I laugh.
“What?” Eden mocks offense but then her tone darkens. “I’ve been out there before, Kennedy. You’re not the only one who has seen things.”
She’s completely right and it pisses me off. I’ve been walking around thinking that the people around me think they’re better than me in a spiritual sense, and I’ve been doing the same thing back at them. Treating them like they’re preschoolers in the school of the “real world.”
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay.” Eden nudges my shoulder.
Bridgette pipes up in her sing-song voice. “I do need to get out more, though.”
The three of us laugh, tension broken once again, and I go back to my phone. I send a quick text to Roland, who I’ve disguised as “BF.” If anyone gets ahold of my phone, they’ll think it stands for best friend and not birth father.
Me: Hey. Just wanted to let you know I got the job at Word. Thanks for the heads up.
BF: No problem. Glad I could help. Will I see you tomorrow?
I find his question interesting since we’d discussed months ago that I’d attend my first service of his after the first week of classes. I’m feeling a little guilty about it, actually, since my actions are clearly causing him to question my word. How is he to know I stand by my word? We don’t know each other.
Me: Yep. That’s still the plan.
BF: Great :)
Oh. He sent an emoticon. It’s the first one I’ve received from him. I guess I can appreciate it, since we have no formal way of saying goodbye to each other. We don’t say I love you, but just saying “bye” seems a little informal. Or something.
Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father Page 11
