“Nice, dude.” One of Matt’s football friends who sits in the back with him high fives him and the class breaks into awkward laughter.
“Thank you very much, Matthew,” Professor Towne lauds. “That was quite good. Well spoken. So…”
We continue our discussion on the writhing Book of Job, and I’m struck by one verse. Well, more than one, but this one in particular resonates with my observations of the men of Carter of late.
Job 3:26— I have no peace, no quietness; I have no rest, but only turmoil.
It may seem dramatic, but I’ve seen some of these young men pray—and it looks anything but rejuvenating at times. What I wouldn’t give to get inside their heads…
“I’ve misjudged you. In a good way,” Mollie chirps into the phone while I walk to lunch.
“Yeah? How’s that?”
“Matt Wells sounds positively dreamy,” she sings.
“What’s with the British accent? He’s from the South.”
Mollie huffs. “I can’t do that one.”
“Besides,” I drone, “he’s far from dreamy.”
“He sounds like he looks like Trent.”
I stop in my tracks and my jaw drops, even if she can’t see it. “You’re right. Craaaap.”
“Mmm hmm. Gotta go. Class is starting. Update me on him later, k?”
“K.”
I slide my phone back into my bag and reminisce about Trent Kratz. While my high school did not—gasp—have a football team, they did have a state championship winning basketball team. TK, as he was affectionately called on the court, was its star. And my boyfriend for a hot minute, much to the breath-holding of my mother.
He was a year older and the absolute most popular boy in the school. Like, the obscene high school movie kind of dramatically popular: unreal and mostly unfair. We were an item for almost his entire senior year. I was well aware of his sexual reputation before I entered into a relationship with him, but I dutifully avoided talking about it with him at all.
Rumor had it he was fantastic in bed. Which, thinking about it now, is an absurd thing to think of an eighteen-year-old. Certainly none of them are good, let alone fantastic.
Anyway, our relationship itself became kind of popular, kind of like I can picture Eden and Jonah becoming—almost legendary. He was handsome, smart, and athletic, and I was beautiful, smart, and went to every single game. What was special about TK was his size for his position. He played small forward, or a “three” depending on the play setup the team used, though his size was more that of a center. Well over six feet by the time he was a freshman, he was on the varsity team from the beginning. He was light on his size-fourteen feet, and able to move his six-five frame around the court like it was a freakin’ ballet by the time he was a senior.
His grace was left at the court, however. He was a sloppy kisser and his hands were rough as they forced their way under the Victoria’s Secret silk underwire bra I’d spent fifty dollars on and only wore for him. He never actually noticed it. I was honest with him and emphasized I wasn’t going to have sex with him. I wasn’t ready, I told him, though it was less about being ready. I simply wasn’t interested in going there with him. Sculpted body aside, I knew it wouldn’t be special. And while I wasn’t against having sex before marriage, I at least wanted it to be special (or have the appearance of being special) if I did choose to.
We didn’t have some sort of dramatic breakup at one of our proms or in any public way. Instead, it was scarier and sadder.
We went on a date and back to his house one Saturday night during winter break. We kissed our way through the motions and quickly found ourselves with our shirts off, skin touching skin, as usual. And, as usual, he reached for the button on my pants, and I began the dance of slapping his hand away. It escalated quickly, Trent complaining at how tired he was of waiting for me to be ready. Then, he tried to pin my wrists down, telling me he just wanted to play. But it hurt. His hands were wrapped around my wrists so tightly I couldn’t even make a fist.
“Trent! Stop!” I screamed at my max volume right away, scaring both of us.
My heart raced as I collected my things and ran out of his house without a word. He came to my house a few days later, horrifically apologetic. I told him I didn’t want to see him anymore, that sex was clearly more important to him than I was, and he should enjoy the remainder of his senior year with all the sex he pleased. He begged and I cried, and in the end it was just that. The end.
The rumor mill ran its course for the rest of break, especially since I attended Jessica Shell’s New Year’s Eve party without him, but by the time we got back to school, everyone had moved on. Except Trent. He went through the rest of the school year without asking anyone else out on a date.
Once in a while he’ll “like” something of mine on Facebook, but we don’t really talk much. And I still haven’t had sex, because it’s hard for me to separate what happened that night from what sex is supposed to be like.
“Yo!” Someone whistles and snaps their fingers in my face. “You with us?”
With the real world coming into focus around me, I feel throngs of people pushing past me as they head for food. Roland is standing front of me with a slightly concerned smile on his face.
“Yo?” I question, forcing a smile of my own.
He chuckles. “Are you okay? You seemed kind of lost there.”
Moving to walk inside, I motion for Roland to follow me. “Just lost thinking about an old boyfriend,” I admit, trying not to sound too burned.
“Ah,” he replies. “Not really sure how to respond here.”
I laugh. “Like Pastor Roland Abbot, I guess.”
We reach for our plates at the salad bar and begin piling them with leafy vegetables.
“In that case,” he sounds mildly relieved, “I have to tell you I’m a fan of courtship.”
I drop my tongs and stare at him like a train wreck is happening on his face. “You’re kidding. Do you think people should save their first kisses for marriage, too?”
“I didn’t say that,” he replies with a small laugh. “Courtship is about more than kissing or sex.”
“So is dating,” I challenge, nodding for him to follow me.
I’m comfortable asking him to come sit with me and my friends—who I’ve spotted at a table in the middle of the crowd—because Roland has made it a point of being a very accessible member of the faculty. And clergy.
Wait, it’s not called clergy here. What is it?
The point is, Roland is frequently seen dining with groups of students, or even one-on-one. We’ve never shared a meal together in Mission Hall, but I’m feeling confident enough at this point to do so. We have an easy banter between us that no longer reeks of awkwardness, and I’ve gotten good at making up reasons for our chats in case anyone should ask. No one has, which is a relief, but it’s best to be on the safe side.
“Look who I found,” I say to the table as I sit and point to Roland.
Most freshmen at Carter have a similar schedule. The school is small enough to work it that way, so we almost always have lunch at the same time. Sometimes I long to dine alone, but I know self-isolating would just garner me more attention.
“Pastor Roland,” Jonah says, standing to shake his hand.
“Good to see you, Jonah,” Roland replies. “I’m looking forward to seeing you with the band on Sunday.”
My eyes widen and I smile broadly at Jonah. “You didn’t tell us you’re finally playing!”
Jonah grins like he’s blushing, but his skin tone remains even. “Thanks.”
“Where’s Eden?” I question, noting that Jonah is flanked by Silas and Matt.
“She’s volunteering at Planned Parenthood today.”
Everyone carries on as though this is a normal conversation.
“I—” I sputter out a few more consonants before settling on, “What?!”
Jonah looks up from his plate. “Huh?”
“She’s volunteering at Pl
anned Parenthood? Isn’t that, like…”
Quick, answer me before I have to finish the sentence.
“Pamphlets,” Silas cuts in. “Bridgette is with her. They found out about it at some student activity meeting.”
I arch my eyebrow, imploring more information.
“Don’t kill your baby pamphlets, Kennedy,” Matt blurts out with a challenging half-grin on this lips.
Despite the crude nature of his reply, I appreciate the direction. “Oh,” I reply. “Got it.”
“You don’t have to be so vulgar, Matty,” Roland says while chewing on some salad.
Vulgar? Matty?
Matt used language that I’ve heard for several weeks at Carter; it came as no surprise to me. That Roland is asking him to tone it down does come as somewhat of a shock, despite his tendency to lean left. But Matty?
Matt chuckles. “Come on, Roland. That’s what they’re down there doing, isn’t it? Shoving those detailed pictures of aborted fetuses into girls’ faces? Even if they’re there getting help because some guy raped them and they don’t have the health insurance necessary to make sure they’re healthy?”
Silence overcomes the table, and within seconds all eyes are on me. Taking a quick lunch table inventory, I see that I’m the only female at the table and—for census’ sake—the only definitive liberal. Before opening my mouth, I’d like to know from which podium they’re expecting me to respond. Because apparently there can be two separate camps here.
“Are they alone? Eden and Bridgette.” It’s the only thing that has immediate urgency, and no one has mentioned it.
Jonah shrugs and looks to Silas, who mirrors the annoying movement.
“Let’s try an easy one,” I spit out. “Have either of them ever protested there before?”
“They’re not protesting,” Silas offers.
“Yes they are,” I snap, standing and grabbing my tray. “I used to work for Planned Parenthood, Silas. And no matter what you people here might call it, that’s not how it’s viewed by the people who work there. Or those who are seeking help.”
Roland wraps his hand around my forearm. “Kennedy,” he pleads. My eyes move from my arm to his eyes. Sensing his potential error, he casually drops his hand. “Where are you going?”
“To make sure they’re okay. What is it with you people?” My breath is short and my words are fast. “Don’t you remember Eden’s story about her brother getting punched while he was evangelizing? Just because they’re together doesn’t mean they’re safe. What—” Shaking my head, I force a deep breath into my chest. I turn for the trashcan, dump the salad I only took one bite from, and race outside.
Heading in the direction of my dorm to give a piece of my mind to Maggie, who undoubtedly approved their “volunteer” activity—and to ask for permission to leave campus—I hear two sets of voices calling my name.
“Kennedy!” they say in unison.
Turning around, I see Roland and Matt—the two most unlikely suspects in this scenario—following me. I stand and wait for them to catch up, given they’re not likely to stop my plan.
“What?” I say when they’re close enough to hear.
“Where are you going?” Roland asks again, Matt’s eyes on him.
“To Planned Parenthood,” I say as if it should be obvious. And it should be.
Matt lifts his chin. Interesting. “I’ll go with her,” he says to Roland.
I drag my fingers through my hair. “Can’t we, like, not go somewhere together alone? Oh! But when we fetch Bridgette and Eden, it’ll be kosher. Well…you know what I mean.” I’m not thrilled about going on this field trip with Matt, but Roland’s concerned look tells me he’s not thrilled with me going alone. And he has the administrative power to stop me from going at all.
Roland looks at Matt much the way he looks at me—and different, slightly, from the way he looks at the other students. It’s a fatherly gaze that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end, and I’m not sure why.
“Go. I’m approving you, right now. Just…watch your tongues.” Roland pats Matt on the shoulder and eyes me carefully. “Watch your tongues,” he emphasizes, but keeps his focus on me.
I mime zipping my lips, which elicits a smile from Roland before he turns back for the dining hall.
“Okay,” Matt says when Roland’s out of earshot. “What’s your plan?”
“Where’s the Planned Parenthood?”
Matt throws his head back and laughs. “Wow, Captain, we’re off to a good start.”
I click my tongue against my teeth. “Matt!”
He throws his hands in his pockets and nudges his head to the side. “Come on. We can walk. It’s just off the edge of campus.”
“You’re kidding.” I fall into step next to him.
Matt grins to the side, and I feel an uninvited warmth through my hands and chest. “Ironic, huh?”
“This whole damn place …” I trail off, peeking at him from the corner of my eye.
Matt puts his arm around my shoulder and gives it a quick squeeze. “No worries, K. Sawyer. Your secret is safe with me.”
My pulse races and I take a step to the side. “Secret?” My fingers are numb waiting for his response.
No. No, no, no.
His gaze intensifies for a second, like he’s trying to get inside my brain.
“Yeah,” he finally says. “Your potty mouth. What’d you think I was talking about?”
“Nothing.” I exhale for a while before speaking again. “Nothing.”
“You got some skeletons in that closet, K. Sawyer?” He’s called me that twice inside of a minute, and I kind of like it.
I gesture my hand back toward campus. “This place is one giant wardrobe, I think.” I throw absolutely everyone under the bus to avoid the question.
“That…” Matt starts, then trails off. “That’s probably spot on. So, again, what’s your plan when we get to Planned Parenthood?”
Smiling, I pick up the pace. “Don’t know. I’m kind of a think-on-my-feet kind of girl.”
From behind me, Matt chuckles. “I can live with that.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Speak Life
“Shit,” Matt spits out when we round the corner and Planned Parenthood comes into view.
Shit, indeed. Bridgette and Eden are most definitely alone, and most definitely engaged in a heated discussion with three other women who look about our age. That, I assure you, is where the similarities end.
Hair dyed all colors of the rainbow, with torn clothes held together with safety pins and duct tape is the only visual description I can offer for the three girls talking with my roommates. And talking is a euphemism for the vile spewing of words.
“Hold up for a second,” I say to Matt, stopping us a few buildings away. Setting my backpack on the ground, I reach into the top zippered pocket and pull out a plastic bag holding my lip ring.
“You, uh, always carry that on you?” Matt tries to joke.
I nod, sliding the ring into place. “I don’t want the hole to close, so I sneak it in at night sometimes. And, I just kind of like carrying it around with me inside the sacred walls.” I shoot my eyes toward The Hill.
After desecrating my face, I reach into the pocket again for my hair tie and throw my hair into a messy bun. Matt is watching me, looking like he’s afraid to speak. His jaw is rigid and his hands haven’t moved from his side since I put my lip ring in.
Standing, I put my hands on his shoulders. “Tell no one. Promise.”
He swallows hard, nodding in silence.
“I don’t know what your stance is on ogling skin, but, whatever it is…steel yourself.”
Matt’s jaw drops slightly as I take a second hair elastic and tie the back of my shirt, revealing a small, but point-making, swath of skin on my stomach. To complete the look, I tug on my skirt, moving the waistband dangerously low on my hips.
“Ready?” I ask, taking what feels like my first deep breath all semester.
<
br /> “I…” Matt clears his throat. “I guess.”
Looking at him, I squint my eyes and twist my lips. “Unbutton your shirt a little. Just the first two or three.”
Surprisingly, he looks over his shoulder, but does it anyway.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Matt, we’re not going to go to jail. It’s just clothes. Trust me.”
“I don’t know,” he says with mock trepidation. “You look a bit mug-shot like.”
I stick out my tongue. “One more thing. Don’t read into this, but, just…hold my hand.”
Without waiting for his reply, I grab his hand and start for the brick Planned Parenthood building. At first, Matt’s hand feels just like the brick, but a few steps into our walk, it softens and settles into a normal handhold.
Normal.
His hand is bigger than mine by at least two times and it’s warm. Borderline sweaty, but warm just the same. His grip is firm, and before I know it, I shift the position of my hand, allowing our fingers to interlace.
“Why did Roland call you Matty?” I ask as if we’re on a normal stroll. “You don’t strike me as a person who would let anyone call you Matty.”
Matt shrugs and mumbles, “He’s known my family for a long time.”
I stop in my tracks, wildly distracted. “This is news.”
“I didn’t realize it was…”
“You never mentioned knowing him.” My heart is racing.
Matt cocks his eyebrow. “And you never mentioned binge watching his sermons on YouTube.”
“GodTube,” I correct him. “How long have you known him?” My palms are getting slippery.
“Do we have to talk about this right now?” Matt sounds anxious. “I’ve never tried to break up a protest before.” He nods to the brick building in front of us.
I’m thoroughly paranoid about this new information on Matt. I know that even if he’s known Roland for a long time, it doesn’t necessarily mean he knows him well. And, while the whole world knows Roland has a child, there’s no guarantee that anyone—especially Matt—knows who that child is.
Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father Page 20
