Turning away. A change in behavior. These are terms both Silas and Bridgette have used in discussing Silas’ emergence from whatever hole he’s been in most of the semester. I hadn’t meant to sound sarcastic about it when talking about it with Matt the other day, because, honestly, whatever Silas is doing is working. He’s smiling more, doesn’t spend so much time alone, and talks more when he is around people.
While moving through my shift at Word, I keep looking at the clock and watching the front door, waiting for my chance to repent to Matt.
“You’re all serious,” Asher says, nudging next to me while he steams milk. Chelsea is out sick, meaning Asher’s working the floor with me tonight.
I shrug. “Just … contemplative, I guess.” I pull a word from a book about prayer life I’ve been reading.
“Where’s Roland been? I haven’t seen him in a couple of weeks.”
I blow some hair out of my face and move to the sterilizer to dry and stack cups. “After Thanksgiving he had a conference in Louisiana, I think. Then some interfaith symposium at Columbia this week.”
I’ve stayed in loose text-contact with Roland over the last two weeks but, as it turns out, my PK friends have been one-hundred-percent right: Pastors are just busy people. A true 24/7 job that extends way beyond Sunday morning and sermon preparation. Instead of feeling like I’ve taken a back seat, I’m kind of relieved to have some space, to be honest. Roland and I have had near constant-contact with each other since the beginning of the semester, and I think we both needed a break in order to go about our regular lives. At least until we figure out how our relationship will fit into our “regular lives.”
“Tell me about your prison ministry,” I ask.
“What do you want to know?” Asher sets the last of a large order of drinks on the counter and leans against it, both of us enjoying the sudden, temporary lull.
“Anything.” I chuckle. “Like … when you started it, how you started it, what you do … and why you’re so secretive about it.”
He chuckles, his large shoulders shifting up and down. “I’m not secretive about it, Kennedy.”
“Then why did I not know about it and find out about it from my friends, who spend far less time with you than I do?”
Asher playfully growls and shakes his head. “I don’t talk about it here unless there’s an opening.”
I lift my eyebrows. “And me going to CU wasn’t enough of an opening for you? I call baloney.”
“Baloney?” he repeats, comically.
“Yes. Baloney. I think you intentionally kept it from me, in order to create a situation where you could blow my perception of you and Jesus-people out of the water.”
“Jesus people?”
“Stop repeating the last word I’ve said.”
Asher runs his hand over his shaved head before holding his hands out. “You got me.” He winks.
I stick out my tongue. “Fine, now that we know you’re as big of a hypocrite as I am, why don’t you tell me about the ministry?”
After a brief interruption to fill a croissant and tea order, Asher turns back to me.
“It started when I was a junior at CU and got arrested.”
My mouth falls open and it’s hard to hear anything but the shocked gasp in my head. “Your … your what? And you got what?”
He arches an eyebrow. “Guess I should back up, huh? What are the odds you can stay late after your shift tonight?”
“Zero to zero.” I sigh. “I’m on a watch list.” I’m half teasing, but recalling Dean Baker’s snarly voice reminds me that I do need to keep my act together.
“I’ll come have lunch with you on campus sometime this week, okay? We’ll talk then.” With a sly grin, Asher eyes the door, then nods to it. “Your boyfriend’s here.”
My cheeks heat and my pulse races at the word as I look at the group of guys walking in and taking their usual table in the corner. Jonah, John, a couple girls whose names I don’t know, and, of course, Matt drape their coats over chairs and slowly make their way to the counter.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I hiss. Sheepishly, I look up at Asher. “Once I finish their order, can I take my break?”
He snorts. “Yes. You can make your non-boyfriend a drink and then go talk to him.”
“I hate you,” I whisper-growl, begging my cheeks to stop burning.
Asher takes over putting the dishes away, not saying another word.
“Hey Jonah,” I say a bit more cheerfully than usual. An epic fail in trying to cover up my butterflies.
Jonah’s ever-pleasant face seems a bit grey. “Hey Kennedy.” His tone is just as cloudy.
“Usual?” I ask. He nods, and I speak to him over my shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing,” he tries to sound reassuring. “I’m just kind of stressed.”
“Amen to that,” I respond without a hint of snark.
With finals just over a week away, most of my friends are on edge. I, however, am happily living in denial that my entire first semester at CU is about to be put to the test, academically speaking.
“Oh yay,” I say, eyeing the PK table while handing Jonah his drink. “You guys have a lot of people tonight. Some girls, too.”
“Yeah,” he offers a weak smile, “are you coming over on your break?”
“Coming over? Like, with you guys?”
I’m struck speechless for a moment. While I’d intended on sneaking a side-conversation with Matt, I didn’t intend to chat it up with the group. And hadn’t considered that they even wanted me to.
Jonah cracks a weak smile. “Yeah, the group wants to invite you.”
I sigh. “Are there some bizarre university requirements for group involvement? I’m in zero groups, so … I don’t know how it all works.”
“This isn’t a CU group. It’s kind of … under the table.” Jonah looks down for a minute before casting a cautious glance my way.
I nod approvingly. “A black market PK group? What do they want with me?”
“Honesty.” Matt’s voice cuts through the conversation before I realize he’s come up behind Jonah.
Jonah nods toward Matt. “What he said.”
I stare at them, skeptical. “And you trust them? All of them?” Craning my neck, I’m uncomfortable with the fact that I don’t recognize more of them than I recognize.
Jonah nods, looking more tired by the minute. “I trust them.”
“I do, too,” Matt agrees. “And I don’t trust anyone.”
I scan the group once more and find the two girls staring back at me as skeptically as I’m sure I’m staring at them.
What the hell …
“I’ll be over in five, okay?”
My answer satisfies my two best guy-friends on campus, and they shuffle back to the table, bringing an extra chair into their group for me.
“Have fun,” Asher harasses from behind the coffee grinder.
Rolling my eyes, I pour myself a cup of coffee, toss my apron on the back counter, and slowly approach the group. Matt spots me, pats the open seat next to him, and I happily comply to being sandwiched between him and Jonah.
“Guys,” Matt starts, sounding quite serious, “this is Kennedy. Kennedy, this is John, Marla, and Caitlyn.”
John, the guy I saw the first time I laid eyes on Matt, still retains the cocky-sexy smile I think he’s always had. “Hey.” He extends his hand across the table, and I shake it.
I wave and smile politely to Marla and Caitlyn, then lean back in my chair. The three who I don’t know stare at me for a few seconds, causing me to feel the urge to speak.
“So,” I say, sitting forward, “you’re all PK’s, huh?” Silently, I continue to wonder why they want me here at all.
“Sort of,” Marla, with short, tight curly hair, speaks first. Caitlyn giggles at yet another joke I seem to have missed.
“You see,” John plants his elbows on the table and leans forward, “we’ve all got … interesting relationships with our …
title.”
I shrug. “I’ve had the impression that all of you kind of hate it for one reason or another. I mean, there are like three CU-sponsored PK groups and you guys are in some rogue one. I’m assuming it’s not a gilded path to walk. What I don’t understand is why you want me here.”
“We like you,” Caitlyn adds. “And, from what most of us can tell, you have a dad most of us wish we had …” she trails off, likely sensing my displeasure with the conversation, which is pushing me away from the table to standing.
“Kennedy,” Matt touches my wrist for a split second—enough to get my attention—then puts it back in his lap.
Like Trent should have done.
I hold out my hands. “I’m not really in the mood to head up a Roland Fan Club, guys—”
“No,” Jonah cuts me off, “that’s not what she meant.”
The tired look in his eyes, mixed with the intensity of his voice, causes me to take my seat and pay attention.
“What, then?” I ask, taking a second to eye each member of the group.
Jonah continues. “We have this group because, yes, we all have issues with our upbringing, but like Matt told you before, you have kind of a clean slate. Something else each of us wishes we had.”
“And,” Marla interjects, “we just kind of want to help you. And … have you help us.”
“Help you?”
For the first time I can recall, John looks uncomfortable. “We know your meeting with Dean Baker a few weeks ago didn’t go so well.”
My eyes shoot around the table. I haven’t told a single soul about that conversation, except Mollie, who wouldn’t have told anyone, least of all a random collection of CU students. I face Matt, the only person I can think of that may have said anything, and I didn’t tell him, either.
“What are they talking about?” I ask him directly.
Matt looks over my shoulder to Jonah, then back at me. “After our study group, that day you and I ran into Dean Baker on the quad, I mentioned to Jonah that you seemed really uncomfortable around him. Then you wouldn’t even tell me what it was all about, and kept changing the subject a million times.”
Turning my head to the left and right, I grin sardonically. “Gossiping like little girls?”
“No,” Jonah defends uncomfortably, “that’s not it.”
Sighing, I pacify him. “I didn’t mean it like that … guess my sarcasm isn’t on point today.”
“Anyway,” Matt continues, “Jonah works in Dean Baker’s office.”
I whip my head back to Jonah, pushing my chair back slightly to reduce the whiplash. “This is news.”
“Work study,” he answers plainly. “It’s one of the easiest jobs on campus. I just kind of maintain student files.”
“Student files?”
“Yeah, like, disciplinary files, general meetings, whatever. Each day we get an updated schedule of who the dean is meeting with for the day. The following day, there’s usually some write up—either general minutes about the meeting, or demerit cards if any were given, or other write-ups. I have to print those off, make sure they get in the right files, then basically play Solitaire for the rest of my shift.”
“Okay …” I shrug. The tension around the table far exceeds the mechanics of this conversation.
Jonah shifts in his seat. “I knew about your meeting because you talked about it the day before at lunch. And, Eden mentioned to me that she hoped you weren’t going to get into trouble for something that wasn’t your fault.”
I look over to Matt briefly, who now looks as grey as Jonah does.
“Your name wasn’t on the schedule the day before the meeting, but sometimes that happens. Baker’s not great about keeping a tight schedule. His secretary is always on him. But, the next Monday when I went in, I looked back at the schedule to see if it had been added after, just for documentation sake, and it wasn’t there.”
“Okay, so my appointment wasn’t on the schedule. That’s hardly a show-stopper.”
Matt touches my shoulder. “Just wait,” he whispers.
Jonah clears his throat. “I checked my emails all day, and even after the main bulk of filing information had come through, there was still nothing on your meeting. For a little while I was nervous because I thought that meant you’d gotten in some serious trouble that even I couldn’t know about—and I’m sworn to confidentiality with that job. Just to be sure, I asked his secretary if all the minutes had come through. When she said they did, I asked her where the minutes for your meeting were.”
“What’d she say?” I ask quickly.
He shakes his head. “She looked at me a little surprised and said that there had been no meeting with Miss Sawyer on Friday.”
Hearing Miss Sawyer from Jonah’s lips makes me swallow hard, to avoid throwing up.
“Just to be sure, I texted Eden and asked if you had gotten in trouble at your meeting. She texted back and said you told her everything was fine and you didn’t get in any trouble. So, I went back to the secretary and said that I was certain you had a meeting with him, and I wanted to make sure everything got filed properly so I wouldn’t get in trouble for mishandling confidential files.”
“What’d she say?” I ask again, my pulse racing.
Jonah looks down and swallows hard before looking up. “She stood up, brought me to the corner of the office and said, Jonah, there was absolutely no meeting with Kennedy Sawyer in this office. I waited for her to take her lunch break and then I went to the filing cabinet.”
“And?” I wipe my palms on my pants.
“It’s squeaky-clean. There’s the details about what happened with Joy, along with your statement that came from your RA that you didn’t want disciplinary action taken against Joy. And that was it.”
“We know it wasn’t about you,” Marla says while Jonah takes a breath. “People don’t erase paper trails if they’re trying to get someone in trouble.”
Matt speaks up again. “Then the way you acted around him …” He eyes me empathetically. “What happened in that meeting, Kennedy?”
“And,” John adds, “why haven’t you talked about it?”
I have a few seconds to make a choice. Either I lie to everyone, which would include Matt and Jonah, or I tell the truth to people I barely know. I feel like I need more information.
“He’s an ass,” Caitlyn blurts out. “He has a sleazy reputation.”
My jaw drops. “He does?”
Matt shifts in his seat. “Did he, uh,” he clears his throat, “did he touch you?”
“No.” I nearly jump at the sternness in my voice. “I’d have punched him in the throat if he did.”
Everyone around the table seems to exhale simultaneously.
“Then what happened, Kennedy?” Jonah asks.
Five sets of hopeful, pleading eyes stare at me, and I hold my breath.
“He threatened me,” I whisper, my eyes filling with tears.
Matt stiffens at my side. “How?”
I keep my voice cool and collected. “He said I was a threat. That I was a threat, my father was a threat, and my friend who played football was, too.”
“That bastard,” Matt growls through clenched teeth. “I knew he had it out for me.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think he really does. I think he was saying that to scare me into doing what he said. Because he knows I’d protect you.”
“How’d he threaten you?” Marla asks.
I shrug. “There were lots of implications. Like … basically I have to stay in line and make next-to-no noise or else my time at CU, and possibly Roland’s, would be … limited.”
“Who have you told?” Matt rests his forehead on a fist.
“No one.”
“Good,” Jonah interrupts. “Don’t.”
“Not even Roland?” I ask.
“Not yet,” John answers. “We’ll go to him when we’re ready.”
I look at the group with new eyes. “What are you guys up to? And how do you know abo
ut Dean Baker’s sleazy reputation? Is this even a PK group?”
“It’s a PK group,” John assures, “because we’re all PK’s.”
I arch my eyebrow toward the girls, who have been the quietest during this whole … whatever this is.
“My sister was raped two years go,” Caitlyn admits with tears spilling from her eyes. “And Dean Baker swept it under the rug.”
“What?” My nostrils flare and my cheeks heat with rage.
Marla nods. “Stuff like that has happened a few times. Not always rape, but other sexual assault, drug use, whatever. Dean Baker waves some things off, and chases after others like a rabid dog.”
I exhale, puffing out my cheeks and burying my face in my hands. “What are each of you doing in this group? Is this an Anti-Dean Baker Group?”
“I don’t trust a Dean of Students who would take me under his wing knowing everything my dad has done,” Matt admits in an exhale.
“Which you’re going to tell me all about, and soon,” I snap. He exhales heavily.
“What about you?” I ask John.
He grins. “I don’t want to be here. My parents are making me come here because they won’t pay for me to go anywhere else. Since I have no interest in taking out a ton of loans in my name … here I am. Everything looks a little too picture-perfect from the outside, if you ask me. And, hearing what some of the guys in my dorm struggle with, and the first question they’re asked by peer counselors is how often they masturbate? Something’s off.”
I pull my head back and look to Jonah. “Seriously?”
He nods.
“What about you?” I ask of him.
“When I graduated high school and packed my bags for this place, I assumed I’d hop on a pastoral track and enjoy the ride.” Jonah’s cocky statement catches me slightly off guard. “But, the more I listen to your da—Roland’s sermons, the more I realize … I don’t think this school stands for much of what Jesus taught at all. At least not from what I can see. And the school’s model of Christ-like is causing me to question my relationship with God. My faith.”
Jonah’s features darken, and a rare anger circles his eyes. I’ve sensed he’s been struggling with something, but assumed it had to do with his relationship with his dad, not that Carter University was dismantling his belief.
Jesus Freaks: The Prodigal (Jesus Freaks #2) Page 19