“Dean,” Paul Nelson says with a new softness to his voice, “you’re right.” He turns to face me. “Kennedy, please forgive my words. They were hurtful and unjust. It’s just been a very… stressful time.”
Suddenly, all eyes are on me, waiting for my pardon of Bridgette and Silas’ dad.
“Okay,” I mumble. “It’s fine.”
I leave my eyebrows furrowed as Dean Baker takes his seat and shuffles through some papers in front of him. As another executive rises to speak, Stephanie sits on the other side of Roland and is in my eye line. She gives me a wink and a friendly smile, as if the dean’s words were genuine, but I maintain my scowl.
I don’t trust him. Not one bit. There is no way Dean Baker wants more students like me running around this campus. He’s already told me so much in calling me a threat.
He’s lying.
And, if I’m lucky, he’ll prove it in front of a few million trusted television watchers.
***
“You guys all set to start volunteering tomorrow?” Roland asks me, Eden, and Matt as we clean up from dinner. Roland barbecued some delicious meat and invited my friends over after the network meeting, since campus food is always subpar.
“Yes,” Eden answers. “I can’t wait to work with the little kids and read to them.”
Matt nods. “It’ll be interesting, I bet, but it sure beats sitting around all day waiting for football practice to start.”
“When does training start?” Roland asks.
Matt stretches his arms far above his head and leans back slightly. “Two weeks, baby! But some of us who’ve been on campus have been at the gym every day.” He takes a deep breath and my eyes trace down the gray fabric of his T-shirt to the small, holy sliver of sin that peeks out above his belt. It’s the only view I need to see just how hard he’s been working out this summer. There are definite lines carved into his skin. Not like the cover of a romance novel, but this is way better. Because it’s real.
I swallow hard and clear my throat.
Give it a rest…
Roland leans against the counter. “So you’ll have just about a week of overlap with volunteering and football.”
Matt nods. “But we volunteer like seven to noon and practice starts every day at two, so it’ll be fine.”
“My door’s always open,” Roland says, seemingly out of nowhere.
“I know,” Matt answers as if they’ve had this conversation before. Short but not rude.
“All right,” I cut in, desperate to break the weird tension. “We’re gonna go for a walk.”
“Where?” Roland asks.
I shrug. “The trail? With just them. Not you. You’re a grown up.”
He laughs. “You’re all over eighteen. You’re grownups, too.”
We all chuckle. “Right,” I say, “but you’re more of a grownup. Like a real one.”
“Going to downtown and back, or…”
I feign being wounded. “What ever happened to saying have fun and be back before dark? We’ll walk north on the trail. How’s that? I haven’t been up that way much.”
Eden chuckles and puts her plate in the sink. “You guys are funny. Thank you for dinner Pastor—er—Roland,” Eden stumbles. “I know you told me to call you Roland, but that makes me uncomfortable.”
Roland laughs. “It’s fine, Eden. I just want you to know you can. Just know I’m far more than a pastor, okay? I’m more Roland than pastor. They just needed something to print in the church bulletins.
She nods with another chuckle. “Roland it is then.”
“Unless we’re on campus,” Matt teases.
“Right,” Roland pipes in. “Then pastor me to death.” He laughs some more at his own humor, then returns to the sink to load the dishwasher.
My heart warms at how easy this all feels. My friends. Roland. Life.
“Bye,” I say as we exit the back door.
“Bye,” Roland calls back. “Have fun. Be back before dark.”
I stick my head back in the door and catch him grinning as he rinses off a plate. He, in turn, catches me staring at him.
“Oh,” he says as if he knew I was there the whole time. His grin fades slightly. “Be careful. That’s the most important thing.”
I nod. “I will. Thank you,” I say. “For… everything. And for not pushing me on this show thing. I know how much pressure you must be under to get me to commit to it.”
Roland dries his hands and makes his way toward me. Placing his hand on my shoulder, he eyes me earnestly. “Kennedy, I couldn’t care less if you signed those papers or set them on fire and put them down the sink. Carter University is not in the TV business, and neither is New Life, for that matter. I just want you to make a decision that’s okay for you.”
“Thank you,” I whisper before turning for my friends, uncomfortable with the amount of emotion in his eyes.
“Always,” he says, closing the door behind me.
***
“What. Was. That?” Eden says once we enter the trail. “With Bridgette and Silas’ dad, I mean.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m crap, didn’t you gather that as he reviewed the evidence of all the unsavory attention I’ve brought the university?”
Eden clicks her tongue in disapproval as Matt speaks up. “You’re not crap,” he says angrily. “He’s crap for making you feel that way, Kennedy. That was a… jerk move. In front of everyone like that?”
I shrug. “I’m less concerned about what he said than I am about what Dean Baker said.”
Eden shudders. “Ugh, he’s so creepy, isn’t he? What is it about him?”
“I don’t know, but I will tell you that little charitable arms-wide-open-and-welcoming ruse he’s trying to pull off won’t last that long. He does not like me, and I don’t know what that was all about.”
“He’s trying to make sure you agree to do the show,” Matt offers. “I mean, I agree that the university needs to be as welcoming as they claim to be, but that’s fighting a stereotype of evangelicals that’s decades old. That speech in front of the executives? That was to entice you and to placate them.”
Eden furrows her brow. “No, that can’t be it. Can it?”
I think for a moment. “He’s probably right.”
“I thought you are going to do the show,” Eden says somewhat anxiously.
Matt shoots me a look that matches her tone, and I wave my hand. “Of course I’m going to,” I answer. “But there’s probably no harm in making them sweat it out a little. What did all of your contracts say? Like how many days and hours a day are they going to film and stuff? I haven’t read through mine yet.”
As we shuffle our way down the trail, Matt and Eden compare notes out loud about their contracts. It seemed to be a document presented by CU and NBC jointly. The network retains the right to film them a maximum of two weekdays during class, lunch, studying, etc. They also will choose either Friday or Saturday each week, but not both, and they’ll allow filming before, during, and just after church on Sundays as allowed by each house of worship, but they’ll comply with the school’s request that all filming will cease by noon on Sundays. Further, cameras will be allowed in the dorms to film and interview during floor meetings/prayer sessions, but there are heavy restrictions surrounding in-room filming. It will only be allowed in very select circumstances, for limited amounts of time, and the RA must always be present. No exceptions.
“It sounds like someone at CU has a clue,” I say as we round a bend near a small stream.
“I think your dad had a lot to do with the contract,” Matt says, pausing to lean against a tree on the bank of the stream.
“Yeah,” Eden says to him. “And that whole thing with the GoPro cameras and the student-like filming crew?”
I cock my head to the side. “The what?”
Eden faces me. “In order to have as little disruption as possible, the camera crew will be younger people from the network that can kind of blend in around here. They’ll have a room in
the dorm together and will sit in on some classes, eat lunch with us, all of that. And they’ll have cameras recording while they go. Small ones. Not those big honkin’ ones.”
“That could be… interesting,” I say slowly. I can’t decide if this is a genius move on behalf of both the network and the school, or a disaster waiting to happen. “Will we know who the camera people are?” I ask, to help me decide.
Matt nods. “They have to have their badges visible at all times and all that. And the longer interviews will be conducted more formally in offices or classrooms. You’re still in… right?”
Eden’s eyes widen. “Yeah, you are. Right? You have to be. It’ll be so much easier if you are.”
“Why?” I chuckle. “So they follow me around more?”
She shakes her head. “No, not that. You’re just… smarter about all of this stuff. My dad is worried I’ll somehow get taken advantage of…” she trails off.
Your dad’s smart.
“And you think I can help with that?” I ask, despite having thought the same thing when I first heard about the project.
“They’re from your world. They think we’re dumb little church-goers, and we’re not, but it’ll be hard to prove that if they’re manipulating us or trying to catch us doing something, or whatever.” She stares at her hands.
“I don’t think you’re dumb.” I walk to her and put my arm around her shoulder. “I maybe had that thought about some of you. But not you specifically. I don’t think that about anyone anymore though—not any more than the general population, anyway. I know too much.” I chuckle nervously. “Of course I’m in. But, don’t think I’m out of the danger zone. I’m willing to bet my CU career that someone either at the studio or in the school administration would love to see me fall flat on my face, morally speaking, while the cameras are rolling.”
“Someone like Dean Baker.” Matt chimes in without question.
“I’m betting on it,” I answer.
Eden puts her hands on her hips. “You’re right, Kennedy. He is creepy. What’s his deal, anyway? Have you talked about all this with that group of kids, or whatever?”
Matt shoots me a betrayed look, but I hold my hand up in defense. “Chill, Matt. Eden’s safe. And, it’s not like this is an actual CIA mission or anything. But if it were, she’d still respect our confidentiality.” I arch an eyebrow at him to accentuate my point. He relaxes his shoulders but holds question in his tight jaw.
“But,” I turn to Eden, “I haven’t yet. I’m not really sure if I should undertake a CU administrative shakedown, or let the cameras do the talking.”
“Have you talked to Roland about it?” Matt asks out of nowhere.
I stare at him in confused horror. “No,” I draw out. “I have not.”
“Why?” he asks, and I’m shocked by this line of questioning.
I shrug. “Because. Because… it’s big. It’s not just a vendetta Baker might have against me or Roland. This is like covering up rapes,” I whisper, because I believe the woods have ears. “It’s breaking the law and participating second hand in sexual abuse and God knows what else. It’s bad, and I want to be sure before I start pointing fingers.”
They nod, and a noise in the distance startles our attention from the conversation back down the path that we just came from.
“Guys!” a male voice calls. “Guys?”
“Silas?” Matt mumbles, taking a few steps down the trail and peering around the bend. “It’s Silas,” he confirms, still whispering over his shoulder.
My first instinct is to run, which is foolish. There’s no reason to. This is college, plain and simple, not a political thriller. The second is to mentally calculate how loud we’ve been, how far away Silas was, and how much he could have heard. My paranoia truly is fully intact, but given how far away his voice sounded when we first heard him, Silas was well out of hearing range. His dad sure seems buddy-buddy with Dean Baker, so any and all conspiracy theories must be carefully guarded around the Nelson siblings.
“Hey man,” Matt says somewhat hesitantly as Silas comes into view. He’s even taller than he was last year. So is Matt, for that matter. They’re both easily over six feet. Matt’s far broader and full of muscle, but Silas is lean like a long distance runner. All legs.
“Hey,” Silas says, barely out of breath. His red hair is cropped around the back and slightly longer on top, held together with what seems like a fair bit of gel. Shiny and hard despite physical exertion.
Eden waves. “Hi Silas. Um… what’s up?”
Silas walks directly toward me and places a firm hand on my shoulder. “Kennedy, I’m sorry for what happened earlier. With my dad and Dean Baker and all that. It was out of line.”
My lips part and involuntarily my right eyebrow arches up. Silas and I haven’t had much interpersonal interaction, but the little we’ve had has been bristly at best. It became clear very early on in our first semester that we were observing each other as if exhibits at a zoo.
I clear my throat. “I’ve gotta be honest with you, Silas. I thought you pretty much felt the same way…”
He drops his hands and his lips form a tight line as he clenches his jaw. “I know. I’m sorry. I haven’t been that friendly with you. You… you scare me a little,” he says. Out loud. With a shaky chuckle, but still. Out loud.
I nod, impressed with his candor. “I am quite scary. Just don’t knock on my door around midnight on a full moon. I won’t be held responsible for my actions.” I turn and continue my trek on the trail. No matter how much I appreciate honesty, it doesn’t mean I can’t be offended.
“No!” Silas calls after me. “Kennedy, wait! Please?”
Something in his plea stops me and turns me around. Silas is a few steps behind me and I notice Eden and Matt hanging a few paces further back, both with confused looks on their faces.
“What?” I cross my arms, keeping my tone clipped.
“I’m not just sorry for what happened earlier,” he says almost sheepishly. “I’m sorry for the way I’ve behaved around you up until now. I know you and Bridgette didn’t always see eye-to-eye, and rather than get to know you myself, I just took her word on everything—”
“Everything?” I question, indignantly. “Everything? What is everything? Does she sit around gossiping about me?”
Silas shakes his head. “No. No. It’s not that. She would just share conversations all of you had and I’d hear what I wanted to… look this isn’t about Bridgette. It’s about me. I’m sorry.”
Freckles have always made people seem several years younger to me, and Silas is no exception. With his wide hazel eyes set in the middle of dozens of pale brown freckles, I can’t help but see a shy, awkward ten year old walking to church ahead of several younger siblings.
“I forgive you,” I say in an exhale.
This phrase, I forgive you, is not one I ever heard so commonly used before coming to CU. I’m used to people saying don’t worry about it or it’s okay in response to an apology. There’s a different weight to I forgive you. I didn’t say it to Silas’ dad in the meeting, but I say it to Silas. And the weight lifts from Silas’ face the second I say it.
“Thank you,” he responds.
“So,” I say as Eden and Matt move forward and stand next to us. “Does Bridgette hate me, or what? I mean, she moved right out of the dorm, doesn’t talk to me…”
“My parents had her room switched,” Silas clarifies. “And she wouldn’t hate you.”
I chuckle. “Well of course not. Love your enemies and all of that.”
“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Silas admits.
“Enlighten me.”
“You challenge her. And it scares her. Things with Bridge have always been so black and white. And, yeah, some things are. But grey exists. Except for her…”
I shoot Matt and Eden a thoroughly confused look. “Wait .. What? Except for her. Silas, I’m going to be honest again and tell you that I’ve always viewed you as way more i
ntense than she is.”
He grins. “In some ways, yeah that’s true. When I have a belief I’ve thoroughly examined all sides of, prayed on, and lived out then, yeah, I’ll go down fighting for it. But Bridge?” He pauses and shakes his head. “In an effort to try to keep things simple in her walk with God, she’s actually made things way more complicated and alienated a lot of people. So many times she won’t even listen to another opinion. That’s no way to reach people.”
“Or love people,” Eden cuts in.
“Anyway,” he says. “Just pray for her. She’ll come around. She doesn’t know I’m here actually, or she may have come with me. I don’t know. I just needed to clear my side of the street with you. Are you doing the show? I think it’d be great if you did.”
I roll my eyes as Matt and Eden chuckle. “Yes,” I say for what feels like the tenth time in two days. “I’ll do the damn show.”
“You should watch your mouth,” Silas says seriously. I shoot a shocked glance at him and he breaks into laughter. “Just kidding… sort of.”
“Why do you think it’ll be great for me to be on the show?” I question. Out of the corner of my eye I see Matt stare directly at Silas, as if he’s more interested in Silas’ response than I am.
Silas looks at an invisible spot between the air and the ground for a few seconds. “I don’t know,” he finally says. “I honestly don’t know,” he says again with a light laugh.
“Me either,” I reply honestly.
I find myself staring at Silas as if I’ve never met him before. Something is different about him. How can one person look more relaxed and on fire all at the same time? I stand by my original observation of him that he’s incredibly intense. There’s a storm in those young eyes.
Silas is definitely fighting a battle or two inside that soul of his.
The Broken Ones (Jesus Freaks #3) Page 10