The Broken Ones (Jesus Freaks #3)

by Andrea Randall

  I don’t like it.

  “Kennedy, can you hang back for a moment?” Roland calls after me in an overly done professor tone.

  “Later,” Silas says cheerfully, patting my shoulder as he scoots by.

  “Later,” I reply, holding my index finger up to Matt, asking him to wait for me. I’m still relieved when he responds to me, even though it’s been a few weeks since we’ve been back on track. He points that he’ll be waiting outside.

  “What’s up?” I ask Roland once the last of my classmates have moved on to their next destinations.

  “I’m not holding you up from another class, right? You don’t have one till later?”

  “Right.” I roll my eyes. “Literature.”

  Roland chuckles. “What? Aren’t you reading literature?”

  “I guess. Not, like, anything relevant. We’re certainly not reading The Divine Comedy.”

  Roland twists his lips. “I heard you asked Professor Walker if that would be on the reading list this semester.”

  “Of course you did.” I snicker and lean against the podium he teaches from. “So what’s up?”

  Roland tries to look casual, but it’s the kind I recognize from class when he’s about to discipline someone. Only, I haven’t done anything out of line that I can think of, though that’s never stopped demerits before.

  “How are things going with the film crew around, and all that?”

  I shrug. “I barely notice them.” That’s a total lie, but I pretend not to notice them. My theory is that the more uninterested I seem, the more uninteresting I’ll be to them. Then, I can save my more talkative self for the interviews.

  “You’re cooperating?”

  I scrunch my eyebrows. “Cooperating? Yes. No one’s asked anything of me. Wh—what is this about?”

  Roland takes a few steps closer to me before looking around the room, I look, too, making sure we’re really alone.

  “What?” I whisper.

  He sighs. “I can’t believe I’m going to tell you this,” he starts, which does little to calm me. “But, some people at the network are wondering if your living with me is causing you to go into hermit mode and they’re not able to get an accurate representation of what life is like for a more secular student like you at CU.”

  I snort. “That’s rich. As if I’m the most liberal kid here.” I have zero grounds for this statement. “They can find someone else.”

  Roland’s eyes pinch at the corners.

  “They don’t want someone else,” I say, monotone. “They want me don’t they? It wasn’t enough to get me to agree to be filmed… was it?”

  With regret coloring his eyes, Roland shakes his head. “Apparently not. And, you yourself told me you wanted to be in control… and all that…”

  “I… I don’t know what to do,” I say, feeling helpless. “I can’t even…”

  “Dean Baker isn’t thrilled with the idea of you getting more screen time, either.”

  I arch my eyebrow and take a step back. “Fine, then. I’m in. They want more of me, they’ve got more of me. I will share zero allegiance with that walking blowfish.”

  Roland rolls his eyes. “Revenge on Dean Baker… or whatever this is… isn’t a good motivator, Kennedy.”

  I shrug. “This isn’t about revenge,” I try to assure him, adjusting the straps on my backpack. “This isn’t about revenge at all. This is about justice. And independence.”

  “Independence?” he questions.

  I nod. “Dean Easy Bake Oven doesn’t get to dictate what I do or how I do it.”

  “If you want to get anywhere with him, you’re going to have to do more than countermeasures, you know. Not that I’m saying you should be planning anything in regards to him… I’m just… saying.”

  Oh, Roland. He’s trying to be the better person here, I know he is. And I don’t intend to play as dirty as the dean, but I’m not going to be a marionette of his any longer—as if I ever were.

  “You’ve got a frightening grin on your face, Kennedy,” Roland says with a nervous laugh.

  I give him a firm pat on the shoulder and follow it with a wink. “Jesus Freaks is in need of a star, Roland. And a star they’re going to get.”

  “You,” he half-asks, half-answers.

  “I either wait for the network to pervert my friends in some way, or let the administration curate a Jesus Fantasy Land that will make the students here look just as bad… trust me.”

  “Don’t do anything that’s going to get you kicked out of school or make me field middle-of-the-night calls from your mother. Please.” Roland returns to the podium and pulls out lecture notes for his next class as a few students trickle in.

  I stare at him for a few seconds. “You’re not going to try to stop me?”

  “Nope.” He grins. “Because, A. It wouldn’t work and B. I trust you enough not to do anything stupid.”

  “Thanks.” I smile back at him and walk out of the building in search of Matt… and a camera guy.

  I spot Matt quickly when he flags me down from under a tree on the quad.

  “What was that about?” he asks as I approach.

  I shrug. “Just checking in on the reality show stuff. Apparently I need to make myself more available.”

  Matt’s eyes widen as we make our way to Mission Hall. “He said that?”

  “God no,” I reply, offering no more. “What’s with the speed, psycho? You that hungry?”

  He does this weird move in an attempt to flex his muscles while walking. “You can’t maintain this brawn without eating every few hours.”

  “Yikes.” I grin and he smacks my shoulder.

  As we approach Mission Hall, I catch sight of a startled Eden running through the doors and toward us. It brings a queasy flashback feeling of last year when my not-so-undercover identity was revealed to the whole school right in this same setting.

  “What?” I ask, studying her wide eyes.

  “Joy’s here,” she blurts out.

  I’d heard Joy Martinez, my arch-nemesis according to the Internet, was returning to CU in the fall. All attempts I made to contact her over the summer through her CU email were in vain—her account was no longer active. It’s been a few weeks since the start of school and I haven’t seen or heard from her, and neither has anyone I asked.

  “Seriously?” Matt answers for me, as I remain glued in my spot, staring at Eden.

  She nods. “She’s at a table talking with a camera person and Dean Baker.”

  Heat rises through my neck and Matt eyes me. “Perfect.” I swallow hard. “Excellent timing.”

  “Odd timing, if you ask me,” Eden admits, perching her hands on her hips.

  “Glad you said it,” Matt mumbles.

  “Good,” I take a breath, “we’re all on the same paranoid page.”

  Eden puts a hand on my shoulder. “What are you going to do?”

  My conversation with Roland flashes briefly through my mind. I lift my chin and take a deep breath. “I’m going to take some control for once.”

  Neither of them say anything, which I appreciate. They just follow me into the crowded dining hall as I scan for Joy and company.

  “Back corner,” Eden murmurs, and instantly I spot them.

  Talking over my shoulder, I say, “Let me go by myself. I’ll find you after, okay?”

  As I get closer, I see that while it certainly is Joy, her appearance has changed drastically. Her once waist-length hair has been sheared into a severely angled reverse bob—the front of her hair a few inches below her chin while the back is stacked almost boy-short. Also, even though she’s sitting, I can tell she’s lost a lot of weight which is concerning since I don’t think she cast much of a shadow in the first place.

  The NBC camera kid spots me first. I recognize him from Roland’s class. He’s probably five foot eleven and a little soft in the middle with one heck of a baby face underneath a mop of bouncy brown curls. His name badge says “Finn,” but that’s all I know of him.
Either way, he clearly recognizes me by the lift of his eyebrows, which draws the attention of Joy and the dean away from their conversation.

  “Joy,” I open, with a smile. “You’re back.”

  “Kennedy,” she says with a similar smile but also a bit of hesitation.

  And, now we’re in one of the most awkward bouts of silence I’ve encountered in my nineteen years. Which says a lot given how the last year has gone.

  “I’m not really back,” she says, standing and walking to the head of the table to face me. “Not yet anyway. But… I told the school I’d be happy to do an interview about the process of getting myself ready to come back.” She looks down to her fingers, fidgeting with them. Her voice is unique. A Southern-mixed-with-Spanish accent. She was adopted from Korea as a baby and grew up speaking mostly Spanish at home with her bilingual adoptive parents, but her South Carolina address is also present in her voice.

  Leaning in, I whisper, “Can we take a walk?”

  She nods. Dean Baker, who’s been eerily silent up until now, clears his throat. “I’m in the middle of a meeting, Miss Sawyer.”

  Peering around Joy, I offer the most fake, polite smile I can. “We’ll be just a moment, if you don’t mind. I promise to return her in one piece.” Giving him a slight wink, which takes about all the guts I have left for today, I turn on my heels and head for the back door.

  Joy’s close behind me. I can tell because every time we pass a table, the conversation ceases for the second or so we’re in front of them. Except those gracious people who pretend not to care.

  There’s a bench right at the exit of the dining hall and, since it’s clear, I grab it. It would take too long to find something completely private, and nothing’s completely private in this place, anyhow.

  “Can we sit here?” I ask her. She nods

  I’m face-to-face with my accuser for the first time in several months. I thought I’d hate her. That I’d want to swear at her—again—or throw something at her. Looking at her nervous face, though, I just want this to be over. For both of us.

  Before I can say anything else, Finn pops his head out the back door, spots me, and grins.

  “God,” I mumble under my breath.

  “What?” Joy asks.

  I nod to the door. “We have company.”

  “Hey guys,” he starts. “Do you mind if I—”

  “Yep.” I hold up my hand, stopping him. “We mind.”

  He tilts his head to the side. “Contract?”

  “Shrewd,” I reply, narrowing my eyes. “This is the first time we’ve talked since last year…” I don’t know why I thought this would help my case.

  “Excellent!” Finn answers. “Proceed like I’m not even here.”

  I huff. “Whatever. Joy,” I say quietly, turning to her, then chickening out a little. “Your hair looks great. So different!”

  She smiles. “Thanks. I donated it. I’ve done that a couple of times. My hair grows really fast, thankfully.” She laughs nervously and crosses her legs. “I like your hair, too. I always wanted wavy hair, but it’s too thick. Not even a curling iron works for long.”

  I smile, searching for something to say to thank her for the compliment, but I can’t stand another second of pretend-conversation with her. “What happened, Joy?” I blurt out, shaking my head and looking down.

  Of everyone here, and of all the strides I’ve made, I find it disturbingly difficult to look her in the eyes. She said I was having an affair with the pastor for goodness sake.

  “I mean, what… happened? Why did you target me? What did I do to you?”

  I look up and Joy looks down, our eye contact see-saw seems to be working for us right now. “I hated you.” She looks up after she says it, then looks down again.

  I hated you.

  I assume people have hated me before, but I figured they just went about their business and said it behind my back. “But you told a lie. And you told one about Roland. And you didn’t come to me with it…” I trail off, needing to take a breath to calm the brewing anger.

  Tears instantly spill down Joy’s cheeks. I hadn’t thought her capable of tears, so I just kind of sit with my face unmoving. “I’m so sorry,” Joy sobs into her hands.

  I can’t help it, but out of the corner of my eye I search for Finn, to see if he’s enjoying any of this. He’s just far enough around my side that my peripheral vision misses him.

  “I’ve already forgiven you, Joy,” I say quickly, as if I’ve practiced it a million times because, in a away, I have. In prayer I’ve asked for the grace to withstand my first meeting with her since everything went down. Maybe this is what grace looks like. Maybe it’s not always harps and hugs and sunshine. Maybe it’s tears on a bench in the middle of a college campus with a film crew nearby.

  I put a hand on her shoulder and look around. Yep, we’re attracting attention. “I just… want to know why. Why did, do, you hate me? Why Roland? And why not just talk to me about it before spreading all the gossip?”

  I wonder if Joy can honestly answer any of these questions. There was this time when I was ten and was playing with a yo-yo in my living room. I started swinging it around and, inevitably, broke a lamp. One of my mom’s favorites. I don’t remember her reaction, which could be a good or bad thing, I suppose, but when she asked why I broke it, I couldn’t really answer. I was being an idiot and not thinking clearly. My guess is there’s a lot of hurt in this world caused by people being idiots and not thinking clearly.

  Joy shrugs and looks up, wiping her tears away. She’s either wearing waterproof mascara or has amazingly natural lashes, because there are no black streaks down her cheeks. “I had no idea why someone like you would want to come to Carter. You’re from a liberal state, which is one thing—but there are all kinds of people everywhere.” I nod slowly while she continues her character analysis of me. “But when we were in the dining hall that first week—maybe it was even the first day—you made it clear that you had no problems with liberal politics, or the homosexual agenda…”

  Agenda…

  Whatever, just listen to her.

  I roll my eyes anyway because I can’t just let that one slide.

  “And,” she continues, “I started trying to figure out why you’d want to come to Carter. So far from home for you in a lot of ways.”

  Tell me about it.

  I keep my mouth shut, because I’ve learned quickly in my time here that that’s the best policy right out of the gate. But, Joy has more to say. “I started seeing things that I now know weren’t there. I mean, your da—Roland is a pretty divisive issue for some on campus, and you seemed pretty chummy with him. At first I figured it was just because you are both so liberal.” I hate politics. “But, then I saw how he smiled at you, and I saw you two hug a couple of times. Not necessarily romantic hugs, but longer than is usually acceptable between staff and students.”

  I figured this much. Major errors on both mine and Roland’s part in the effort to keep our relationship under wraps. “I get that,” I say out loud. “But… the fliers? Was that necessary?”

  Joy closes her eyes, tightly, and shakes her head as more tears spill. “Not at all. I had spent so much time trying to figure you out and prove to myself that you couldn’t really be a Christian that I lost touch. With God and…”

  “Reality?” I cut in, but softly.

  She nods. “Reality. It was like I was out of control in that dining hall. When I first saw you, it almost energized me in some way, like I’d get to out you. Then you told your secret, and called me a… bitch,” she whispers. “It was like a bucket of cold water was dumped over my head. I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

  I have chills watching true fear fill Joy’s eyes. “I was afraid I was going to get kicked out of school, and I wanted to come here my whole life. And how mad my parents were going to be at me…”

  “How mad were they?” I ask, to remind each of us that we really are still just teenagers and parents can be pretty s
cary.

  Joy eyes me and tilts her head and gives a slight grin. “There was a lot of praying. And talk of disappointment.”

  I wince. “Ugh. Disappointment is the worst thing in the parent arsenal.”

  “I know, right? It’s like they save it for the fatal blow. We’re just so disappointed in you. Gah!” Just like that, Joy and I are having our first normal conversation ever. “But,” she gets serious again, “you saying you didn’t want disciplinary action…” She scrunches her eyebrows and shakes her head. “Why?”

  I twist my lips and shrug. “Honestly, Joy? I have no idea what came over me. My active theory on that right now is God. And mercy. For both of us, I think. I don’t want to over-spiritualize this, or anything, but I just thought it would be pointless for you to get kicked out, or whatever, for something that’s kind of gone away anyway.”

  Her eyes widen. “Gone away? You’ve been on the Today Show… twice. And now… look around! We’re basically on TV!”

  “It was bound to happen,” I admit with a sigh. “You might not like Roland, but lots of other people certainly do and find him just fascinating.” I say this with some sarcasm, because it is still sometimes surreal for me to comprehend the secular/sacred popularity line Roland masters on a daily basis. “Just do me a favor?” I add, cautiously.

  “Anything,” she replies in an instant.

  “Don’t do this to anyone again. For the rest of your life, okay?”

  Joys face falls a little, like she’s being punished by the principal. “Okay,” she agrees meekly.

  “Don’t beat yourself up about it. You don’t have to like me, or my dad, or my politics or any of that, but you can’t tear down someone’s character like that.”

  Without direct evidence.

  Dean Baker, and the skeletons I know are shoved in his closet, is never far from my mind, but I’ll keep him miles from this conversation.

  “I get it. I do.” Joy rises to her. “I’ll still pray for you, though,” she says brightly.

  I give her a small wave, deciding to stay in my seat for a while longer. “I’ll return the favor.”