The Broken Ones (Jesus Freaks #3)

by Andrea Randall

  Looking up, I find Matt shuffling his way to the right side of the bar, taking the stool Jonah occupied only moments ago. The steaming latte shifted just to the side.

  “Hey!” I walk toward him and pour his coffee. Just coffee, black. Diner style without the frills. “You doing okay? I thought you weren’t gonna show.” He always comes in at least once when I’m working.

  Matt grins, but I don’t really believe it. After a long sip he says, “I wanted to give Jonah enough time to ask you out.”

  A small child could knock me over. “Oh?” I say, shaky. I don’t know why I’m nervous. Matt didn’t want to go out with me when I asked months ago.

  He chuckles. “You look like you saw a ghost. Are you okay?”

  I stumble around for enough words to make a sentence. “I just… didn’t realize news travelled so fast.”

  Matt shakes his head. “It hasn’t. I got here a minute ago, but saw you two talking outside. Anyone walking by would know what was going on in your little conversation,” he says with a smile.

  “We’re going to dinner next Thursday,” I say, slowly. I’ve had guy friends my whole life. But only one with whom I talked about other guys… and he was gay. Even if I never dated my guy friends in high school it just seemed poor form to bring up other potential suitors. Then again, I’ve never had a guy friend as close as Matt. “Is this weird?” I say out loud.

  Matt laughs, sounding relieved. “A little?”

  “I mean,” I ramble on, “before at my dad’s, you said…”

  He waves his hand and looks at me with his pulsing grey eyes. “Don’t worry, K. Sawyer. Every guy has to have a girl that’s the one that got away.”

  And, for reasons I don’t fully understand, I die a little inside.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Fromage

  Kennedy

  “Any plans this week?” Mom’s voice is genuine, if a little tired.

  “For once.” I snicker.

  She pauses a moment, then asks, slowly, “Such as…”

  I clear my throat, pausing for a second to decide what to tell her. Our conversations have only recently returned to normal, and I’m not sure how protected she is from all the bombs I’m about to drop. “Well, next week I’m going with Roland to one of his meetings. It’s an anniversary meeting. Fourteen years…”

  “Ah, yes…” she says with about as much excitement as someone waiting for a colonoscopy.

  “Mom…”

  “What?” She sounds wounded.

  Pressing my lips together, then releasing them, I check the freshly applied color in the mirror and back away to check the full effect. I look good. Really good. As scheduling would have it, I have lots of plans coming up.

  “Wanna know what I’m doing tonight?” I deflect the conversation away from Roland.

  “There’s more?” she asks brightly.

  “I know, right?” I laugh, relieved at the easy way we can slip back into our normal selves.

  Wow, I think to myself as I twirl in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom, I do look good. I had to borrow a dress from Eden because I arrived at CU with nothing date worthy, I came to find out far too late—when I got out of the shower and stared at my closet. Thankfully, she responded quickly to my panicked phone call, racing over to Roland’s with a lovely deep purple dress in hand. It falls just below the knees and has three-quarter-length sleeves. The skirt folds deliciously when I twirl, though I doubt there will be much twirling tonight. One can never be sure, though, so I’m glad I’m prepared.

  Mom interrupts my private twirl in the bathroom. “Kennedy? Your plans?”

  “I have a date.”

  “With Matt?” It rolls off her tongue as normally as any conversation we ever had before my enrollment here.

  There’s a tiny twist in my stomach when she says his name, but it doesn’t last long because, hello—Jonah.

  “Jonah,” I say with a Disney-princess sigh.

  Eden coos along with me, fluffing my hair as she grins at me through the mirror.

  “By the way, I talked with Joy and things are fine,” I blurt out, changing the subject once again.

  “Okay,” she says slowly. “Continuing with random facts then… in two weeks I’m shipping you out to D.C., and you’re meeting me there for a rally.”

  Staring at my reflection, I watch my eyes light up. “Really? For what?” I shriek.

  Eden leans in and whispers, “Can I grab a seltzer? Want one?” I nod and she slips through the door and down the stairs.

  “Kennedy Lucille Sawyer, do you have no idea what’s been going on in the news?”

  The dreaded full-name attack.

  “What do you mean the news?” I ask, sitting at my desk and opening my computer. “What’s going on?”

  “The Republicans,” she always says the word like it tastes moldy, “are going to back Howard White .”

  She’s right. It does taste like mold. The black and green kind. Fuzzy. Howard White has been the face of many behind-the-scenes battles Mom has fought for the last several years. Each time she suits up to campaign for the rights of women across the country, that asshat with his douchey smile is ready and waiting with his band of merry right’s-squashers. All men, mind you. I mean, most of them have wives who stand behind them and dutifully smile.

  Would Eden… No. Don’t even go there right now.

  “He’s been the frontrunner for some time, Mom.”

  Ever since Mom’s revelation that she’ll be heading up Liz Baldwin’s campaign—which I’ve still told no one about—I’ve been keeping my ear on the ground regarding politics again. Naturally, this involves a lot of Internet research since CU isn’t really a hub for bi-partisan and equally representative information. I tap Howard’s name into the search engine to see if there’s anything about him I’ve missed in recent months. Like an underage prostitute hiding in his closet, or something. No dice. Just your general search that provides loads of his heinous decisions from one side, venom from the other.

  “How many political events have you attended on campus this year, Kennedy?” Mom asks, almost impatiently.

  I let out a sharp laugh, then quickly cover my mouth. “About as many times as guys I’ve had sex with.” Eden returns at this exact moment, looking horrified with her wide eyes and slacked jaw.

  “I’m joking,” I whisper to her, talking her off the ledge of cardiac arrest.

  “Cute,” Mom muses. “Do you go on your school’s website often?” she asks.

  “Not if I can help it.” I can tell she’s chomping at the bit about something, but I can’t even begin to tell what it is.

  She takes a deep breath. “Howard White is Mormon.”

  “Yep, him and his eleven-hundred kids. Not FLDS, though, right? Doesn’t he speak out against the whole polygamy thing?” Leaning back, I twirl a strand of hair around my finger. From the corner of my eye, I spot Eden doing a horrible job of trying not to obviously eavesdrop. So polite, even though I couldn’t care less.

  “Seven kids, and yes not FLDS, but that’s not the point,” she cuts in. “Carter University has, for a long time, had a page discussing the ill-advised tenants of the Mormon faith.”

  I nod. “That makes sense.” Oddly enough, it does. At the beginning of last year, Eden had made a comment about Mormon’s not “really” being Christian. I set out on a broad Internet search and found out what she was talking about. False prophets, and all. If there are any practicing Mormons on the campus of CU, they’re about as well hidden as a pregnancy would be around here.

  Recalling Asher’s voice as he shook through his own story about pregnancy throws my thoughts far from that analogy.

  “Type in this address.” She rattles off a university web address that is supposed to take me to their “statement” on the Mormon faith.

  An error message pops up, so I try one more time, double-checking the address. “There’s… nothing.”

  “Now go to the main site, Love.”

&
nbsp; I type in the school’s address and my jaw flies open so fast it hurts. “What?” I whisper. Hiss, really.

  Carter University President Supports Howard White as Potential White House Candidate.

  “Mmmhmm,” Mom says, quite satisfied.

  “What the… hold on.” I look to Eden, extending my laptop. “Have you seen this?”

  She has the audacity to look at me like I’m covered in flies. “Where have you been?” Eden asks. “Everyone’s split about it.”

  “Everyone’s split on it,” I relay to my mother. “What about?” I ask Eden.

  She shrugs. “I mean… he’s Mormon which, theologically is a problem. But… what choice do the Republican’s have? He’s clearly in the lead and he has the values we… the country… the Republican’s… want.”

  Well, here we are. Not once since the first week of school have politics been discussed inside the walls of our friendship. The homicidal rage I have toward Eden’s views reminds me of why I enacted the silence around politics rule in the first place.

  “Mom,” I break eye contact with my best friend, “I’ve got a date. I have to go.”

  I want to club everyone in the head.

  Which is why I need to keep my mouth shut.

  “Bet you’re going to be a lot more politically aware for the next couple of weeks, aren’t ya?” she teases.

  I snort. “I feel like you sent a heat-seeking missile to my—”

  “Soul?” she interjects.

  “I hate you,” I laugh, happier than ever to be having a normal—truly normal—conversation with my mother for the first time since I enrolled at Carter.

  “What are we doing in DC anyway? What’s your plan?”

  “Women’s rights,” she says as if I asked what the sun does in the morning.

  Rise.

  “I… I’ll have to get back to you. School schedule. Rules. I don’t know…”

  She sighs. “Lie and tell them you’re going to go hand out Bibles.”

  Now I sigh. “Yeah…” Because her assumptions aren’t far off. Looking at Eden, I’m quickly reminded of the literature she handed out at Planned Parenthood last year.

  Mom laughs while I remain trapped between two worlds. Universes. “Have fun on your date. What are you wearing?”

  I stand, looking to my feet. I tell her about Eden’s dress, and the addition of my grandmother’s pearls.

  “Sounds beautiful. And, really, have fun. Jonah seemed like a nice boy.”

  There she goes using the word “seemed.” Only, this time I don’t correct her. He does seem like a nice boy.

  But I’ve never asked to see his voter registration card.

  ***

  Eden left moments after my mom and I got off the phone, leaving me just enough time to stew myself into a mini panic attack before I receive a text message from Matt.

  Matt: Have a good time tonight. Your boy looks fresh.

  Me: Nope. Weird. Stop.

  I roll my eyes but am grateful Matt texted me, for some reason.

  Matt: Sorry, you’re right. I just wanted to tell you AS A FRIEND that I’m happy for you two.

  Me: Slow down, killer. This is just dinner.

  You don’t even believe that.

  I giggle, hitting send.

  Matt: Will it be weird with the camera person there?

  My heart skips several beats. In the glorious rush of preparing for my date, I’d forgotten that on top of chaperones, we’d have NBC in our faces. I growl as the doorbell rings and I tap back a quick text.

  Me: And, just for fun, the first episode of Jesus Freaks airs tomorrow.

  Matt: Yeah, a bunch of us are going to watch it in the student union.

  Me: I hope by “a bunch of us” you mean that you, Jonah, Silas, Eden, and Bridgette—if she climbs out of her hole—will come to Roland’s for pizza and relative seclusion.

  “Kennedy!” Roland hollers up the stairs. “Jonah’s here.”

  “Coming!” I call back, giving myself one more look-over in the mirror.

  Matt: mmm. Pizza.

  Me: He’s here. Wish me luck! Night!

  Matt: You don’t need it.

  I slip my phone into the small silver wristlet I’ve selected for the evening, and descend the stairs with held breath. I’m grateful NBC can’t film here, though I’m sure if they’re not in the car they’ll be waiting for us at the restaurant.

  As soon as I see Jonah in his charcoal grey dress pants and black, button-down shirt, though, it’s easy to reassign my attention.

  “Jonah,” I remark a bit breathlessly, “you look so handsome.”

  Let’s be honest. This boy has looked nothing less than catalogue-ready since I met him. But, this is a new level. And, it was done for me.

  Jonah approaches me with his hands out, taking mine into his. His eyes meet mine and my knees feel a little drunk. In real life, this is where he would kiss me. Not necessarily on the lips, but maybe on the cheeks. Instead, he smiles and gives my hands a squeeze.

  “You look exquisite,” he says quietly, clearly trying to keep this conversation between us. “Shall we?”

  I cast a shy glance to Roland, who’s looking at me. Beaming, really. “Bye.” I give a small wave as I wait for his response.

  He simply nods and takes a step back as if forcing himself not to impose. “Have a great time tonight. Back by nine,” he says, reminding both of us of Jonah’s campus curfew. I don’t technically have one since I live off campus, but I couldn’t really finish our date without him, so nine it is.

  “Absolutely, sir,” Jonah replies with a firm nod. “Thank you,” he says for reasons I don’t understand before he links his arm through mine and escorts me out of my house and down the broad front steps.

  It hadn’t occurred to me how we’d be getting to the restaurant until my foot hits the sidewalk and Jonah leads me to Roland’s Prius. He dangles the keys in front of me with a broad grin.

  “He lent us the car so we wouldn’t have to walk or take the bus.”

  I nod in approval. “Great. Want me to drive?”

  Jonah laughs as if I’ve told a joke, then opens the passenger door for me. “Your chariot awaits,” he says in a mock-royal tone. Maybe it’s not mock. I don’t know. I’ve never been on a date with him before.

  “You were excellent on Sunday,” he says for the fourth time this week as we wind down to the restaurant.

  I blush, looking at my hands. “You’ve mentioned.”

  Sunday was pretty spectacular. I saw all the people in the congregation. All five-hundred-plus of them, but I didn’t let them into my head. The songs all stitched together seamlessly and I didn’t even notice the camera crew, though I knew they were there. I assume a big portion of tomorrow’s Jesus Freaks premier will focus on church, school, and where we all come from. Silas mentioned the other day that some crew members from NBC had spent a weekend with his family at home, filming some of their day-to-day life as they did mini profiles on him and Bridgette.

  Still not many real words from Bridgette, but she doesn’t shoot daggers at me with her eyes anymore. And, at lunch on Monday she nodded and said “good job,” when Silas brought up our lineup the day before.

  “I had fun up there,” I say.

  “You sound surprised.”

  I shrug. “I thought I’d be more nervous, or that I wouldn’t take it as seriously as I wanted to, or something.”

  “How so?” Jonah questions, turning onto Main St.

  I tilt my head to the side, winding a strand of hair around my finger before shaking my hand free and setting it on my lap. Stop Fidgeting.

  “I don’t know.” I sigh. “It’s all my judgments… you know. I thought I’d be too nervous, or people would think I shouldn’t be there, or whatever.”

  “I love how honest you are,” he says quietly, effortlessly parallel parking right in front of a restaurant called Fromage.

  Any restaurant simply called “cheese” is going to be okay in my book.

 
; “I’m serious. It helps me stay honest with myself.” He opens the door for me and leads me out of the car by the hand, holding open the restaurant’s door as we walk into the tiny space.

  Jonah speaks to the hostess, who leads us to a table for two. I stop, staring in confusion at the configuration.

  “What is it?” Jonah asks, pulling out my chair. “Would you rather sit somewhere else? I thought this table would be nice because it’s near the fire—”

  I put up my hand. “No, no this is fine. Lovely. I’m just confused,” I whisper, “about the chaperone seating situation.”

  Jonah’s face relaxes and he points over his shoulder. “They’re sitting over there.”

  I turn around, and in the back corner of the restaurant I see Silas sitting with a female camera crew member who has both a GoPro camera and a hand held nearby.

  “Just Silas? And, oddly, the camera girl who was at my dads?” I say of Sophia.

  “Sophomores don’t have as many restrictions as freshmen as far as going off campus. Chaperones are still required for dates,” Jonah explains. “But, both Silas and I are in good enough standing to kind of be one-off chaperones. And, with a camera…”

  I suppress an eye roll. “With a camera that’s like ten thousand chaperones. But… I thought… don’t they have to sit with us?”

  Jonah shakes his head. “Not technically. They just kind of have to be… near.”

  Somehow, this information makes me more nervous. This has turned into less of a group experience and more into an actual date. With a real, beautiful guy.

  “Oh.” I exhale and thank him for pulling out my chair as I sit.

  Fromage is clearly exclusive, and I’m terrified at how expensive it must be. There can’t be more than ten tables in here, and my date experience is occupying two of them. Twenty percent of the restaurant seating is dedicated to my date with Jonah.

  Breathe.

  Taking a second to look around, I note that the place is a narrow rectangle, with a few-seat bar in the center against one wall. The kitchen is partially open, and I crane my neck to see that the kitchen space is roughly the same size as the dining space. I thank God for how good it smells in here. Not just because of the cheese, which nestles into every pore of the walls, but the fresh bread and the thick aroma of butter.