Jesus Freaks: The Prodigal (Jesus Freaks #2) (13 page)

Hurry up and wait. I knew there would be other vans from CU shuttling kids to the train station throughout the day, but I took the first one, and that’s left me sitting here in Gastonia, North Carolina in the depressing Amtrak station for the last four hours.

I did fall asleep for a while, and was rather disoriented when I finally came to, but since then I’ve been catching up on Facebook. Finally free of the CU
I
nternet police and nosy busybodies, I’ve spent well over an hour pouring over the college photo albums of my fellow high school graduates.

What I see doesn’t excite me as much as I thought it would. Quite the opposite is happening, actually. Pictures of girls having their hair held back as they empty the contents of their stomachs into bar toilets, and guys with drunken postures pressing their faces into the breasts of girls with less clothes on than I wear to bed leaves me feeling a little sick myself.

And, oddly enough, that makes me angry. I’m trying
really
hard not to judge the coeds in those pictures, because I know that a single decision separated me from them. Sending the check to Carter University is the only thing preventing my face in those pictures.

Or is it?

I’ve only had a few drinks in my whole life; would admission to any secular university
have
guaranteed my participation in such lewd acts? And, since when do I use the word lewd?

I exit out of Facebook and shake my head, trying to clear the sights of the last hour from my brain. No, perhaps I wouldn’t have engaged in
that
kind of behavior, but I didn’t think our Salutatorian would have either, but there she was in all of her glory letting another girl suck liquored Jell-O out of her navel. I wonder, briefly, what would have become of my CU friends, had they gone to secular universities
?

Silas and Bridgette would have packed up and left by the end of week one. Eden and Jonah may have struggled it out, and I think done fine, but what about Matt? Matt is the most “like me” in attitude I’ve come across so far on campus. And, though we’ve never had a conversation regarding our sexual experiences—or lack thereof—I’ve wandered around campus with the assumption that he’s done just as much as I have, and maybe more. He has the build and sarcastic grin of many of the guys in my friends’ pictures, but would he
do
that? Would he press his freshly-shaven, just-come-from-church face into the breasts of a bartender pouring his underage self a shot?

My breath catches as I look around the train station. Looks like I’ll be able to ask him myself, since he appears to be walking right toward me.

“You lost?” I grin, standing to stretch my legs and shake the numbness from my feet.

He shakes his head, smiling. “I thought you left already. Don’t you answer your texts anymore?”

Confused, I pull up my home screen and see, in fact, I’ve missed a few texts while on my
I
nternet search in Sodom.

“Sorry, I’ve been … busy.”

Matt tilts his head in question, and I pick up my bag, directing us to a bench that’s freed itself of what I hope to be the last group of CU students passing through here today.

“What
are
you doing here?” I ask, bending forward to stretch once more before sitting gain.

“I, Ms. Val
e
dictorian, am taking the train home.”

“Jerk.” I stick out my tongue and playfully smack his shoulder.

Matt sits next to me, but the strange thing is, when our legs brush against each other, he slides over a few inches.

Staring at the new, weird space between our bodies, I stare at him blankly. “I don’t have cooties, promise. I was just tested.”

He chuckles somewhat nervously, not changing his position before
changing
the subject. “Busy doing what?” He redirects our conversation.

“Oh! Right. Well, I don’t know if this is CU-legal, or whatever, or if it’ll make you uncomfortable, but … look at these.” I thumb my way back to my most recent Facebook stalking session, open the album “Fall Semester” from Dawn Davis—in our class
’
s
top ten—and hand my phone to Matt.

His eyes take a moment to focus on the screen, and when they finally do, he immediately looks at me. “
What?
What is this?”

He’s now holding my phone like it’s a bomb, making strong eye contact with me as he awaits his answer.

“It’s someone from my high school. Who goes to UMass Amherst.”

“
That
is at college? That looks like something you’d see in a movie about college.” He sets the phone on my lap and runs his palms on the front of his jeans.

“Hey,” I place a hand on his shoulder, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I’m just … kind of freaking out.”

Matt exhales and runs a hand over his face, then slowly picks my phone back up. “What’s wrong, K. Sawyer?”

Internally, I sigh a bit of relief. For a moment there, I thought Matt would run for the hills, thinking
I was showing him porn. But, his use of my nickname—one he created, no less—calms me.

“I’m weirded out. Like, I knew the stereotypes of college, too, but it was never an option for me when I enrolled here. If I went to UMass with Dawn, would I be next to her in this picture?” I point to her bedazzled denim hot pants as
Exhibit A
.

Setting down the phone on the bench between us, Matt folds his hands in front of him and leans his elbows on his knees. “You’re worried about what might have happened?”

Mimicking his position, I don’t offer a verbal answer. I let us sit in silence since I feel his question is more rhetorical.

“Kennedy,” he sighs, “if you wanted to behave that way, you would have found a way by now.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sitting up, I lean against the back of the bench and tuck my knees into my chest—making sure my skirt is tucked around my body.

Matt stays forward. “I mean, if you wanted to go out and drink, you would have. You’re in town enough, and have plenty of opportunity. More than a lot of other kids on campus.”

“Yeah,” I huff, “if I want to get kicked out of school. I’m not exactly CU’s most low-profile student. And, anyway, it’s against all the rules, and stuff. I don’t really know anyone off campus, anyway, besides who I work with.”

He laughs and finally sits up. “Logistics aside—because you do know a
ton
of people off campus—do you think
no one
at school does that kind of stuff?” He gestures flippantly toward the phone.

My eyes bug from my head. “Uh …”

“Okay, maybe not
that
.” His smile broadens and I take a second to admire the tiny creases on the edges of his eyes. One of the side effects of living somewhere with sunshine most of the year. “But kids drink. Not a lot of them, but they do.”

“Who? The football players?”

“Nice,” he muses. “Some of them, and some other kids. Just … people.”

“And you know this because …”

“I’m not naive,” he quips.

I shoot him a dirty look.

Matt holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. I know this because, yes, I have gone to a couple of parties with guys from the football team.”

“How does no one get caught?”

He shrugs. “Grace?”

“Matt!” I slap his shoulder.

“Stop hitting me!” he teases.

“I’m serious!”

“So am I.” He takes a deep breath and seems to regroup. “We’re college kids, Kennedy. We’re supposed to test stuff.”

“But, Jesus …” I’m a little more serious than I thought I’d be when I planned that sentence in my head.

Matt shrugs. “Some of your friends are Christian, right? The ones doing the body shots?”

My mouth hangs open. “I’m sorry, I’m hung up on your proper use of the term
body shots
.”

“I’m from the South, Kennedy, not under a rock.”

I arch an eyebrow to give a quick retort, but he cuts me off.

“Don’t even,” he warns.

“Okay,” I take a deep breath, “so I know that
now
no one is likely to invite me to one of these … gatherings. Because, Roland. But, why didn’t anyone before? Like, when they thought I was the scary Pagan from New England?”

“Get over yourself,” Matt teases. At least I think he’s teasing. “A. I don’t think anyone, except maybe Joy, thought you were a scary
anything
. B. Freshman aren’t usually invited anywhere like that. Even if the upperclassmen are going to break the rules, there’s kind of this understanding that they won’t poison the young and impressionable.” He offers a cheesy smile, posing as innocently as possible.

I point my index finger into the end of his nose. “Young and impressionable you are not?”

He shrugs.

“Hmm,” I nod approvingly, “the dark underbelly of CU.”

“Not
that
dark.” He points to my phone once more.

After a few seconds of silence, while I reshuffle my assumptions once more, tossing most of them into my mental trash bin, I address Matt. “Do you drink a lot?”

“I don’t drink at all,” he says flatly, causing me to purse my lips. “I’m serious, Kennedy.” His tone darkens, almost sending a chill through me.

“Why not?” I ask. “Why bother going at all if you’re not going to do the illegal thing they’ve gathered to do?”

“Do you drink?” he asks.

“No.”

“Would you go if you were invited?”

“Yes,” I admit quickly.

“Why?”

“To study the disciples in Sodom,” I answer with a grin.

Matt holds his hands out, mouth hanging open comically as if I’ve just said the most obvious thing in the world.

“Bull,” I challenge.

“Excuse me.”

“I call bull. I’d say
shit
, but you’re being weird, so I won’t. But, bull. You don’t go to study anyone. You know how everyone is. These are your people.”

I guess I’ve hit a nerve, because Matt stiffens at my side and bites the inside of his cheek.

“Just be honest,” I say softly. “If you’re not going to drink, is it so you’ll feel included in the team? I mean, I’ve looked online—you’re
really
good from what the stats say—so I don’t think you’d need to prove something …”

Matt faces me and starts to open his mouth, but I cut him off.

“You’re dancing with danger,” I blurt out.

“What?”

“You’re trying it all on—the scene—to see if maybe it’s something you
want
to do.”

Matt shakes his head. “I promise you I don’t want to drink or degrade women. And, I
do
go to study people.”

“Why?”

He lowers his voice to a near whisper. “Do you ever wonder why Roland ended up the way he did in college? Star basketball player for a D-one school that ends up washed up, alone, and no titles to show for it just a couple of years later?”

“Every single day,” I admit somewhat absently.

Matt takes a deep breath. “My dad may have made it through college in one piece, but that says nothing for what happened later. Like
way
later. I guess sometimes I just try to figure out where he started. It was a slow slide, I think, but if I can find where it started, I’m hoping—”

“That you can avoid the same fate?”

He nods.

“But you don’t believe in fate, right?” As far as I’ve always been taught, fate isn’t a Christian thing.

Matt shrugs. “I don’t know what I believe most of the time, Kennedy.”

“A. Stop calling me
Kennedy
all the time, it’s weird. B.,” I grin, mimicking his speech pattern from earlier, “What in God’s name happened with your dad
?
You’ve told me nothing, which is hardly fair since you know absolutely everything I know about my relationship with Roland.”

“Fair?”

I nod. “Fair. That’s how friendships work, Matthew. Reciprocity. If you’re going to be friends with a girl, you better get your act together. Now,” I shift so I’m sitting cross-legged on the bench, facing him, “what’s the deal with you and your dad?”

Matt licks his lips and looks away from me. “Do we have to do this today?” he asks with a heartbreaking amount of vulnerability in his voice. It sinks my stomach.

“I … I guess not. No, no we don’t. Sorry.” It’s the first time I’ve been so direct about his dad, and it turns out my instincts were right. Off. Limits.

Leaning forward, I wrap my arms around his neck and squeeze into a warm Matt-hug. He gives the best hugs. This time, though, he barely hugs me back. A slight pat between my shoulder blades that feels like it’s more my
G
reat
U
ncle Marlin and less like the Matt that hugged me when I told him I was having a hard time trusting anyone.

Guess I pushed him way too far.

“Sorry,” I whisper, returning to my regularly seated position.

Matt’s eyes look vexed by something I can’t quite make out.

Yes. I’ve definitely pushed too far.