Letting out a nervous chuckle, I shove my hands in my pockets. “I’m a football player raised in a pastor’s family from Georgia, Kennedy … I …”
“I didn’t ask you what everyone around you thinks. I asked what you think. Apart from how you’ve been raised.”
Taking two steps toward her, I tilt my head in challenge. “That’s not fair. You don’t have an opinion other than the one you were raised with, do you?”
She opens her mouth, then closes it for a few seconds before opening it again. “That isn’t the same thing. My opinion doesn’t oppress people.”
I huff through my nose. “Which is how you see it.”
“So you’re against homosexuality,” she states dismissively, passing me as she walks down the trail further.
“I didn’t say that,” I call after her, quickening my pace to catch up. “Hey,” I tug lightly at her upper arm when I reach her, stopping us and forcing her to turn to me. “I didn’t say that. All I said was neither of us can be sure which opinions are ours, or from our upbringing. Maybe we’d both learn something if your—if Roland preached on those topics, huh?” I try to be careful not to call Roland her dad unless she does, but sometimes it slips out.
She shrugs, avoiding eye contact.
“Hey,” I say again, relishing the feeling of her arm—covered as it may be—against my skin. “What are you so afraid of here?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Parachute
Kennedy.
“What are you so afraid of here?” Matt’s gaze is strong as he looks down on me.
At me, maybe. I hate that I always assume the worst.
My eyes fall to his hand, which sits on my arm. He drops it, and I immediately curse myself for silently calling attention to it.
What am I so afraid of?
Everything.
“Everything,” I admit. “I’m afraid that your political opinions will make me want to not be friends with you anymore. I’m afraid that mine will make you think the same way about me. And, if I’m being totally honest and practical? One of us is right. That’s it. And everything changes for the wrong one. This issue is about as black and white as it gets and there are hundreds more like it.”
Matt runs a hand over the top of his head a few times before bringing it down over his face, where he leaves it over his mouth. Thinking, it seems. I wait in the uncomfortable silence, thankful that he’s both still here having this conversation with me and he hasn’t turned vile.
“Okay,” he says in an exhale after several seconds. “New rule.”
“Yay,” I say sarcastically. “I love rules. What is it with you people and rules?” I chuckle nervously shifting on my feet.
He shakes his head and reaches out, playfully pinching my arm before he allows us to continue our hike through the woods. “Let’s just … not talk about the political stuff, okay? We’ve got a lot of heavy stuff going on with our families and this school. Let’s just be friends for a while before we beat each other over the head with politics, ‘kay?”
“Crap,” I blurt out with a giggle.
“What?” He laughs, looking at me like I’m a weirdo.
“You meant to say crap a few times in there, didn’t you? You said stuff twice in a row. At least one of those was supposed to be crap, right? You can say crap with me, Matt.”
He throws his head back and laughs. “No, I can’t.”
“Why?” I bite my lip and look down, my hormones creating soft heat in my cheeks. I dig my hands into my dress pockets just to be on the safe side.
“Because I respect you. And words. I know how powerful words are and I don’t want you to think I take either thing—you or the words—for granted.”
I let this sound out of my mouth that’s somewhere between a growl and a sigh.
“What?” Matt asks, grinning ear to ear.
“Even for a jock you’re, like, this storybook kind of guy.”
“Is that a good thing?” He lowers his head, looking at the ground, but keeps walking forward.
“We’ll see,” I tease. “There are all kinds of books out there. And all kinds of guys in them.”
Matt chuckles. “Yeah, and the Bible is full of shady characters.”
“Oh!” I remove my hand from its protective casing in my pocket and smack Matt’s shoulder. “Speaking of shady characters, did you know Asher is a Christian? Like the you kind of Christian?”
I don’t think Asher is shady, per se, but for the context of the conversation, that description fits him fine.
“A like me Christian?” Matt pokes fun at my breathy high-pitched voice. “Yeah, I know,” he answers when his husky tone returns.
“He says passively …” I goad, throwing us into third person.
“What?” He shrugs. “He helps run this prison ministry a couple of towns over. Roland helped him get it off the ground last year.”