I smile while I read the message. It seems Roland and I had the right idea in encouraging Jahara to push off the more in-depth interviews for a while. Media interest seems to have died down quickly, though not quick enough, which is why I’ve avoided all social media. We’ve been able to slip back into our previous roles of student and pastor—his making him far busier than I am—and we’ve only really seen each other in passing on campus or the one intervening Sunday since the Today Show interview.
Part of that is my doing, though, because I really needed to curl into myself for a while. There was far more exposure there than I’m typically comfortable with, and I really just wanted to keep my head down and make it through Thanksgiving in one piece. The rest of the semester will be a piece of cake, and then I’ll get six entire weeks away.
Me: I’m sorry too. Was studying like crazy, but got an A on the OT exam, so … I’m heading to the train station now. See you next week.
Roland: See you then. Stay safe.
It always makes me a little uncomfortable when he offers parental advice like this. Sure, these concerns were shared with the student body by teachers, RA’s, and friends through the last couple of weeks, but coming from him I know he’s trying on a parental role. It’s not that I don’t want him to, I don’t think, but we’ve got a long ways to go there.
I let his last message end our conversation and I fall quickly to sleep for the remainder of the ride.
“Kennedy,” Maggie calls me from my slumber. “We’re here. Wake up.”
Wincing as I try to right my neck after almost two hours in a car-sleep position, I sit up and stretch my arms.
“That felt good,” I admit. Between work, prayer groups, and the excessive studying I need to do to stay afloat, there is little time to sleep at night, let alone steal hours from the day.
Maggie smiles. “Have a good break. Make sure you go to church Sunday, okay?”
Rules.
I nod. “Fine, fine,” I playfully reply.
“Have you checked out evangelical churches in your hometown?”
I laugh. “I don’t think they exist, but I’ll give it a whirl.”
Maggie shakes her head. “Just keep your head on, okay?”
Sliding across the bench toward the door, I flash her a thumbs-up. “You got it.”
She shakes her head, dramatically rolling her eyes. “You’re going to give me a run for my money this year, aren’t you?”
Planting my feet on the ground I give her a circus-worthy smile. “What?” I ask, batting my lashes.
Maggie laughs and turns the key. “Just … stay out of trouble?”
“I will,” I concede, despite the question at the tip of her voice.
Once she pulls away, I stare at the abandoned-looking train station, admittedly bummed that it looks exactly like the picture the Internet provided me. A quick glance to my left shows a cluster of wildly out-of-place-looking CU students. Curiously, though, there are the girls I showed up with, mixed with some males. They must have left campus earlier, in their own van, of course.
At first glance I’m tempted to just wander by them and find a dark, urine-scented corner to hide in until my train comes. Interestingly, though, the distinct scent of burning tobacco draws my steps in their direction. There’s much giggling and whispering as I approach the group, but the cigarette smell is stronger.
“Oh, hey,” one of the guys in a CU sweatshirt says when he spots me. “Want one?”
“Dude!” another one half-gasps, slapping his shoulder. “That’s Pastor Roland’s kid. What are you doing?”
At this, the first “dude” turns robe-white. His mouth drops open and he stumbles to find his words. I scan the rest of the group, who have all gone silent in my presence. Do they honestly think I’m about to tattle on them?
“She’s not going to say anything,” Danielle from my floor says, barely believing herself with a pleading look in her eyes.
Unbelievable.
First, I’m a social pariah because of where I came from. Now, I’m a social pariah because of, well, where I come from—genetically speaking. Shaking my head, I huff through my nose and pull my lip ring from a Ziploc bag in the pocket of my coat. I maintain borderline uncomfortable eye contact with Dude #1 as I slide the cold ring through my lip. I grin as some people in the group look away.
“Don’t worry,” I assure dryly as I plug my earbuds into my phone, “I won’t tell anyone. I’m just going to be over there in the corner listening to Pitbull and swearing under my breath. Enjoy the cancer … carry on.”
Never has a darkened corner in a public transit station looked so inviting. Maybe the hobos have it right after all. I literally want to go unnoticed until I’m back in the logical, sane air north of the Mason-Dixon line. Where I’m sure to never have to reference that invisible geographical separator.
Once I scope out a corner that doesn’t smell too diseased, I slide my back down the wall and sit on my bag. Leaning my head back, I close my eyes and let Pitbull’s philosophical discussions of booties, and what he’d like to do with them, help transition me away from Carter University.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Pause
Kennedy.