“We want a university that will not only match our real beliefs, but model the life of Christ, not the life of Christians.” His eyes stay on me while the message takes root in my brain.
Roland’s last sermon was titled “Jesus was not a Christian,” and focused on legalism and it’s downfalls. Which, now that I think about it, must have driven some of the faculty completely insane. I’m not well-versed on legalism, or what it means, but it seems that I’m in the right place to study just that.
“So you want to, what, get some people fired?” I stand, and slowly push in my chair.
Matt shrugs. “We don’t know. We don’t know how it works. But we do know that you have … experience in this kind of stuff. Don’t say anything.” He holds up his hand when I begin to protest. “You’ve been to more protests than we have, and you’ve been standing on the opposite side of the street from anyone sitting in the administration.”
This is true.
“And,” Jonah continues, “I know that you have a heart for Jesus, Kennedy. I don’t mean to get all spiritual here, but it’s true. I’ve watched you this whole semester and your words and actions aren’t harmful or vile, like my upbringing would lead me to believe someone like you would be. We need you on our side. While we figure out exactly what it is we’re going to do.”
“There’s more of you, aren’t there?” It wouldn’t make sense to have all this passion from a simple group of freshman. With the exception of Marla, who I recognize as an RA of another girls’ dorm.
“Yeah,” John chuckles. “A shitload more.”
“Watch your mouth,” Marla scolds. “I told you, you can’t do that all the time.”
“Sorry,” he mumbles. “But, yeah. Why do you think the university is so weird about encouraging us to attend UC services instead of or in addition to the New Life services on Sundays? They know that your dad is right, and if enough people believe them then they’re in big trouble.”
Caitlyn sits forward. “It wasn’t always like that. The UC used to run strictly mid-week services. They only opened on Sundays for individual prayer or special occasions.”
“Seriously?” I scrunch my eyebrows in confusion.
Matt nods. “Yep. But once your dad got the position as pastor there, they went into freak out mode.”
“I’ll help,” I blurt out. “And not necessarily because I agree with what you’re trying to do, because I don’t know where I stand. I don’t have enough information. But, at the very least I can help you get your acts together. You need a goal, some organization, and a little leadership. You can’t have a hundred rabid dogs running around gunning for faculty.”
“Thank you,” Matt says, standing.
I arch an eyebrow. “We have some talking to do.”
He nods. “Study group?”
I nod back.
“I’ve got to get back to work guys … you all know where to find me if you need me.”
Walking back behind the counter, I feel like I’m slowly waking from the weirdest dream I’ve ever had.
“Lost track of time,” I half-whisper to Asher as I tie on my apron. “Sorry."
Asher watches as my friends leave, and looks back at me with an amused expression playing on his lips. “What was that about?”
Putting my hands on my hips, I nod toward the door with a sigh. “That’s the resistance. God help us all.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Meant To Live
Matt.
It’s been a quiet couple of weeks since the small group of us met with Kennedy to discuss … whatever that was. We’re not organized, and Kennedy was sure to text me her concerns regarding that after she went back to work for the night and the five of us stayed around for a while to talk.
Heading into finals week, tension is dialing up around campus. Exams aside, I’ve just started to put that night at the strip club far in the back of my mind, and in a handful of days I’ll be back home with that place just a few miles away. And it won’t just be for a weekend. Winter break is nearly six weeks long. Six whole weeks. It’ll be the longest time my father and I have stayed under one roof since sometime in the middle of my senior year in high school. I can’t think about that right now, though. I have to get through my exams in one piece because Lord knows I can’t sit in Professor Towne’s Old Testament class for one more semester. I know I still need to take one more semester of OT, but at least it won’t be with him.
“You with us?” Kennedy snaps her fingers in front of my face, pulling me back to our study group.
I blink rapidly for a few seconds, trying to take Kennedy’s face out of that scene. That place. “I’m here, sorry.”
She doesn’t look like that girl from Tops. She doesn’t look like that girl from Tops.