Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father

After filling out tax paperwork and signing my name several times, I lean back in the chair, feeling the cracked upholstery rubbing against my lower back.

“So,” I ask Asher, “what made you apply to be CU-approved?” Last night I did my research, and learned that local businesses are either sought out by Carter for student employment (this usually includes libraries and hospitals) or they must apply for approval. Word was approved only a few semesters ago.

Asher scratches the back of his head, twisting his lips just before he speaks. “CU students—while sometimes intense—tend to have the best work ethic around. They show up on time, work hard when they’re here, and I don’t typically have to worry about theft.”

I lift my eyebrows. “Those are some hefty assumptions.”

“They haven’t let me down yet.” He arches his eyebrow and stares me down with that mild humor still playing in his eyes.

“I won’t let you down, either,” I assure him.

“Do you have any tattoos to go with that lip ring?” he asks out of nowhere.

Though I know I’m not wearing it, my fingers rush to my bottom lip, searching. “How’d you—”

“You suck in your bottom lip a lot before you speak. I’m no stranger to the body modification game, and I spotted the piercing hole.” His accent is southern by my ears, but I recognize it to be less so than some of the other people toddling around Asheville. It’s a little gritty, too. I like his rough edge, especially in comparison to the plush ones I’ve been around for the last week.

“Huh,” I reply, puzzled and amused by his people-reading skills. “No. No tattoos. Yet.”

“You seem more irritated than usual for a freshman,” he continues. “Did your parents make you come here?”

I laugh out loud, a sharp laugh that widens Asher’s eyes. “No. Ha. Um, my mom actually fought me on coming here.”

“Interesting,” he says in the same tone I’d used when looking at the book shelves earlier.

“I guess…”

Asher stands, indicating we’re through in his office. “Chelsea told me you had a literal run-in with Pastor Roland?”

He opens the door leading back into the cafe, and I follow. “You know who he is? She knows who he is?”

The door clicks behind us and Asher raises his voice to compete with the crowd. “Everyone knows who he is, kid. Didn’t you before you came here?”

“Of course,” I spit out a bit too enthusiastically. “And don’t call me kid. You’ve had, what? A handful more birthdays than I have?”

Asher laughs another deep, full-chested laugh as he puts his arm around my shoulders. “I know you can’t work Sundays, so how about you start next Friday? See you at four?”

I throw my bag over my shoulder and scan the room for Eden and Bridgette. As I’m not yet permitted to leave campus by myself—like most other freshmen—they came downtown with me. They spot me before I do them, and wave excitedly.

With a deep breath, I turn back to answer Asher but he’s gone. I crane my neck different ways and step to the counter, but no one is there. I shrug and meet my roommates at the front of Word and we board the bus for our short ride back to campus.

“You got the job? Exciting! We’ll have to come see you all the time.” Bridgette seems genuinely pleased as we take our seats.

“You’re lucky,” Eden reminds me. “I’ve heard that place usually only hires upperclassmen.”

“Really?” I lift my head, suddenly interested. “Asher didn’t mention anything.” I shrug and continue thumbing through my phone, sorting missed texts.

“He looks a little scary,” Bridgette whispers.

I look up again. “Who? Asher?”

She nods.

Eden laughs. “Oh, sweetie. We need to get you out more.”

Now I laugh.

“What?” Eden mocks offense but then her tone darkens. “I’ve been out there before, Kennedy. You’re not the only one who has seen things.”

She’s completely right and it pisses me off. I’ve been walking around thinking that the people around me think they’re better than me in a spiritual sense, and I’ve been doing the same thing back at them. Treating them like they’re preschoolers in the school of the “real world.”

“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay.” Eden nudges my shoulder.

Bridgette pipes up in her sing-song voice. “I do need to get out more, though.”

The three of us laugh, tension broken once again, and I go back to my phone. I send a quick text to Roland, who I’ve disguised as “BF.” If anyone gets ahold of my phone, they’ll think it stands for best friend and not birth father.

Me: Hey. Just wanted to let you know I got the job at Word. Thanks for the heads up.

BF: No problem. Glad I could help. Will I see you tomorrow?

I find his question interesting since we’d discussed months ago that I’d attend my first service of his after the first week of classes. I’m feeling a little guilty about it, actually, since my actions are clearly causing him to question my word. How is he to know I stand by my word? We don’t know each other.

Me: Yep. That’s still the plan.