Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father

“Good,” I reply, sparing him my girly follow-up questions. I already know Eden wants to kiss him “so badly,” but they haven’t decided if they’re ready to take that step.

They’re so ready, in my opinion, that if they wait any longer their little heads might pop right off of their bodies.

Eden finally comes out, her carefully crafted latte in hand, and the three of us head back to the dorms. Jonah and Eden engage in an uncomfortably long hug at the fork in the sidewalk between our dorm and his, and he goes on his way, Eden and I on ours.

“What?” Eden whispers inside a giggle.

I bite my lip, grinning broadly as I open the door. “Just kiss him already.”

“Shh!” She playfully slaps me.

“What?” I laugh. “Are you afraid someone might hear? The tension between you two screams kiss.”

“How?” she asks honestly once we reach the top of the stairs.

I stop for a moment and cock my head to the side. “Maybe it’s just me,” I admit. “I’ve seen lots of teenagers kiss. It just looks like he really wants to kiss you. Like in The Weekend Boyfriend,” I suggest, naming the most recent romantic comedy I saw in the theater. The lead male had this smoky stare every time he was about to kiss the female lead. It would have been laughable if he wasn’t so sexy.

Eden shakes her head. “I wasn’t allowed to see that.”

“How about When Harry Met Sally? Any of the Twilight movies? Lord, those books made a feast out of the pre-kiss moment.”

Eden stands in front of me, looking lost. “Do you honestly think my parents would let me read a series about vampires?”

“Wasn’t it written by a Mormon?” I question, walking into our room.

She laughs. “That doesn’t help, actually.”

We lower our voices to whispers because Bridgette is already asleep. Being from such a large family does all kinds of sleep favors for her. She can fall asleep under almost any conditions.

“That’s it,” I say, climbing into bed. “I’m buying you an e-reader, and the first thing you’ll read is Twilight. Get yourself some pre-kiss knowledge, sister.”

Eden turns out the light and gets into her bed. “Kennedy?” she whispers.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For being so supportive of me and Jonah.”

I roll over to face her. “Of course. Night.” I smile and roll back to face the wall, wondering if I’ll ever be able to earn a man like Jonah.

I pray to God to show me why I think I’m not good enough. And what’s so special about a guy like Jonah, anyway? Or, I wonder with trepidation, maybe it’s just Jonah I find so intriguing.

Falling asleep, my mind is quickly overtaken by dreams. I see Jonah and Matt on their knees of the marble floor of the University Chapel, their heads bowed. All the girls, including me, are standing around them in a circle, and we’re holding hands. Suddenly, the floor trembles and cracks. Most of my friends scatter to the exits, but my feet are rooted in place. I stare at the two men, hearing Eden’s cries to Jonah over my shoulder. In a second, still in the haze of the most intense dream I’ve had in a long time, Matt and Jonah have blood pouring from their foreheads, and when they stand, I see the gaping holes in their hands.





CHAPTER TWENTY


Rebel Beat


Still shaken by my bizarre dream a few nights ago, I’m finding it hard to focus in my Old Testament class. Admittedly, it isn’t a new problem, but I actually find the book of Job interesting. Depressing, but interesting.

What the…what was that dream about? I’ve joked about Jonah being Jesus before, but Matt?

“Wait,” I speak while raising my hand, “why is this book here?”

“Excuse me?” Professor Towne answers, looking up from his bifocals.

Raymond Towne is an old school Southern Baptist. Rumored to be going more conservative as he ages, the school reportedly only lets him teach Old Testament classes since, increasingly, he can’t seem to appropriately instruct on the teachings of Jesus without risking a coronary.

“I mean,” I continue, “I thought the stuff in Ezra and Nehemiah happened before this…wait…when was this written?” While I’m impressed to have retained enough information to know that Ezra and Nehemiah should be after this, I’m frustrated when classmates around me begin chuckling.

“Ms. Sawyer,” Professor Towne says lightly, “the Bible is not written in chronological order.”

I look around at my classmates, focusing on Eden who is right next to me. “Well, now you tell me!” I exclaim sarcastically, eliciting laughter from most of the fifty-person class.

“Can someone please tell Ms. Sawyer, and anyone else who isn’t so brave as to admit they also didn’t know, how the Bible is actually arranged?”

I’m slightly annoyed that this wasn’t covered on day one, but realize this is probably fifth grade Sunday school material, and I let the embarrassment roll off my shoulders. I’ve coasted by pretty well in this class thus far.