Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father

My voice trips on some tears forming in my throat. “Can you come?”

“Of course,” she whispers, a sign I’ve learned that means she’s hiding her own tears. “I’ll get in the car right now. I’ll be there before you wake up.”

I check the clock and see that if she really did leave now, and didn’t stop, she’d arrive at Roland’s by five in the morning.

“If I even sleep,” I remark.

“You’ll sleep,” Mom and Matt say at the same time.

It makes me grin. I say goodbye and realize Matt has us parked in Roland’s driveway, and Roland is standing on his front porch.

“Ready?” Matt asks.

“Are you coming with me?” I look up at him hopefully.

“If you want me to.”

My eyes shift to the front porch, then back to Matt. I nod. “I want you to.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE


10,000 Reasons


“I have a thousand friend requests. One thousand.” I stare at my phone as if it’s the most alien thing I’ve ever held.

Roland, Matt, and I are sitting in Roland’s grand living room. His assistant, Jahara—who I didn’t know existed until an hour ago—is pacing through the house on her cell phone. We’re on lockdown.

Matt pushes a window curtain aside, moving his head to survey the land in front of Roland’s house. “There’s more of them now,” he comments, referring to the news reporters.

He wasn’t kidding: this really is a big deal. A big fucking deal where I come from. The iron gates that surround the New Life property are serving one hundred percent of their purpose, as far as I’m concerned. They were closed per Roland’s orders the second Matt and I walked in his house. Good thing, because local news reporters started showing up less than twenty minutes later, shouting Roland’s name, and mine. Jahara says it won’t take long for national news outlets to come knocking.

“A thousand,” I say again regarding my friend requests on Facebook, not yet able to handle that anyone who covers the news is interested in me at all.

Throughout the semester I’ve ignored friend requests from everyone at Carter, including my roommates and close friends like Silas and Jonah. I told them all that there is zero censoring among my secular friends, and I didn’t think it was wise for me to mix the two. That was true, but in reality it was me who didn’t want to mix the two in my head. A decision I’m regretting now. I haven’t let anyone all the way in. I’ve sent texts to my roommates assuring them that I’m fine and I’ll get ahold of them as soon as I can. I hated sending a second text asking them not to talk to any news outlets that got ahold of them, but Jahara insisted.

Scrolling through the names on my request list, I see that they’re mostly CU students. There are new request notifications beeping through my phone every few seconds, including friends of high school friends who must be hearing things through the gossip mill.

A thousand damned friend requests, I text to Mollie, who I’ve been in constant text contact with for the last hour.

Maggie: Why is your page still public?

Me: I only have my phone. Can’t change privacy settings with this piece of shit app.

Maggie: Nice language ;) Use Roland’s computer.

“Can I use your computer?” I ask, looking up from my phone. “I need to change my Facebook settings.”

“Sure. It’s in my office. Help yourself.”

“Told you,” Matt teases. “Most popular girl on campus.”

“It’s not funny,” I snap as I leave the room.

Sitting at the computer, I navigate to Facebook. While on my phone, I didn’t look at my actual wall, given I was sidetracked by the sheer number of friend requests, so I take a minute to peruse the messages posted by people out there.

Is it true? A girl from my high school band posted in an attempt to be cryptic.

Several CU students posted pictures of the flyer Joy handed out. Beneath each of them were a varied array of comments.

Sinner.

Repent.

This is what CU is coming to? Looks like I’ll have to transfer.

Whore.

Whore. Someone who calls God their personal friend called me a whore. Luckily, a few posts down, someone called them out on it.

Number one, don’t call her a whore. Or anyone, for that matter. Number two, why don’t we wait for the real story before we get all up in arms? Let’s pray for them, guys. Come on, we’re better than this.

I click on that person, Danielle Market, and see they’ve friend requested me as well. I accept her request and send her a quick message that just says “thank you.”

The messages higher up on my newsfeed, posted after my outburst in Mission Hall, are completely different.

Crap, Kennedy, are you serious? That guy’s your dad?

I’m sorry for the things I said about you a few minutes ago. Forgive me.