Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father

She puts a hand on her hip. “The Today Show, Kennedy? Seriously? You want that?”

“Well,” I sigh after a long sip of coffee. “I see you’ve been caught up.”

“You could do just a few statements to some local and national papers and be done with it.”

I envy Wendy Sawyer in this moment. Yesterday morning I was filled with the same juvenile hope. The reaction of the students in Mission Hall and the blogs Matt pointed me to, however, paint a much different tale. My eyes move casually to Roland, who seems unsure how to tell Wendy that this isn’t some pop and fizz story. He and I haven’t even directly talked about it.

“I need to show you guys something,” I say, pushing away from the island and moving towards Roland’s office.

For the next ten minutes, I direct them through the series of blogs Matt took me to last night. Luckily they’re both internet-savvy enough to check the traffic on the sites, see who the sponsors are, and search for other mentions of those blogs throughout the internet. They’re wide-reaching.

Roland sits back in his office chair and takes a deep breath. He doesn’t look as stressed as Mom does, who is staring at the computer screen with her mouth hanging open.

“I…I had no idea.” Her voice is quiet but laced with shock.

“I had some,” I admit. “I mean, it was always easy for me to find information on Roland online. I knew he was wicked popular, but…I didn’t have a clue as to the interest surrounding me.”

Mom puts her hand over her mouth for a moment, contemplating her next words. “Well. This changes things. Maybe The Today Show isn’t such a bad idea after all. Blast it all out for a week or two and let it die down. It won’t be a problem keeping you out of the spotlight after that. For God’s sake, the President’s daughters are rarely seen in the media.”

I laugh at the absurdity that I’m being grouped into such an echelon of society. “Look, I just want to get back to my dorm, regroup with my friends, and go to work tonight. I’m dying to get out of here and far away from campus for a while.”

Word isn’t particularly far in distance from CU. A couple of miles. But, in the words of my favorite movie prostitute from Pretty Woman, “that’s just geography.” The two places couldn’t be further apart in every other way.

Mom and Roland look at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“You’re not going to work,” Mom commands.

“Yeah, that’s not a great idea. There’s no way to keep you safe,” Roland encourages her sentiment.

It’s my turn to look at them like they’re the crazy ones. “Safe? From what? People asking questions? This is lunacy. I’ll put my head down, go to work, and come back here if I have to. Look. I haven’t talked with my friends since yesterday afternoon and I feel like a giant asshole…” I trail off and take a deep breath, not wanting to trip into a profanity-laced tirade. “Sorry. Jerk. I feel like a jerk.”

“We can get you to your room, no problem,” Roland starts. “We’ll just have Maggie meet us at the back door and get you in the dorm quickly. There will be cameras and people shouting at you, but they’re not allowed in the dorms. I’ll send some New Life security with you, too. In case campus security gets overwhelmed.”

I exit the office and move toward the front door. Opening it a crack, I see a hoard of story-starved reporters milling around the gate. They’re right. Work is absolutely out of the question.

“I need a minute,” I say, going to the kitchen and retrieving my phone and coffee before moving out to the back porch.

Sitting on the porch swing, I peer down at my phone and see far more text messages than I can handle before a full cup of coffee. Leaning back, I dial Asher first, not yet ready to get into a blow-by-blow with anyone who saw the epic events at Mission Hall yesterday.

“Asher.” He always answers the phone this way. I can hear the buzzing sounds of Word patrons in the background. I long to be there. Invisible. Unless you need coffee, of course.

“Heeeey, Asher,” I draw out. “It’s Kennedy. So—”

He cuts me off. “Kennedy!” he whisper-yells. “Hold on.”

A few seconds later, the air on the other end is significantly quieter. “You there?” Asher asks.

“Yeah,” I reply, deflated. He so knows.

Asher laughs softly into the phone. “You should have told me, kid.”

“You know?”

“Know?! I’ve had reporters calling me all night and sniffing around down here today, just waiting for you to turn up.”

“Sorry,” I whimper slightly.

“Don’t be sorry. But, seriously. You should have told me.”

I huff. “What difference would something like this have made to you, huh?”

Asher chuckles. “Remember how I asked you to keep an eye on the CU students who might try to evangelize all the live-long night to my customers?”

“Mmm hmm.”