Page 14 of Unbound
I'd never skipped a class in my life. Perfect attendance was a point of pride, a reflection of discipline and commitment. But the idea of facing other students right now, of having to act normal when nothing felt normal anymore...
My fingers moved before I could second-guess myself, typing a quick message to my study partner Isaac:
"Not feeling well. Won't make it to class today. Can you send notes?"
Another small deception. Another crack in the foundation of who I was supposed to be.
I turned back to Rebecca's text, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. All I had to do was tell her the truth. I'd gone to class, walked to a coffee shop afterward, came home feeling unwell. Simple facts that revealed nothing damaging.
But that wasn't the truth, was it? The truth was that Adrian had gotten under my skin. Had made me question things I'd never allowed myself to question before. Had looked at me like he could see something in me that I didn't even know existed.
Good afternoon, Just came home from class. Looking forward to dinner. See you at 6.
I hit send and immediately felt sick. It wasn't technically a lie—I had just come home from class. I'd simply omitted the part about the coffee shop. About Adrian. About the way my pulse had raced every time he'd said my name.
But omission was still deception. And deception was still sin.
I set the phone aside and knelt beside my couch, pressing my forehead to the cushions. I tried to pray, to ask for forgiveness and guidance, but Adrian's voice kept echoing in my head.
When you read the Constitution, are you looking for truth, or are you looking for confirmation of what you already believe?
The question felt dangerous, loaded with implications I wasn't ready to face. But I couldn't shake it. Couldn't stop wondering if he might be right about more than just constitutional law.
I forced myself to stand, to go through the motions of my afternoon routine. Change clothes after classes. Review my notes for tomorrow's classes. Normal activities that should have settled my nerves and restored order to my thoughts.
But every few minutes, I found myself remembering the way Adrian had looked at me across that coffee shop table. Not with the pity or concern I was used to seeing in people's eyes when they learned about my background. Not with the careful politeness of my classmates who didn't know how to talk to someone like me.
He'd looked at me like I was interesting. Like I was worth the effort of an argument. Like I might actually have thoughts worth hearing, if I could just find the courage to think them.
And that, more than anything else, was what scared me most of all.
My phone buzzed again. Another text from Rebecca.
Actually, can you come a little early? Dad wants to discuss some ideas for the spring mission trip. Maybe 5:30?
Of course, See you then.
Routine. Structure. People who knew me, who shared my values, who wouldn't ask dangerous questions or make me doubt everything I'd been taught. That was what I needed.
Not dark eyes and challenging smiles and vanilla lattes that tasted like rebellion.
I had two hours before I needed to leave for Rebecca's house. Two hours to put Adrian and his unsettling questions out of my mind completely.
It should have been easy.
So why couldn't I stop thinking about the way he'd said my name?
5
ADRIAN
Icouldn't get the coffee shop out of my head.
The way Jesse had bolted—not walked, not excused himself politely, butboltedlike I'd set him on fire—kept replaying in my mind as I walked back to the house. The kid was wound tighter than a spring, all nervous energy and careful control until something made him snap. And I'd made him snap with nothing more than a few questions about the Constitution.
Well. Questions about the Constitution and whether he was brave enough to think for himself.
Maybe I'd pushed too hard too fast. But fuck, watching him squirm had been... educational. And not just because of the bet. There was something about Jesse Miller that got under my skin, made me want to keep prodding until I found whatever was hiding underneath all that religious programming.
