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Kennedy followed O’Brien to a couch just outside the boardroom. “So now we wait?” she asked.
He nodded. “Now we wait.”
She wanted to tell him something. Thank him maybe for the way he’d stood up for her, but she wasn’t sure how to word it. She’d never really considered herself that articulate of an individual. She got good grades on her papers for her literature classes, but most of that had to do with knowing what kind of style and wording her professors expected from her. She’d never done anything like write a column for the paper before, and after today she was certain she wouldn’t repeat the same mistake and try it again.
She glanced at the time and wondered if she should call Willow. Ask if there was any news about Carl. But of course, she didn’t have her phone with her and didn’t have a single number in her contacts list memorized. If God had made anything good come out of her interrogation meeting with the Voice editors, it was that it had taken her mind off Carl and his injuries. Even so, now she felt guilty that she’d wasted all her energy yelling at the editor-in-chief when she could have been praying for Carl’s recovery.
Kennedy couldn’t remember the last time she’d spilled her frustrations like that, at least not with someone other than her mom or dad. Guilt heated her core. She thought about Sandy, whom she’d been trying so hard to defend. She was so patient and gentle. In fact, today in the car was the first time Kennedy had heard Sandy actually snap at Woong, and that was only because he’d been disrespectful to the Lord.
Maybe there was a time and place for righteous anger, but Kennedy couldn’t shake the feeling that all she’d done was let her temper take over and wasted her words on people who didn’t want to hear what she had to say anyway. What was that verse in the Bible about casting your pearls before swine? She glanced at O’Brien, who was sulking next to her.
“It was nice of you to take my side in there,” she said softly.
O’Brien looked up, as if he were surprised that she’d spoken. “Point taken, but for the record I’m not on your side. I’m on the side of open debate, and that’s all.”
Kennedy didn’t know what to say. It was understandable if he was mad at her. She was the reason he was in trouble with his friends.
They were silent for several minutes. Through the drawn curtain in the meeting room, Kennedy could make out Marty’s silhouette as she stood facing the other editors.
“Any guess how long this will take?” she finally worked up the courage to ask. Apparently, her little tantrum in the meeting room had used up her assertiveness quota for the day. Maybe more like the semester.
O’Brien shrugged. “What, this monkey trial? My guess is we’ll get our answer in just another minute or two.”
“So what exactly is it that they’re voting on?”
He shrugged again. “Your article has already been printed. There’s nothing they can do about that. It’s just damage control now. Retractions, junk like that. And they’re probably voting to see if I should keep my position on the paper or not.”
“I’m really sorry you got involved in all this.” What more could she say?
He let out his breath. “Oh, don’t worry about that. If it wasn’t your article, it would’ve been someone else’s. It’s ironic. They call my pages the forum section, but by definition the word forum means open debate. The free spread of ideas. If I had known when I signed up that all they wanted me to do was parrot back their orthodox party line, I would’ve never bothered. Or at least I would’ve had them change the name from forum to propaganda. It’s much more fitting.” He let out a mirthless chuckle. “And you ... you sure played your cards right in there. Even before you walked into that room, they all had you pegged as some little dormouse who wouldn’t dare have the guts to stand up for herself. I’m glad you proved them wrong.” There was genuine respect in his eyes.
Kennedy returned his smile. “To be honest, that’s not what I’m usually like, but they kept putting words in my mouth, twisting what I said.”
“Yeah. It’s what they do best. That and silence anyone who disagrees with them.”
Kennedy rubbed her palm on the top of her pants, trying to figure out the best way to word her question. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” Another shrug. “What have we got to lose?”
She ignored his cynicism. “I got the feeling in there that you don’t agree with what I had to say in my column,” she began.
“Correct.” He still didn’t meet her eyes.
She licked her lips and continued. “But you defended me in the meeting room.”
“Also correct. And you already hit on the difference. I don’t agree with your statements. I think a woman is completely free to work whatever job she chooses.”
Kennedy didn’t bother to point out that she’d said almost the same thing verbatim in the meeting room but let O’Brien continue.
“So no, I don’t personally support your opinions, but I support you as a freethinking student who has the right to hold whatever ideas you want to have. That’s why I thought the forum section would be such a good fit for me. I see no reason to read only things that support what I already believe. When I pick up a book, for example, I’m not looking for something that’s going to spoon-feed me what I already know. When I read something by an author whose opinions on the subject are exactly the same as my own, what do I gain other than a sense of self-righteousness? My idea for the forum section was to make it truly that — a forum where people with different viewpoints could have engaging, lively debates. Respectful debates of course. There’s no reason for an ideological argument to be the foundation for a personal attack, which is exactly what happened to you in that meeting room. You asked why I defended you even though I don’t believe in your viewpoint. and that’s because you’re obviously an intelligent individual, and sometimes what we all need is to be stared in the face by an argument that frightens us. That challenges our rigid and oh-so-precious convictions. You’ve got a right to be heard just as much as anyone else. And if people find your argument offensive, it’s their job to prove you wrong rhetorically, not with personal jabs.”
Kennedy hadn’t expected such a long answer. She thought about Carl and Nick, about their frequent spats. As heated as their arguments got, at least they never resorted to those kind of base attacks. Speaking of attacks ...
She looked at the time. If Willow hadn’t already heard from Sandy by now, she probably wouldn’t until morning. Kennedy couldn’t picture Sandy sending out prayer chain updates this late at night no matter how serious things got. She glanced again at the drawn curtains of the Voice meeting room.
“You worried about the vote?” O’Brien asked. “No need to be. Since you’re not on staff, the worst they can do is ban you from writing for us again.”
“It’s not that.” Kennedy sighed. She really didn’t want to go into details about what had happened to Carl, but it was all she was able to think about now and she found herself spelling out the abridged version of his injuries.
“That’s messed up,” was O’Brien’s final assessment.
“Yeah.” Kennedy couldn’t have said it any better.
“So it was definitely intentional? It wasn’t just like some bad accident or anything?”
Kennedy shook her head. “The police are already involved, and we found the bookend the attacker used to knock him out with.”
“That’s messed up,” he repeated.
“Yeah.” She wondered if they were doomed to repeat the same two lines indefinitely like characters in a sci-fi book trapped in some sort of time loop.
“Think it has something to do with the that men’s conference?”
O’Brien’s question surprised her. She was in no mood to play detective. That was Drisklay’s job.
“I don’t know. I know people are upset about it, but I can’t see anybody attacking him like that over it.”
For a minute, Kennedy wondered if O’Brien was going to tell her how messed up it all was, but he simply shook his head.
“Wonder what they’re taking so long for,” he said a few minutes later. “Seems like it should be a pretty open and shut case.”
“What do you think’s going to happen to you?”
A shrug. “They’ll probably vote me off the board.”
She couldn’t understand how he could sound so casual about it. “I’m really sorry. If I had known ...”
“Don’t worry about it,” he interrupted. “I knew what I was doing, and I don’t regret it. Even if they don’t vote me off, I’ll probably resign anyway. I’ve got a few friends who are thinking about working together to start a new paper. One that really does give free voice to the wide range of student opinions represented on campus.” He gave her a soft smile. “You’d be welcome to write for us if you ever wanted.”
She didn’t have the heart to turn him down directly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
The door to the conference room opened. Marty leaned out. “You can come in now. We’re all finished.”