But was it possible that her dad had changed his mind on that rule?
Since she’d turned eighteen a couple weeks ago, was he suddenly okay with her dating more seriously? Was he actually pushing for it, if it was with a guy he chose?
It wouldn’t be too out of character for Pastor Caldwell. He’d always been strict but there were times when he’d definitely been wishy-washy before. Saying one thing was law—a commandment—and then turning around and changing things again as they suited his agenda.
And the church was known for pushing its members to marry pretty young…the no-sex-before-marriage thing going hand in hand with that.
Sadly though, if hewassuddenly okay with Scarlett dating this Yale guy, that didn’t necessarily mean he’d be okay with her dating just anyone—AKA me.
His requirements for the type of guy allowed to date his only daughter couldn’t have changed much since the private meeting he’d called me to after the debutante ball—the meeting where he pulled the Pastor card and decided it was time for me to have a random worthiness interview.
I’d had worthiness interviews every six months since I turned thirteen and had always passed them with flying colors in the past. But this one was different. After asking a few questions about my beliefs and current level of activity in church-sponsored events, in the end, he decided that I was unworthy, considered a “threat to the church,” and would be disfellowshipped for my lack of belief.
I hadn’t known you could be disfellowshipped for a lack of belief before. The only times I’d ever heard of people being disfellowshipped was because they broke actual commandments—usually some sort of sexual sin—or breaking an actual law.
But Pastor Caldwell decided that my loss of belief in The Fold and its teachings was a big enough “sin” that even though I wasn’t even attending meetings, I was officially forbidden from taking Communion, singing the hymns, or saying prayers until I repented and humbled myself.
I left that meeting feeling dehumanized. Like my worth as a human was nothing compared to the members of The Fold if I didn’t believe the same as them.
When I asked my mom if she’d ever heard of something like this happening before, she said she hadn’t but also went on to tell me it was basically what I deserved for immersing myself in the anti-Fold lies. She even said that hopefully, this experience would help me see the error of my ways and come back.
Spoiler alert: it only cemented my feelings that The Fold was no longer a church I could be a part of. It pushed me to not just stop attending meetings but to also have my name officially removed from the records of the church—essentially cancelling my baptism and all the other ordinances I’d received in my life.
I wasn’t planning to tell my parents about that last part, because it would only make them worry and fear for my soul even more.
But yeah, I was done. And since Pastor Caldwell had access to church records, he’d probably noticed my name was no longer listed with my parents on the attendance rolls at church.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Carter said, bringing me back to the present. “If it is that guy, she’s probably just going to the dance with him to get her dad off her case.”
“Hopefully.”
* * *
I openedmy phone as I walked to the great hall for dinner, and when I clicked into my email app, I saw that I had two hundred and twenty-seven unread emails.
Which was about eleven more than I’d had before practice.
Man, this is starting to get overwhelming.
When I startedThe Confidantlast year, it had been an experiment to see if I could build a platform from scratch without using my parents’ connections or place in society. To see if I was talented enough to gain a few subscribers and find readers interested enough in the words I wrote to come back to my blog week after week.
It was also a way to test if I could be self-sufficient enough to support myself off of my words. Because just like Scarlett’s dad was able to control a lot of things in his daughter’s life, my parents had a trust fund to hold over my head as well.
And after telling my parents that I didn’t want to stay in the belief system that was so important to them, I no longer had the promise of a trust fund to rely on after college. They wouldn’t financially support me if I wasn’t “on the right path anymore.”
So I’d taken my backup plan and ran with it.
The readership forThe Confidanthad grown slowly at first—each post only had a handful of hits the first month. But when I printed off a few columns and left them in random places around the school with the blog’s URL at the bottom, it started to grow a little faster. And once more people started writing in and talking aboutThe Confidant’s advice with their friends, it kind of snowballed from there.
It probably seemed presumptuous to assume that an eighteen-year-old guy would have enough life experience to hand out advice to his peers like some sort of expert. But I always made sure to leave the disclaimer that this was simply whatThe Confidantwould do in each given situation if he was being his “best and wisest self.”
And then I’d research from there.
Thankfully, the advice had been useful enough that people kept writing in.
There was another side effect that I hadn’t expected, too. As more and more of my classmates wrote in anonymously, detailing some of the issues they were facing, it helped us all see each other in a more compassionate way.
Because on the outside, it seemed like the children of the country’s most influential people would have it all—that all their problems would be minimal since money could be used to take care of most anything.
