Chapter 4 #2
"Whose intent, though? The founders weren't a monolith.
" Adrian's voice took on a different quality—still casual, but sharper, more focused.
"Madison wrote that religious establishments corrupted both religion and government.
Jefferson called for a wall of separation.
Hamilton worried about sectarian influence in politics.
You can't just pick the interpretation that supports your predetermined conclusion. "
I opened my mouth to respond with the standard rebuttal about Jefferson's letter being private correspondence, but Adrian continued before I could speak.
"And here's the thing that really bothers me about originalism—it assumes the founders were infallible.
That a group of eighteenth-century men, however brilliant, could anticipate every possible constitutional question for the next three centuries.
It's basically treating the Constitution like holy scripture. "
Something cold settled in my stomach. "The Constitution isn't scripture."
"Isn't it, though? The way you talk about it?" His eyes never left mine. "Sacred text, divine inspiration, original intent that can't be questioned. Sound familiar?"
I stared at him, the vanilla latte still warming my hands. No one had ever made that comparison before. No one had ever suggested that my approach to constitutional law might be... religious.
"That's not—you're twisting what I said."
"Am I?" Adrian leaned forward, his forearms on the table. "Tell me something, Jesse. When you read the Constitution, are you looking for truth, or are you looking for confirmation of what you already believe?"
The question hit like a physical blow. I set down my cup with shaking hands, coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim.
"I believe in the rule of law."
"Whose law? Man's law or God's law?" His voice was gentle now, almost kind, which somehow made it worse. "Because in your world, they're supposed to be the same thing, right? Government is supposed to reflect divine will?"
"I don't—this is—" I couldn't form a complete sentence. My throat felt tight, like someone was squeezing it. "You don't understand my faith."
"I understand it better than you think." Adrian's expression softened slightly.
"I understand what it's like to have your entire worldview handed to you by people who claim to know God's will.
I understand what it's like to be afraid of thinking for yourself because thinking might lead to doubt, and doubt might lead to—"
"Stop." The word came out sharper than I'd intended, loud enough that several nearby students glanced over. I lowered my voice, my face burning. "Just stop."
Adrian sat back, studying me with those too-knowing eyes. "You know what I think, Jesse? I think you're brilliant. I think underneath all that programming, you have a mind that wants to question everything. And that terrifies you."
I stood up so quickly my chair scraped against the floor. Several more people looked our way, and paranoia crashed over me in waves. What if someone recognized me? What if they knew about my father, my church? What if they saw me here with Adrian and drew the obvious, horrible conclusion?
"I have to go."
"Jesse, wait—"
But I was already moving, weaving between tables toward the door. Behind me, I heard Adrian call my name again, but I couldn't stop. Couldn't turn around. Couldn't face those dark eyes that seemed to see straight through every defence I'd built.
I burst through the door and into the afternoon air, my chest heaving like I'd been running. Students moved past me on the sidewalk, absorbed in their own lives, unaware that Jesse Miller's carefully constructed world was cracking apart one constitutional argument at a time.
I walked quickly back toward campus, my messenger bag clutched against my side. The vanilla latte's taste lingered on my tongue—sweet, warm, nothing like the black coffee my father drank every morning while reading scripture. Even the coffee had been a rebellion I hadn't chosen.
By the time I reached my apartment, my hands had stopped shaking, but my mind was still racing. I climbed the stairs to my unit, fumbling with my keys, desperate to be behind a locked door where I could think clearly.
The apartment was exactly as I'd left it—clean, organized, safe. I set my bag on the kitchen counter and stood in the middle of the living room, trying to process what had just happened.
Adrian had bought me coffee. We'd sat across from each other like... like friends. Like equals. He'd challenged everything I believed, not with mockery or anger, but with logic. With questions I'd never thought to ask.
Questions I wasn't supposed to ask.
I sank onto my couch, pressing my palms against my eyes.
This was exactly what my father had warned me about.
College was full of people who would try to undermine my faith, twist my thinking, lead me away from truth.
I should have walked away the moment Adrian started talking.
Should have refused the coffee, ignored his arguments, maintained my distance.
Instead, I'd sat there and listened. And worse—part of me had found his arguments compelling.
The thought made my stomach lurch. I reached for my phone, intending to call Rebecca, to ground myself in something familiar and safe. But as I scrolled to her contact, I realized she would ask where I'd been. What I'd been doing between classes.
I'd never lied to Rebecca. In three years of courtship, I'd been completely honest with her about everything. She was my accountability partner, my spiritual sister, my future wife. We didn't keep secrets from each other.
But I couldn't tell her about Adrian. Couldn't explain why I'd followed him to a coffee shop, why I'd let him buy me a drink, why I'd sat there listening to him tear apart everything we'd been taught about constitutional interpretation.
She wouldn't understand. She'd be worried.
She'd want to pray about it, maybe even tell my father.
My phone buzzed with a text message. Rebecca.
Hey! How was your morning? Still on for dinner with our parents tonight? Mom's making her famous pot roast. ??
I stared at the message for a long moment, then glanced at my watch.
2:55. Professor Hamilton's Civil Procedure class started in five minutes—a class I'd never missed, never even been late to.
The thought of sitting in that lecture hall, trying to focus on discovery rules while Adrian's questions echoed in my head, made my stomach churn.
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?