She laughs. “I think I’ll live.”

I make a point of looking her up and down. Her nails are painted blue. Her makeup is well done but heavy on the liner. She wears a silky black tank with bold white stitching. The material is so thin, I can see her nipples through the fabric. I hear myself sigh. “Do your parents know you’re here?”

“It’s none of their business.” She flicks her hair off her shoulder. “I’m on rumspringa.”

Rumspringa is the time when young Amish people are allowed to experience life without the constraints of the Ordnung, while the adults look the other way. Most teens partake in some drinking and listening to music—small infractions that are generally harmless. I wonder if this girl will be one of the 80 percent who eventually become baptized.

I stare at her, trying to reconcile the young woman before me with the sweet kid I met three years ago. “You’re kind of young for rumspringa, aren’t you?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a kid anymore.”

“You didn’t look very grown-up a few minutes ago when you were fighting.”

“I’m fifteen.” She looks away. “Old enough to know what I want.”

“Half of the adult population doesn’t know what they want,” I mutter drily.

She laughs outright. “That’s what I like about you, Katie.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I know you break the rules.”

“Yeah, well, all that rule breaking isn’t everything it’s cracked up to be.”

“That must be why you left,” she says, her words saturated with sarcasm.

“Don’t go there,” I warn her.

“I’m thinking about leaving the plain life,” she blurts.

Since I’m the last person who should be having this conversation with a young Amish woman, I take a moment to dig my note pad from my pocket. “How do your parents feel about that?”

“They think the devil has gotten ahold of me.” She throws her head back and laughs. “They could be right.”

Trying not to wince, I turn my attention to her friend, the girl with the gold hoop sticking out of her eyebrow. “What’s your name?”

“Lori Westfall.”

I scribble the name on the pad. “You can go.”

Her eyes slide to Sadie. “But . . . I’m her ride home.”

“Not anymore.” I point to the mouth of the bridge. “Go.”

Huffing a grievous sigh, she turns and walks away.

“I guess all those stories I’ve heard about you are true,” Sadie says.

“I’m not going to respond to that, Sadie, so save your breath.”

She ignores me. “Everyone says you’re a badass.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear.”

“I’m glad you cuffed that bitch.”

“If I were you, I’d start taking this a lot more seriously.”

She sobers, but I still discern the smile in her eyes.

“Who started the fight?” I ask.