“You don’t even look the same,” my mom says. “You won’t be recognized.”

“Too late,” Evie says, holding up her phone. “‘Notorious Pastor’s Kid All Grown Up,’” she reads. “Some clickbait site. Looks like pics from one of your kayak tours.” Rachel grabs it from her to check it out.

“At least you look good. Everyone is commenting about how hot you are.” She makes a face. “Never mind. Don’t read the comments. Assholes,” she grumbles, typing rapidly on the screen.

“Doesn’t matter. Nothing I haven’t already heard. I should have taken Brian’s last name when you offered.”

My mom shakes her head. “You shouldn’t have to change yourself because of what he did,” she says softly.

“Too late,” I mutter. I’m pulling out my phone, clearing my screen of texts and looking for Duke’s name. “I have to get out of here.”

“Where are you going?”

“Somewhere else,” I say.

I go back up to my apartment, lapping the small space while cussing out my bad luck. Eventually, I pull out my phone and open the search engine. It doesn’t take long to find what I’m looking for. Right there, with only a few short taps, is my thirteen-year-old self, earnest and recklessly loyal to a man who didn’t come close to deserving it.

My smooth face is lit with the camera’s glare, and I’m wearing my Easter Sunday suit and tie. A reporter, someone whose name I’ve long forgotten, jabs a mic in my direction. All of this is totally illegal, by the way. I was underage, and my mom swears she never gave permission to film me. I wonder idly if the reporter was fired afterward.

I can mouth the questions as she fires them off, though it’s been ages since I’ve watched this clip. The last time I saw it, I threw my laptop at the wall and cracked the screen. Thankfully, it was a hand-me-down. Now, my heart beats a steady thrum in my veins. I’m in complete control even though I know what is coming next. This is the part that went viral. The lines that condemned me to be the poster child for the modern hypocrisy of the church.

Her: “Do you believe your dad is innocent, Micah?”

Me, loud and clear and full of pride: “My dad didn’t do anything wrong. He’s a pastor. His job is to help these people, and they turned on him like the Sanhedrin turned on Jesus. They are crucifying my dad just the same.”

There’s more, but that’s the worst of it. And the picture it represented was taken out of context and refitted and made into memes. The delusional ramblings of an eighth grader. Used as the butt of a joke. I was the joke.