“Amen!” Coach Scott shouted in his mousy voice, triggering a few more eager confirmations in the sanctuary.

“Sister Tavia.” Newsome held the mic to her.

She didn’t want to take it. I couldn’t have been more sure if I was Professor X reading her screaming thoughts in an X-Men comic. Yet, she unfolded a sheet of paper she’d been clutching in her fist.

Tavia faced us, raised the paper so it nearly blocked her entire face, and only then did she take the mic and read her statement.

“First, I’d like to thank God for helping me see that me and my family should be here with you all, receiving the blessings of His word. Second I want to—” Her voice cracked, and never steadied. “I want to say I’m sorry for d-d-disrespecting God, Pastor, my grandmother, and all of you with my behavior. By . . . transgressing and giving in to temptations of the flesh, I have d-d-dishonored all the good God has brought into my life . . .”

There was more. More of the same. Tavia throwing herself before the people in this room, her classmates among them. Her sniffles were harsh echoes through the surround-sound speakers. I bounced around the sanctuary the way I did when Prayer Peeking, observed my Purity Pledge classmates. All stone-still, except Jameer. I swear I saw him flinch each time Tavia snorted snot to keep from sobbing, though at that point, what was really the difference?

I craned my neck to Mom, who was expressionless. Almost in a trance, horror or awe, I couldn’t tell.

The final words of Tavia’s confession were barely audible snivels. She pushed the mic back to Newsome and padded down the stairs back to her grandmother and baby’s side. All to applause.

Newsome said, “It’s hard to get right, y’all. It’s hard to get right. But the children will lead us.”

After service, I was glad me and Mom had driven separate cars. I didn’t want to have a conversation about Tavia on the ride home. It’s not that I didn’t want to discuss it at all. I was afraid that if I discussed it with her, she’d say she approved.

Jameer caught me in the parking lot, tense and twitchy. “Pastor is hugging Tavia right now. Like they won something together. Nobody wants that prize, Del.”

“Was it that bad for you?” Maybe it wasn’t the right thing to say. What was?

“It was that bad. Like ripping off skin.”

Him and his way with words.

“I’m down for the road trip,” he said. “Anywhere but here.”

That bit of good news brought me back to myself. “And Kiera?”

“She’s still in there, too. Probably praise dancing with her parents and Pastor as we speak.”

“No.” I worked to ignore the disgust in his voice. “I meant can you get her to go?”

His head cocked, the slightest bit of annoyance wafted off him, and I got defensive. All he said was “I’ll work on it.”