The clip jumped to the next video in her story. She was in a different part of her house, that K-Pop band BTS was visible on a poster in the background. She’d switched to an IG filter that gave her a French beret and pouty red lips. “What about the guys? It takes two, folks. Or, I guess, eighteen, since there are nine babies. You know what I mean. I don’t see y’all saying a thing about the daddies. Let me be the one to start that conversation, because I got plenty to say about my baby’s daddy!”

Another jump, another location. Jameer pressed against my shoulder so he could see. Mya remained where she was, obviously familiar with what would surely be the talk of the school tomorrow. Whenever someone snapped and went off on social media—it happened a few times a year—it made the week so much better. This should be a really good one, too. Because I didn’t know who Taylor’s kid’s dad was.

No filter this time, but with a runny-nosed, light brown infant on her hip, Taylor showed us a cluttered kitchen with a row of baby bottles drying on a mat next to the sink. “My baby’s daddy doesn’t want to take any responsibility for what we did together. He wants this all to be a secret, like he’s Drake or something. But I’m tired of all y’all acting like I’m some whore, or I made my son in a lab. So let’s see what kind of judgment you got for your little wrestling golden boy Colossus Turner? Hey Colossus, you watching? I’m going to go feed your son now. Toodles.”

Taylor finger-waved at the camera, and the screen flipped to someone else’s IG story.

Oh. Shit.

Colossus had a kid?! He was a Baby-Getter?

I returned Mya’s phone. Stunned. Silent.

On the steps, the previously giggling Shanice and Helena leaned into one another, attention on a single phone. They looked up, slack-faced, turned toward the church entrance as if afraid. The IG story was spreading.

Jameer said, “We should probably go inside now.”

But I didn’t think anyone wanted to.

The church doors cracked, and a smiling Kiera beckoned Helena and Shanice inside. She spotted us, and said, “We’re starting soon.”

Nobody moved. She didn’t know.

Slow, like a death march, Helena and Shanice peeled themselves off the stairs and trudged inside. Me, Jameer, and Mya followed. When I passed Kiera, she said, “You’re back.”

“Yeah.”

She took a deep breath, as if preparing to light into me again. I probably would’ve let her, all things considered; she had something much worse than my harsh words coming.

What she actually said: “I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you the other night.”

My knee-jerk response: You should be. This wasn’t the time. “Um, I appreciate that.”

Jameer, visible over her left shoulder, lingered.

Kiera said, “Jameer told me I was too hard on you. I prayed about it, and really felt God told me it wasn’t my place to judge anything you’ve done prior to joining the Pledge. That I wasn’t modeling the kind of love that Jesus has for saint and sinner alike. So, if you’re serious, and here for the right reasons, I support you.”