I sat down next to her and put my arm around her shoulders. “Look, you can do this. I know you can. You’re one of the strongest people I know.”

“Oh please,” she said. “You’re just saying that. Remember how you called me a spoiled hippy baby?”

I laughed. “Yeah, but that was before I knew you.” I squeezed her tightly. “Come on—let’s go. Don’t think about it. The longer you sit here, the more worked up you’ll get.”

“Is it really that awful?”

“It is.”

She slapped my thigh. “You’re not supposed to say that. You’re supposed to say that it’s not going to be as bad as I think it’ll be, and I’ll be fine.”

“Then I wouldn’t love you like I love you.” Her eyes filled with tears, and she leaned into me, resting her head on my shoulder. “It’s pretty terrible. It’s going to be as bad as you think it is—”

“Oh my God!” She giggled. “You’re seriously not helping.”

“Shut up; listen to me,” I said through my laughter. “But you will get through it. Everybody does. It just feels like you won’t, but you will.” I stood, pulling her up with me. We headed out of the cabin and into the gathering place.

We were the last to arrive. Everyone stood waiting, eyes filled with encouragement. They started clapping when we got inside the large tent. She’d never made it this far. The family rushed to hug and embrace her. She turned to look at me before being engulfed by them, a big smile on her face. Her cheeks streamed with wet gratitude. I blew her a kiss as they carried her to the front of the room with Abner. Everything was set up just like it’d been two days earlier for Sol’s.

“Which scripture governs this ceremony?” Abner asked in the same way he’d been doing for all the ceremonies. Hands went up. He called on my cabinmate, Lee.

“No one can see the kingdom unless they are born again.” She recited it like a script.

He smiled. “Very good. We must get that step right.” He scanned the room, making eye contact briefly with each of us so he could make sure we knew the seriousness of what was about to happen. The intensity was the same no matter how many times we’d done it.

Just like that, the ceremony began. Willow was wrapped up like me and everyone else who’d gone before. Same mat. Same blanket. Same everything. Her body looked so much smaller when it was wrapped up like a burrito. My heart ached for her. I forced myself not to move. She sobbed loudly as the sheet went over her head.

“Stop! Stop!” she cried. “I can’t do this. I changed my mind. I changed my mind.”