“My friend Anna invited me. Why can’t you see me there?” I asked, though of course I knew why. I still believed in God, and for a long time my faith had been the only thing keeping me afloat. But I could never forget the day Mom had come home from seeing our pastor, red in her eyes from weeping and rage. I asked her what was wrong and heard a stream of curses, so strange in her normally sweet little voice, as she told me he’d had some suggestions: that I should be sent to a camp to fix me, that I should spend more time with a male role model, that I should maybe take some time away from the
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