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Has this whole thing been some ridiculous punishment delivered at prom, just like those horror stories we used to tell about the world outside of New Hope?

I've seen it, haven't I? I saw it, but I didn't want to see it. The panty liners and shaving cream in my locker. Justice for Leila u cunt written in lipstick. Backpacks swung at my head, getting thrown so hard I couldn't see, getting dragged into the boys' locker. I saw all their cruelty again and again, and I chose to only look at the good stuff. At my new friends, at Ford's sweetness. I chose to believe the good stuff was real, and the rest was an aberration.

And I was wrong. I was wrong about who I loved and what I did.

New Hope was dull, but it was safe. I could have had a good life there, had a nice husband and kids, and now I'm ruined. I’d thought I was so much smarter than my parents and my church, and I fell for a boy who refused to ever acknowledge me in public. A boy who convinced me he loved me while he plotted to get justice for his sister.

My father told me this months ago, and I was so certain I knew better.

I squeeze Kappy's hand, then I turn and walk to the van.

“Grace!” Ford calls, moving toward us just as my father climbs in beside me. He has finally found his tongue, but he should have found it sooner.

And really, what could he even say? The worst parts of what he did are obviously true.

My father hits the accelerator so hard that gravel spins out from the tires, and we barrel down the long driveway and veer onto the street.

I brace myself for what's next: my father will tell me that he’s ashamed of me, and that he will never see me the same way again. He'll tell me I'm evil. He'll probably call me a whore.

That's okay. I’m so broken right now. There's nothing my father can say that will make it worse. A year ago, I was going to marry a nice Bright Covenant boy and lead a decent life. And now I'm ruined—inside the community, and outside it, because Leila told some crazy story. It had to be a story, right?

I glance at my father and see Leila's room in my head. The shelves lined with books I wanted to read. The Olivia Rodrigo concert poster on her wall. All year long I've taken my parents' stories about the James family at face value. Leila, the slut with suicidal tendencies. Mrs. James, the drunk floozy.

What about the stories people are telling about my family? Whatever happened with Kelly Maguire, Mrs. Humboldt saying he'd forced my mother's hand?

I've heard far worse things about my dad than anyone ever said about Leila, so why would I assume she's the one lying?

I'm furious with Ford. My heart hurts so much that I know I can't recover fully. But I still know that he's smart, and he wouldn't have accepted Leila's story at face value if she was someone who couldn't be trusted.

I stare out the window. Our house is to the north, but we seem to be heading south.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“You have brought shame upon your family and upon your church,” Dad says. “Are you prepared to make amends?”

No, not really. But...I have nothing else. New Hope might not have been my first choice, but it's better than being lost and untethered and alone. What do I even have aside from it?

“Yes,” I whisper.

“You're going to Bolivia,” he says. “Someone is meeting us in Orlando to accompany you.”

Bolivia.

The word carries so much meaning—as the hopeful new start I saw it as a year ago. As the hellish prison I've viewed it as all spring.

My eyes fall closed. It's easy.

It's easier than returning to school. It's easier than facing every person who saw the video, than facing my parents day in and day out, than spending a month in New Hope wondering how many of them know.

I want very much to just disappear.

Bolivia will allow me to do it.

“Your mother packed you a bag—go into the back and get out of that whorish dress.”

I’d figured that word would come up. But...he's worse, isn't he?

“Did you rape Leila James?” I ask. “That's why this happened tonight, you know. To get you back for it.”