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I glance at her warily. Even before we got to Penhallow, we’ve got a surprise for you didn’t normally portend good things. It was some stranger I’d have to give up my bedroom for, or a grueling volunteer thing we’d be expected to participate in with delight.

One year the surprise was that we were going to an aquarium the day after Christmas, and were tithing the money my parents would have spent on gifts.

“Grace, I don’t appreciate the look on your face,” my father says.

My mother ignores it and barrels on. “We’re going back to New Hope for Easter, since it coincides with their spring break. Your father has a lot of work to do here, so it’ll just be the four of us. Faith, Hope, and I will stay with my friend Miriam. And Grace, you’ll stay with Ann. She’s planning to host a big sleepover to celebrate.”

My smile is forced. I haven’t texted Ann once since I discovered she was bad-mouthing me to my dad over Christmas. Ann can’t be any more excited about it than I am, and surely my parents are aware of how incredibly awkward the whole thing will be?

I guess it doesn’t matter. My father has decided what he wants, and his is the only vote that counts.

The following Wednesday, my father drops the four of us at the bus station because he’s concerned my mother’s car won’t make it. He could have just switched cars with her, but I’m apparently the only one this has occurred to.

We arrive in Odenton, the town next to New Hope, several hours later.

We are embraced by Miriam and Mrs. Hoffman, Ann’s mother, and finally I turn to Ann.

“It’s so good to see you,” she gushes, wrapping me in a hug, performing for the crowd. I spied the bitter, snide thing in her eyes first, though. How did I not see what a little snake she is before? Maybe it’s because anytime I thought it, I got busy hating myself for thinking it. I should have allowed myself some ill thoughts about Ann.

My mother and Miriam have linked arms and are already gathering their bags to leave. “Grace, be good,” she says, pressing a twenty-dollar bill in my hand. “We’ll see you here on Sunday to return home.”

I nod and turn to face Ann and her mother again.

“You look different,” says Mrs. Hoffman. Nothing in her tone implies this is a good thing.

“It’s probably the contacts,” I reply.

“No,” she says. She and Ann exchange a quick look. “It’s just as if you’ve grown up.”

It’s clearly something she and Ann have discussed, Ann undoubtedly regaling her with tales of bad influences and dark paths. If I wasn’t stuck with these people until Sunday, I’d be inclined to pull out a little biblical verse about gossiping, and it would go right over their heads—they’d think it’s not gossiping if you’re pretending it’s simply out of concern.

We climb into the Hoffmans’ car and weave through Odenton until we reach the gate that marks our town’s boundary. Even without the gate, you’d know it the minute you arrived because suddenly...every house is the same, and every blade of grass is cut to one height. Even the flowers that hang off windowsills are identical.

I never even noticed the uniformity before, and now I find it chilling.

It’s as if New Hope is a movie lot, and any moment now they’ll wheel away all the home fronts and replace them with a jungle scene or a row of big-city skyscrapers. I once easily pictured living here. Now I can only picture finding ways to provoke—hanging something other than geraniums from the flowering baskets beside my door, hanging a different flag, decorating for Halloween.

A quote from The Crucible comes into my mind, unbidden: Theology is a fortress; no crack in a fortress may be accounted small.

It’s such an innocent statement on the surface. You need to live somewhere like New Hope to understand how threatening it is at its core.

We arrive at the Hoffmans’ home, similar to my old one but not quite as nice inside—the floors are linoleum and the furniture is threadbare. Mr. Hoffman isn’t as senior in the church as my father is—or was.

“The rest of the girls will be over soon,” says Mrs. Hoffman. “Why don’t you two go down to the basement and get set up?”

I follow Ann downstairs with my bag slung over my shoulder.

“You can just throw your stuff down,” Ann says. “We’ll all lay out our sleeping bags later.”

“Who’s coming?” I don’t especially care, but I can’t just remain entirely silent. Things are weird enough as they are.

“Everyone!” Ann chirps. There’s pride in her voice, as if I asked her what medals she won and she got to tell me she’d won them all. “Monica, Jessa Mae, Rachel, Mary Leary, and Mary Carter. Lindsay, Paige, Leah. Practically everyone.”

That’s why she’s gloating...my return is the social event of the season, and she’s taking the credit. Leah and Rachel wouldn’t have looked at us twice a year ago. They were New Hope’s Kendalls, I guess.

Mrs. Hoffman brings down a punch bowl of lemonade, followed by a platter of cookies. After spending time at Kappy’s house, it now seems oddly formal.

The girls arrive as a trickle, then a rush. I’m hugged politely, then met with secretive, curious stares. They want to know if the outside changed me, though I’m sitting here in the same faded cotton dress I wore when I left.