Chapter 2

The next morning, I was at the kitchen table with a practice SAT book when my mother confronted me.

"Gabrielle, what is this?" she asked, holding up a CD case she' d found in my room. It was a classical music compilation, something I used for background noise.

"It' s music, Mama. No lyrics. It helps me focus."

"The devil works in subtle ways," she declared, her voice rising. "Even a melody without words can carry a worldly spirit. It plants seeds of pride and distraction. Pastor John said that true focus comes only from silent prayer."

I looked from her fanatical eyes to Molly, who was sitting across from me, slowly eating a bowl of oatmeal. Molly just stared down at her food, a small, satisfied smile on her lips.

"Okay," I said, closing my textbook. I didn' t have the energy to fight a battle I had already lost once before. It was pointless.

"I' m going to the library," I announced.

My mother sighed, a long, theatrical sound of a long-suffering parent. "Why must you always run away from this house? Molly is content to study here, in a godly environment."

"The library has more books," I said simply. It also had computers with internet access, a fact I chose not to mention.

As I was about to leave, Molly looked up. "Gabby, I was thinking... maybe we could study together? You' re so good at math. You could help me."

I remembered the last time I helped her. It ended with my death.

"No," I said, my voice cold. "I study better alone."

I walked out the door before either of them could say another word. At the library, I was relentless. I spent hours on the public computers, running through online practice tests, downloading study guides, and secretly working on my college applications. I filled out the FAFSA, wrote my personal essays, and researched scholarships my mother would never approve of.

Molly, meanwhile, found her own way to pass the time. I came home one afternoon to find her on the porch swing, a thick book in her lap. It had a plain brown cover, the kind you' d put on a bible. But as she turned a page, I caught a glimpse of the cover art beneath: a shirtless man with flowing hair embracing a woman in a torn dress. Romance novels. Her own quiet rebellion was one of deceit, not defiance.

Later that week, she cornered me in the hallway. "People at school are starting to talk."

"About what?" I asked, not really caring.

"About me. I don' t know any of the new songs or TV shows. Jessica asked me if I' d seen that new vampire movie and I didn' t know what she was talking about. They' re calling me the Amish Girl." Her voice was a whiny complaint.

"So watch TV," I said, shrugging.

"I can' t! Mama would kill me! You' re the one who' s always at the library. You could just... I don' t know, print out some stuff for me? About pop culture? So I don' t sound like a total freak?"

I looked straight at her. "Molly, you agreed with Mama' s rule. You told her it was a wonderful idea. You said I should have more faith. This is the life you chose. Live with it."

I pushed past her and went into our room, closing the door behind me. I could hear her let out a frustrated hiss on the other side. This time, she was completely on her own.