When I woke up on Sunday morning, Sam was already dressed and sitting on the twin bed opposite mine. “Why are you wearing jeans?” I asked. “Aren’t we going to church?”

Sam wrinkled her nose. “I’m not wearing a dress one minute longer than I have to.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a quarter. “See this? Every Sunday I use it to make holes in my panty hose during preaching. Mom never gets the message, though. She keeps buying new ones.”

The hose themselves didn’t matter, but how they made Sam feel did. She felt ridiculous in hose and a skirt. “I’m sorry, Sam. I wish you could wear your jeans.”

“Me too.”

After I showered and put on borrowed church clothes, Sam knocked on the bathroom door. “Mom’s got breakfast ready,” she said.

We had pancakes and sausage patties. Instead of eating with us, Mrs. Johnson worked the griddle so the pancakes were served hot and golden brown.

“Jonathan, don’t use all the syrup,” she scolded. “Your pancakes are already floating in it.”

Melissa reached over with a napkin and wiped his mouth.

Jonathan twisted his head. “Stop it!”

“He’s gonna need a bath before church,” Melissa said.

Mrs. Johnson stacked more pancakes onto a platter and carried it to the table. “Go ahead and finish them off. Dad had his breakfast earlier.”

I helped myself to another pancake, and then Mrs. Johnson said, “I called Reverend Albert last night. I told him about Coach Murphy and Miss Holt. They’re setting a bad example, and it’s my Christian duty to stop them.”

My appetite disappeared.

Sam gripped the edge of the table with both hands. Her voice was clipped and angry. “Murph’s my basketball coach. Why do you want to cause trouble for her?”

“Samantha Johnson, don’t take that tone of voice with me.”

“Murph is my friend. Leave her alone.”

“She’s not your friend; she’s your teacher.” Mrs. Johnson shook her spatula at Sam. “She’s a pervert. Her lifestyle is disgusting. Why, she’s an abomination, that’s what she is!”

Sam stood up with clenched fists. “I hate that word. I. HATE. IT. Mom, don’t you see what you’re doing? You could cause Murph to lose her job. Or something even worse.”

At that moment, all I wanted was to go home.

Jonathan’s bottom lip trembled. Melissa stood and put her arm around him. “Stop it! You’re scaring him.”

All the fight went out of Sam when she looked at Jonathan. She marched over to the kitchen door. “Allie, you should call your mom to come and pick you up.”

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“Taking Penny for a ride.”

“Sam, you head upstairs and get ready for church,” Mrs. Johnson said.

Sam slammed the door instead.

Alone with Sam’s family, I didn’t know who to look at or what to say. “I need to use the phone,” I mumbled and hurried to call Mom.

“Honey, is everything all right? You sound upset.”

“Just come get me, okay?”

“You’re scaring me. Are you in any kind of danger?”

“Mom, don’t be ridiculous.” I wanted to yell at her for jumping to conclusions, but what had happened to Eric stopped me. Sometimes the worst conclusion is the true one.

I stood shivering on the front porch, and Melissa waited with me. “It’s chilly. Wouldn’t you rather stay inside until your mom gets here?”

“No thanks. I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry about what happened in there. My mom’s afraid.”

“Why?”

“The youth director at church told her some stuff, but it was no big deal. Sam was just a little kid then.”

I looked up at the porch ceiling. “Sam trusted her. The youth director shouldn’t have said anything.”

“But Sam’s not gay!” Melissa insisted. “If she were, I’d know.”

Melissa was wrong, but I couldn’t tell her. It was up to Sam. We stood shivering on the porch until Mom’s Dodge Dart pulled up in a cloud of dust and leaves. “See you later. Ask Sam to call me after her ride.”

While I climbed in, Mom drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. I had barely slammed the car door before she fired off a list of questions.

“What happened?

“Why are you so pale?

“Where’s Sam?”

I leaned my head back against the seat. “Sam had a fight with her mom. She stormed out of the house and went for a ride on Penny.”

“Oh. Is that all? Moms and daughters argue all the time. Once when I was your age—”

I held up my hand. “Don’t, Mom. Just don’t.”

She didn’t say another word on the ride home, but I knew, sooner or later, I’d have to tell her something. But what? I needed time to think.