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defying them.” Elder Blather bows his head, which is a sign that I should too. “ Let every soul be subject to the governing authorities. For there is no authority except from God, and the authorities that exist are appointed by God. ”
    I’ve heard Romans 13:1 a lot. As a governing authority, this is a very convenient verse for Elder Blather to use on me.
    “You’ll follow through on your obligations to the ministry tonight, wearing a veil to disguise your disobedience. Tomorrow the MiVu will be permanently removed from your home as you have shown time and again that you are incapable of walking the right path.”
    “But I—”
    He holds up a bony finger to silence me.
    “Furthermore, you have left us no choice but to take a vote.”
    He doesn’t finish the sentence. And he can’t even bring himself to look me in the face as he lets the unspoken sink in.
    They’re going to take a vote on my Shunning.
    “It is the way of the Lord,” he says before departing.
    No! I want to protest. It’s the way of the Church. And that isn’t the same thing at all. But why am I the only one who sees it that way? I was a fool to think that I could ever fulfill my feminine promise as if I had never left. I’m not like Ma, or my housesisters, or my prayerclique, and I never have been. And it’s not because I’m adopted, because the Church has taken in dozens of the sickest or otherwise difficult-to-place babies over the decades. Katie, for example, had the cord wrapped around her neck and didn’t get enough oxygen when she was born and will always be a bit slower than the rest of us. And yet she, like all the other rescued babies, has seamlessly blended with the rest of the settlement. All but me.
    If the Church community is like my white-on-white wedding quilt, I’m the lone red square stitched with raggedy twine.
    I know the threat of Shunning is supposed to fill me with dread, spur me to repentance and obedience, but it actually has the opposite effect. I feel strangely . . . free. Having a household all to myself was really just a kinder alternative to Shunning all along. What’s the difference? The red dress? I don’t have to attend prayercliques and quilting bees? Good riddance to all of it!
    Oh my grace! Another rebellion of fists and feet.
    How could I have forgotten? It’s not about me.
    “What about the twins?” I shout out to the Elders, who are already halfway down the drive. “What will happen to them?”
    Elder Blather turns slowly around, his face ghoulish in the lantern light.
    “Our vote,” he says coldly, “will determine whether the twins are any concern of yours.”

melody
     
     
    I’M MOCKED UP.
    Yes, it’s true. The girl who hated trying on Babiez R U FunBumps has been successfully faking one of the most high-profile preggings in history.
    There are only four of us in on the scam: Harmony, Jondoe, Zen, and me. Lib is in on half the truth: He knows Harmony bumped with Jondoe but is happy to uphold the image of the brand by letting everyone else think her deliveries are Ram’s. As for Ram, he says he’ll raise the babies with Harmony in Goodside because that’s what she’s asked him to do. As for what he really believes, I don’t know. And Harmony has made it clear that she doesn’t want me to ask.
    The rest of the world thinks we’re fulfilling our obligations as our parents always expected. None of this would have been possible without Jondoe’s full cooperation, which he gave for one reason: Harmony.
    “She’ll change her mind,” I had told him eight and a half months ago, when Harmony shocked us all by returning to Goodside with Ram. “She’ll come back. And when she does, The Hotties will have earned her enough money to start a whole new life. She’ll be free to be whoever she wants to be. . . .”
    “I can give her the money she needs to be independent right now!”
    “How can she earn her independence if you’re the one buying it for her?”
    He had almost