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grinned at her. “And I thought she was going to whip out the Humboldt County leaf and smoke
me
out.”
    I had to laugh. Talk about a collision in your expectations. “And you both turned out to be believers.”
    “Yeah, putting our absolute worst feet forward,” Gillian said. “It’s not about being perfect or experts. It’s about listening and talking and having a relationship with a God who loves you more than anything.”
    “I wish I could believe that,” Shani said, a little wistfully. “But I just can’t wrap my brain around it.”
    “It’s not the brain,” I said quietly. “It’s the heart. I felt like mine was going to explode. And not in a cardiac-arrest way.” I waggled my hands, trying to gather up the right words. “A love way.”
    “Huh.” Shani tried to take this in, then shook her head and got up. “I’m going to go up and finish unpacking,” she said in a not-very-subtle change of subject. “Last term of junior year already. Everybody got their community service credits in?”
    “Lots of stuff going on. I’m being a grunt on the prom committee—excuse me, the
Cotillion
committee.” Trust Lissa to snag that one. And trust her to let Shani think she was getting away with avoiding the issue. “The seniors are in charge, so it’s one of the few things Vanessa isn’t running. Cotillion sounds so old-fashioned, doesn’t it?”
    “This is an old-fashioned kind of place,” Gillian said. “Just don’t make me wear a white gown and pretend to be a deb.”
    “I don’t think debs exist in California,” Lissa said. “The species went extinct in the fifties. Anyway, Vanessa’s got her hooks in the really cool thing—the fashion show in June.”
    “Fashion show?” I might be a brand-new Christian, but that didn’t mean other stuff couldn’t get my attention. Especially if it had anything to do with clothes. “What kind of fashion show?”
    “Charity gig, of course, meaning gobs of credits,” Lissa said. “Word is it’s going to be called Design Your Dreams. A bunch of San Francisco and L.A. designers are going to send their clothes and Spencer students will model them. The charity part is what the people will shell out for tickets. Students can model their own stuff, too, if they want. It’s almost like an audition for the people who want to go into the fashion industry.
Project Runway
lite.”
    “And we haven’t heard about this why?” I demanded. I would get a dress into that show or die. Period.
    “Uh, because school hasn’t officially started yet?” Shani pointed out. “Relax, girlfriend. You’ll get your chance to strut your stuff in front of Stella McCartney.”
    “Or the Mulleavys,” I said dreamily. “Or Tori Wu or—”
    The door opened, and all of us turned to look. A little sinking hole formed in my stomach, draining the excitement and warmth out of the evening.
    Mac looked us over. “Hello again.”
    “Mac, this is Shani. Shani, Mac.” They nodded at each other.
    “Did you have a nice time at tent meeting?” Mac shoved her trunk against the end of her bed and began pulling things out of it. A pair of riding boots and a helmet. Books. A leather jacket in black and red that looked as if it might be worn by a motorcycle racer. Shoes: heels, flats, sandals.
    Lissa lost the thread of the most interesting conversation I’d had in weeks and watched the shoes come out of the trunk the way my grandma’s chickens watch her hands when she brings the leftovers from dinner out into the yard.
    “Not a tent meeting,” I said. “Prayer circle. And yes, we did.”
    “Carly’s a Christian now,” Gillian told her. My hands jerked, as if they wanted to fly up and cover her mouth. “It was amazing. We were all just talking about it.”
    “You mean you weren’t before?” Mac asked me. “After tea?”
    “I—I’m not sure,” I stammered. Could I feel any more uncomfortable? And why? I should be singing it from the school roof, shouldn’t I?
    “So what