When I was eight and my brother Eric was five we crashed a school bus. Actually, he crashed the bus, I was just a passenger. It was right before the start of summer. The row of buses on the grassy ball-field that doubled as a parking lot were being cleaned and tuned up for the start of camp. We dashed in and out of them – me, Eric, and another little girl, the toddler

…

He said he liked my shoes – black Chuck Taylor high tops, neon pink trim. Our first assignment was to do a profile on another student. We'd chosen each other. I liked his blue eyes, dark hair, Ken-doll perfect face, but in my profile I wrote about his academic achievements. In his profile he wrote about my shoes. *** I was seventeen, part of a special band of homeschooled evangelical youth being groomed to Take…