““Did I really write to them from a fake e-mail account, posing as my mother to get out of it? My face flames and sweat dots my hairline. It itches, but my arms refuse to let me do anything about it. The crowd blurs into a dull shifting mass, pressing in on me. I look back up at the ceiling for stability, but it only makes me dizzier. Colors swirl together. God shifts his eyes from Adam to me. Murmurs and whispers amplify, joining my accelerating pulse until there’s a stampede in my ears. My heart might explode. What have I done? Chiara grabs my hand and supports my weakened body through a maze of people and doorways until we’re outside. The brightness burns my eyes, but I welcome the awakening. “What happened? You looked as if you might fall over.” I avoid her question and instead gaze up at the weathered, bluish dome of St. Peter’s Basilica looming over us from high above all the other buildings in the city. Is the pope in there praying for liars like me?””
