I was the best Christian girl a Christian girl could be. I never hiked my Christian school uniform skirt higher than my knee, I was the best at church Bible drills, and I always raised my hand when the teacher asked for a volunteer to pray.
My parents had come from rough backgrounds, but they were doing all they could to make sure their daughter was raised right. I was protected, sheltered, and naïve. The sex talk was reduced to being handed a book about adolescence, and I knew not to ask questions about what I read. Just around the time when my hormones and my body were starting to leave girlhood, though, my school got a new transfer: a girl with plenty of answers. She told me eye opening stories of what it was like in her public school. My curiosity was insatiable. One afternoon when I was left home alone with the television, I landed on Jerry Springer’s holiday special and MTV’s raciest videos. I was intrigued and horrified by what I saw.