Sometimes, when no one was around and the work was all done, Angela wanted to be like Kelly.

Angela spent most of her days frowning disapprovingly and deeming things inappropriate. She knew what was in the Bible, she knew what she liked, and for a while that was all that mattered. Her sweaters itched and her ponytail gave her a headache, but she liked the superiority that came with it. There was something about eliciting defeated expressions from people around her when they came to terms with the fact that the "right way" was the "Angela way." The power was delicious, like the wine at church.

But the power led to loneliness. Nobody wanted to be your friend if you spent the entire afternoon looking at their wardrobe and shaking your head. Nobody liked you if you were severe, but Angela didn't think she could afford to be less severe. She didn't need to be liked, but...

Kelly bounced around the office in her strappy high heels and colorful tops and people were almost happy to see her. If she took the time to actually listen to anyone, Kelly would have been the sort of girl that people clamored to be friends with. The popular girl that was more like a trophy than a friend. The kind of girl who didn't know a thing about the Bible except that on prom night it was in the nightstand drawer of that hotel room she went to with her date after the dance.

The boy that asked Angela to the prom was in her Bible study group and she rejected him because she didn't think Christ was really in his heart. She spent the night sitting on the living room floor, watching the church channel with her grandmother. The next day she felt a little dangerous and rebellious so she went to the mall by herself and bought a white sparkly shirt with spaghetti straps. She hid it under her bed in a church camp duffle bag and never wore it, but it was enough to know it was there. That was as close as she got to being a Kelly.

Angela wondered what it would be like to try on one of Kelly's silk blouses and sleek skirts and go out to wherever people like Kelly went out. It was probably some trashy club where the music was too loud for conversation, but she would have liked to have seen - just for research, so she knew what was going on while she was reading the bingo numbers in the church basement.

When she got home from work, she took off her shoes and placed them neatly by the door, just like every other day. Kelly probably chatted on her cell phone and kicked her shoes off without a care. Angela nudged the left shoe so that it fell over onto its side. And that would be good enough. She climbed the stairs, ignoring her cats' mewling just this once. She sat on her bed and stared at the closet door.

On the top shelf in the closet, hidden behind a hat box, stuffed into a plastic bag from the Christian bookstore, was that shirt. Spaghetti strap sin.

She didn't budge from the bed, didn't remove the shirt from its hiding place or try it on.

It was enough to know it was there.