Loss-of-innocence Stories

I remember that youth group ski trip like it was etched into my soul with a hot iron—every flake of snow, every whisper of wind through the pines, every bubble in that damned hot tub. I was a sophomore, just turned 16, with my world still wrapped in the cozy blanket of innocence my parents had woven for me. Church every Sunday, youth group on Wednesday nights, and a belief that boys were just taller versions of the sweet...