Small Town Sinners (15 page)

“I know,” I say. Then I add, “I really, really like him.”

“Do you guys still go to the old playground all the time?” asks Starla Joy.

“Maybe a couple of times a week,” I say, being coy.

She raises her eyebrows at me and then wiggles them up and down.

“Starla Joy!” I throw a pillow at her. “We
talk
there. For hours and hours.”

I can feel that my grin is Grand Canyon big.

“What do you talk about?” she asks.

“Our beliefs,” I say. “Our dreams, our fears.”

“Sounds like a philosophy class,” she says.

“It’s nice,” I say. “It feels like real talking. Like the kind we do in church on a really good sermon day. The kind that makes me think about the world and my place in it.”

“And when you’re not talking, what do you do?” she asks with her evil Demon Tour Guide face.

“We share silences!” I say.

“Oh, Lacey,
boooring
,” she says. “Are you telling me that Ty Davis hasn’t kissed you yet?”

“He hasn’t,” I say. Then I think about whether I want to talk about this, and I realize that I do, I really do. So I say, “But I think he will soon!”

Starla Joy squees with delight and I join her.

“Girls, are you okay?” Mrs. Minter calls from upstairs.

“We’re fine, Mom!” shouts Starla Joy. Then she whispers to me, “Tell me the minute it happens.”

“I will,” I promise.

“It sounds really sweet, Lacey,” she says, smiling brightly. And then, just as suddenly, her smile fades.

That’s been her thing lately—from smiles to distress in under two seconds. I know what she’s thinking about.

“How’s Tessa doing?” I ask.

“She’s okay,” says Starla Joy, picking at the blue cotton blanket she’s pulled up around her legs. “Saint Angeles isn’t so bad.”

“That’s good,” I say. “Is she, um, happy?”

“She likes it when Mom and I visit,” says Starla Joy.

I know they’ve been going every weekend, even though it’s four hours away by car, which must be nice for Tessa.

“But I think she wishes Jeremy would show up,” Starla Joy continues. Then she purses her lips.

“He hasn’t visited?” I ask, incredulous.

She shakes her head no.

“Not even once?” I ask.

“Nope,” she says.

“That’s not right,” I say.

“None of the fathers are ever there,” she says. “It’s weird. The place is all teenage mothers and the women who help them out, like church volunteers and counselors.”

“Does Tessa have anything to do while she’s there, like during the week?” I ask.

“She has a tutor who gets her assignments from school so she won’t fall behind,” she answers.

“That’s great!” I say, trying to make the tone of this conversation more upbeat. “I had no idea they did that.”

“Yeah,” says Starla Joy, not looking at me. “They also have art classes, and even a pastor on hand to talk to the girls there about why their decision is one made in the light of Christ.”

“How awesome,” I say. “That must really help her.”

“Sure,” says Starla Joy. “She’ll come back to school next semester with all her work completed and some new oil paint skills, just like nothing ever happened.”

“Cool!” I say enthusiastically, trying to be positive. But then I realize my fake-happy energy isn’t exactly matching Starla Joy’s mellowness right now, and I get quiet again.

“Um, so is she feeling okay?” I ask, still glad that Starla Joy’s opening up, even just a little.

“Physically, Tessa’s fine,” she says. Then she smiles a little. “We got to see a sonogram of the baby this weekend.”

“That’s so sweet,” I say.

“It’s a girl,” says Starla Joy.

“Ooh, does she have a name?” I ask.

“I think that’s the adoptive family’s thing,” says Starla Joy, her face darkening again.

“Oh, right,” I say, feeling bad for bringing it up. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay,” says Starla Joy. Then she looks up at me and grabs my hand. “Lacey, listen, I don’t want you to be scared around me.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I know everyone at church and school is afraid to talk to me about Tessa, like if they ask too much about her, they’ll get pregnant too or catch some crazy slut disease,” she says. Then she laughs ruefully before getting serious again. “She’s still Tessa, you know. She’s still my sister and not some monster.”

“Of course,” I say. “I love Tessa no matter what.”

“I know,” she says. “I just wonder what other people think. I hear them saying things about our family.”

I look away, thinking about what my parents have said and the thoughts I’ve let enter my own mind. About Tessa, about her sin. But even in my confusion, I’ve always felt in my heart that this isn’t about Tessa being a bad person or Starla Joy’s family being somehow deficient.

I look back in her direction and squeeze her hand. She wipes away a tear that’s crept into the corner of one eye, threatening her electric-blue mascara.

Then, as quickly as it came on, Starla Joy’s vulnerability is gone. She smiles with her bright pink lips and laughs.

“Let’s watch the episode where Pacey tells Joey he loves her!” she says, suddenly giddy.

“Sure,” I say. “Cue it up.”

That night, I lie in bed and stare at my glow-in-the-dark stars, the ones my dad and I put up there together when I was six years old. I mimed my way through dinner again, answering my parents’ softball questions about whether my English quiz went well with a nod and a half-hearted smile. Well, it did go well, because I really liked
The Great Gatsby
.

And now, as I lie here with my iPod docked and playing my mellow playlist, I’m thinking about Saint Angeles. It’s weird to me that it’s a house of women, where the men just don’t visit. I guess I think that Jeremy, who was raised within our church community, should be different. Even if the other fathers aren’t there—maybe the ones who don’t care about the girls or their responsibilities, or the ones who weren’t raised with Jesus as an example—Jeremy should know better. We’ve been going to the same church all of our lives. Matthew 7:12 is one of the first verses we were taught in Sunday school: “So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you.” I bet he wouldn’t like to be sitting there alone in Saint Angeles without Tessa.

The more I think about it, the angrier I get. Why aren’t his parents making him visit Saint Angeles? I think about Pastor Frist’s sermons about righteousness and spreading God’s goodwill. Doesn’t Tessa deserve some of that, too?

I fall into an uneasy sleep without dreams, and I toss and turn all night.

Chapter Eighteen

My parents have dropped the notion that I might find some new friends, thank goodness, but I’ve noticed that the Hell House rehearsal schedule is amped up this year—we’re now doing four rehearsals a week, double last year’s schedule—which leaves little time for me to have a social life. On my paranoid days I wonder if the extra rehearsals are designed to keep me under my dad’s surveillance.

Both Dean and Starla Joy have their own burdens—Starla Joy with Tessa’s situation and Dean with Geoff Parsons and his friends, who are ever present, no matter how much Ty stands up for him.

Somehow, though, I find time to meet Ty in Ulster Park. We haven’t said it out loud—but it’s a spot where no one really goes, so we can be alone.

We’re here today after school, and I know my parents think I’m with Starla Joy and Dean. They never ask where I am, they just assume, and that makes it easier because I don’t have to lie to them.

This afternoon it’s a little cloudy and cooler—fall is definitely in the air.

“Starla Joy said her mom got three Tupperware bowls full of food yesterday,” I tell Ty.

He laughs and picks a blade of grass. “That’s the church ladies’ way, right?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “It’s nice, I guess. I just always wonder if they’re giving, like, emotional support too.”

“You mean culinary support isn’t enough for you, Lacey Anne?” Ty asks, and he looks up at me with a sarcastic smile, like he understands what I mean.

“I just keep thinking about what God would want,” I say. “I think he’d want people to do more than bake for the Minters.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t want the behind-the-back talk Starla Joy has to deal with at school,” Ty says.

“Exactly,” I say. “Everyone seems so judgmental. And then they hug her in church and tell her they’ll be there for her.”

Ty breaks his blade of grass in two.

I stare at the swing set.

“It just doesn’t seem right,” I say.

“Have you talked about this with your dad?” asks Ty. “Maybe he can help out Mrs. Minter a little more or something?”

I look down at my fingernails, pretending to inspect the clear polish that’s starting to peel. “He’s caught up in Hell House,” I say. Then I sigh out loud.

“You sound disappointed,” Ty says.

“I am.”

We’re silent for a moment, and I feel like I should explain more.

“It’s not that I’m disappointed in God,” I say. “But there’s something about the way people are acting in His name that isn’t sitting right with me.”

Ty nods like he understands, and I know he does. And I feel kind of bad saying it, but I’m also glad that there’s this place, a place where Ty and I can talk without boundaries or parents who don’t take our views seriously and change the subject.

I breathe a sigh of relief at having voiced a thought that a few months ago would have scared me to even think: I’m disappointed in the church.

The next day, I’m thinking about disappointment and Tessa and Jeremy and my father. My thoughts are swirling as I sit at my bedroom desk, and I get frustrated, trying to pinpoint a moment in time when things started feeling so off. I stare at my driver’s license, wishing I could go back to that day. That was the day I first saw Ty—and he’s what I’m looking at in the photo, not the camera. I blush at the memory. I imagined he was a mysterious stranger, but he’s Tyson Davis. Sweet, funny, thoughtful Tyson Davis.

And I might go crazy if he doesn’t kiss me soon.

I look back down at my math homework and erase the problem I just tried to do—I know the answer’s wrong. I start to work through it again, but my thoughts keep wandering to Ty’s lips. He puts his arm around me, looks for me in the halls and at church, basically makes it seem like he’s my boyfriend in every way but one.

I shake my head to get Ty out of it, and I look back down at the penciled equation I’ve written, trying to focus. He
did
have that
Finding Purity
book … maybe he does think you shouldn’t kiss before marriage. I know a lot of people who talk about how their first kiss will be on their wedding day.

There’s
no way
I can wait that long.

I look at the clock—time for work. Math has to wait. I close my book and pick up my bag, shoving my blue ruffled apron into it. I’ve got the late-afternoon shift at Joey’s. Mom and Dad don’t like me working during the school year, but I convinced them that one weekend shift is good for my character.

It’s also somewhere I can meet Ty without them acting weird about it. Because they don’t have to know.

“Bye, Mom,” I say, grabbing the Honda keys from the pegboard in the kitchen. We’ve agreed that I get the car for work, because I’ve told Mom that I don’t get off until eight p.m. and it’s getting dark by then.

I don’t wait to check that she’s heard me, I just go. I know she’ll hassle me about what time I’ll be home and whether Mel the cook can follow me to be sure I get back safely. It’s like she thinks vampires come out at night around here or something.

When I get to Joey’s, I spend extra time setting up the tiny table in the back corner by the window. It’s the one where Ty likes to sit with iced tea and a book. He’s been coming here for the past three Saturdays, and even though it’s unspoken, I’m sure he’ll be by again today.

Around five thirty p.m., like clockwork, Ty strolls in. Mel is out talking to Mrs. Patterson at her table, and I see him notice the smile I give to Ty as I lead him to the corner table, where I’ve put the best daisy in the center bud vase.

When we get back into the kitchen, Mel grins at me.

“What?” I ask innocently.

“Your boy’s here again,” he says, teasing me.

“He loves the way you brew that tea,” I say, grabbing the plastic pitcher so I can pour Ty a glass.

Mel
humphs
and goes back to his barbecue, but I can tell he likes Ty. Everyone does, except for my parents.

Throughout my shift, there are only a few customers. Saturday’s really not a big afternoon at Joey’s, and everyone from school goes to the Starbucks in the next town over to hang out on Saturday nights, late night.