Small Town Sinners (9 page)

When the day finally arrives, I wait outside the church for my dad to open the doors early, so I can see the list before the other Youth Leaders. I begged Dad all week to tell me how auditions went, but he’s frustratingly disciplined about things like that, and he wouldn’t say a word.

Still, I’m not surprised when I see the name “Tessa Minter” next to “Abortion Girl.” She knew she had it. The bright side is that my name is in parentheses after hers, which means I’m the understudy, and I’ll have a good shot at it next year.

I make myself smile big as I see some other people crowding around the list. After all, they don’t know I really wanted the part, and there’s no need for them to.

I got the role of “Party Girl Passenger” in the drunk driving scene. I end up dead, which will include fun blood packets that splatter and dramatic lines like, “Whoa—stop!” and “Look out!” so it’ll still be cool.

Besides, I’ll have my movie moments another way. Ty’s in church today.

“So … Party Girl Passenger,” says Starla Joy as she sits down next to me and my mom in the front row. She knows not to mention Ty in front of my parents—I told her how they’re weird about him.

“Congratulations, Demon Tour Guide,” I say. It’s impressive that Starla Joy got that role—she’s the only girl who landed one of the six demon parts.

“Starla Joy, are you joining us in the front pew today?” asks my mother.

“If I may,” Starla Joy says in her polite-with-adults voice. “I have no idea where Dean is, and Tessa’s at home sick so Momma stayed with her. I just called and told Tessa the good news about Abortion Girl.”

“She’ll do a wonderful job,” says Mom, patting my hand sympathetically. Which annoys me.

“She will be great,” I say. Then I look up at my mother. “I’m not bitter, Mom. I promise.”

Mom smiles. “It’s not the right part for you this year, Lacey,” she says. “You’re not ready.”

I pull my hand out from under hers.
She’s still treating me like I’m a kid, like I can’t handle anything, even a church performance.

Mom doesn’t flinch when I move away, she just continues chatting and smiling.

“Starla Joy, that lipstick looks so pretty on you,” she says, talking over me.

“Why, thank you, Mrs. Byer,” says Starla Joy. “And your broach is just beautiful.”

I sit quietly between them as they go back and forth. My mom and Starla Joy have always bonded over superficial things. And even though I can’t pull off Starla Joy’s bright red lips, I
am
wearing lip gloss today so I should get some credit. I’m glad when Pastor Frist starts his sermon.

This Sunday, I pay less attention to the streaming sunlight from the stained-glass windows and more attention to the feeling I have, like someone is looking at me from the back of the sanctuary. I finally turn and glance behind me, and Ty’s sparkling eyes make my heart jump. He smiles at me. I feel a blush rising as I turn back to Pastor Frist, and I hope Mom and Starla Joy don’t notice.

After the service, there are homemade cookies and cups of red punch in the lobby where people gather to mingle. I didn’t see Ty on my way out—he must have left early—and I’m disappointed for a few minutes as I make small talk and try to hold people’s gazes even as I want to scan the crowd for his curly blond hair.

Eventually, I see Ty come into the lobby from outside. I try to catch his eye, but he heads straight for my dad and starts talking to him. Maybe he’s asking about me, about us dating. Dad would like a guy asking for permission to date his daughter. Maybe Ty will win him over. I pretend to stare at the blue-and-red lettering on the homemade potluck dinner poster behind my father’s head for a minute or two, but when they don’t turn my way, I decide to approach them. That’s when I discover they’re not talking about me.

“… just drove him home, but he’s definitely upset,” Ty says.

“And you’re sure it was the Parsons boy?” asks Dad.

“Yes, sir,” Ty says. “I know punishment isn’t the church’s role, but I just think that with him getting such a big part in Hell House … well, it isn’t quite fair after something like this.”

“Something like what?” I ask, not worried about eavesdropping when this sounds so serious.

Dad looks at me with sad eyes. “Lacey Anne, don’t worry,” he says. “If you want to miss the Youth Leaders meeting today to go see Dean, I’ll make your excuses.”

“Miss the YL meeting?” I ask. “Why would I do that? And what’s going on with Dean?”

I look over at Ty.

“I found him in the art room,” he says. “Lots of the props he’d built had been painted with 666, the symbol of the devil.”

What?

“What?” I ask, but my voice falters because I’m freaked out. “Why? Who was it?” I look at my father. “Dad, what’s going on?”

“Now, Lacey, don’t you worry,” says Dad, putting a hand on my back. “You just go see your friend and make sure he’s okay.”

Ty puts his arm around me, and I’m too upset to even care that we’re right in front of my father. “Let’s go,” he says, and I nod. Dad doesn’t stop us as we push a path through the post-worship social hour. On the way out I see Starla Joy talking to Mrs. Wilkins, and I catch her eye. One look at my face and she knows to make her excuses.

She hurries over to us.

“What is it?” she asks.

“It’s Dean,” I say.

“We’ll explain outside,” Ty says.

Starla Joy follows without a single question.

By the time we get to Dean’s—a two-minute drive—Starla Joy is as caught up as I am. Ty isn’t being very forthcoming, though.

“I want you to know what
Dean
wants you to know,” he keeps saying when we ask him who did this. I don’t tell him that I heard him mention Geoff Parsons, but I can’t help feeling confused and a little hurt. Since when does Ty know more about Dean’s life than Starla Joy and I do?

When we pull into Dean’s driveway, Starla Joy opens her door and jumps out before the BMW’s fully stopped. Her ballet flats kick up gravel in the driveway as she runs up the porch steps and doesn’t knock—just walks in. Ty and I are right behind her.

Dean’s mom has her arms folded across her chest when we enter.

“Hi, ma’am,” I say. Starla Joy must have barreled past her on the way to Dean’s room.

“Lacey, Ty,” says Mrs. Perkins. She smiles softly, but it’s one of those smiles that’s filled with tears. “Mr. Perkins is still at church, but I came home. Would you like a snack?”

I can smell something baking—chocolate cake?—and I look around the living room. There’s a stack of
National Geographic
magazines on the coffee table next to some issues of
Real Simple.
A mug of tea, still steaming, sits on a porcelain coaster atop the kitchen counter in the distance. Sunlight streams through the windows. It’s comforting to see everything at the Perkins house in its place, even today. This is what my mother must mean when she straightens up our house manically and calls it “cathartic cleaning.”

“No thanks,” I say.

Mrs. Perkins nods and motions up the stairs. “Dean’s okay,” she says. “He’ll be glad to see you both.” She doesn’t look either of us in the eye. I wonder how many times she’s met Ty—it seems like she already knows him.

We walk by her and start climbing the steps.

Starla Joy has her arms thrown around Dean, who’s sitting on his bed holding an ice pack to his cheek.

She turns to us with anger in her eyes.

“Why would this happen?” she asks. And I realize she’s looking at Ty, like maybe he had something to do with it.

“It was an asshole prank,” says Dean, sitting up. He’s changed into a flannel shirt and jeans. I look around the room but I don’t see his paint-covered clothes anywhere. “It’s okay,” he says. “At least I had a good excuse for skipping the sermon.”

He grins and he looks ten years old, which makes me want to run up and hug him too. So I do.

“Is this what it takes to get you both in my bed?” asks Dean. “Worth it!”

I smack his leg. “Stop joking,” I say. “We want to hear what happened. Who did this, Dean?”

He sighs and hesitates for a moment, looking up at Ty. Ty nods.
Did he just give permission for Dean to tell his two best friends in the world what happened?

“It was Geoff Parsons,” Dean says. “I went into church early to work on some Hell House set stuff, and he was already there, in the art room where my prop supplies are.”

Dean stares at the red paint still lingering on his hands. “At first I thought he was just going to talk smack, like usual. He started in on my nail polish and saying I was fat and stuff, but I just ignored him and turned around to work on painting the set piece I’m finishing up. That’s when I saw it—the red 666.”

I feel a chill pass through me. This is so not okay.

“I thought it was just on one of the gravestones I built for the drunk driving scene,” Dean continues. “But then I saw that he had painted it all over the wooden bridge I’m building for Heaven.”

“Heaven’s bridge?” I whisper out loud. It seems so insane that Geoff would do that. To Dean, maybe, but when Heaven’s bridge is involved, it’s like he’s doing it to God.

“When I yelled at him, he said I’d probably done it myself when I was under the influence of Satan,” Dean continues. “The guy’s so stupid, though. He still had the red paintbrush in his hand.”

Ty shakes his head, laughing a little.

“But what happened to your face?” I ask.

“When Geoff said that about Satan, I walked up to him and pushed him—hard,” Dean says. “Turns out I’m not really a good pusher, though. He pushed me back even harder and I fell backward. That’s when the side of my face hit the edge of a chair.”

“And Geoff just left you there?” I ask.

“Yeah,” says Dean, looking down. “People were shuffling into church, and I thought I’d wait it out. You know how the moms get. I figured they’d make it worse.”

“How did you—?” I start to ask Ty.

“I slipped out of the service to go to the bathroom and when I passed the art room I saw Dean in there,” he says.

“And then Ty rescued me,” says Dean.

Ty laughs. “That’s me,” he says with mock conceit. “The savior of art geeks.”

His face gets serious again quickly though.

“Tell them what he said,” says Ty, encouraging Dean.

“What who said?” I ask.

“Geoff,” says Dean, glancing up at me, then Starla Joy. “He said … he said if I didn’t paint it, maybe the devil himself did. He said he knew I believed the ‘born gay’ lie, and that I would burn in hell.”

I recognize that—we all do, except maybe Ty. It’s a paraphrased line from the gay marriage scene in Hell House.

“He’s throwing demon lines at you?” I ask, disgusted.

“That asshole!” Starla Joy shouts, her voice cracking. “I can’t believe he’d do this—”

“Or that he’d push you so hard!” I add, standing up and feeling a surge of anger, of disbelief. “Isn’t that illegal or something?”

“Exactly,” says Ty. “We’re going to file charges against Geoff for assault. Aren’t we, Dean?”

Dean winces a little.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I mean, we were all fired up in the car but I pushed him first, and—”

“Wait a minute,” says Starla Joy. “Why didn’t you come get us and tell us what was going on? You just left us listening to Pastor Frist during all this?”

Dean looks down like he’s sorry, but also confirming that yes, that is what happened.

“It’s a guy thing,” says Ty. “You don’t want girls to see you all shaken up.” He looks at Dean. “And I
thought
we made a plan to press charges.”

“We did,” Dean says. “It’s just that you don’t know this place, Ty. Lacey, back me up—Geoff Parsons is golden. I mean, his uncle
is
the town police. There’s no way it’ll work.”

“Is that why you were talking to my dad?” I ask, looking at Ty. “Because you want Geoff out of Hell House?”

“You talked to Pastor Byer?” asks Dean with a groan. “Oh man, now Geoff’s really gonna be pissed.”

“I don’t think so,” says Ty bitterly. It’s the first time I’ve seen his blue eyes darken.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

He looks at me intently. “I think your father’s going to let Geoff slide,” he says. “He didn’t even seem to consider taking Geoff’s name off the cast list for Hell House.”

“You don’t know that,” I said. “I’m sure he’ll want him out of the show.”

“I don’t need to cause any trouble,” Dean says. “It’ll just make things worse for me.”

He’s backing down but I can hear the anger in his voice.

“You’re really going to just let it go?” Starla Joy asks. “You want him to get away with it?”

“He’s been getting away with it for months,” says Dean. He punches his pillow. Hard.

“What do you mean?” I ask, sitting back down on the bed and taking Dean’s hand gently. He looks like he could cry, though I know he’s fighting it.