Small Town Sinners Part 13

"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 gra.s.s 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 h.e.l.l 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 G.o.d," 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 ap.r.o.n 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 ha.s.sle 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 Sat.u.r.days, 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 gla.s.s.

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. Sat.u.r.day'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 Sat.u.r.day nights, late night.

I try not to linger too much at Ty's table, even though I refill his iced tea after practically every sip. It's not like we're even talking much-we're just coexisting in this s.p.a.ce-but it still makes me giddy. He's become one of my best friends. A best friend that I want to kiss. A lot.

By six, it's clear that this shift isn't going to get any busier. I head into the kitchen and give Mel my best puppy dog eyes.

"Okay," he says. "Go."

I beam at him in thanks and untie my ap.r.o.n. Then I walk over to Ty's table for one last refill.

I have two hours until my mom will even start expecting me home.

"I'm done!" I say to Ty.

"Let's go," he replies.

We take both of our cars and drive out to Ulster Park.

Even though I've told my mom that my shift lasts until eight p.m. on Sat.u.r.days, it really only goes until seven. It's a dangerous lie, because my parents know Mel, of course, but they trust me. That makes me feel half-guilty and half-confident in my deception.

This is the third Sat.u.r.day in a row that Ty and I have spent the evening out at Ulster Park. We catch the end of twilight, when the sky gets that dusty filter and the fireflies flicker. We've mostly just been talking about faith, life-all these big questions and concepts that feel so new the way Ty looks at them. But tonight I plan to ask him why he hasn't kissed me. If I can get up the nerve.

Ty spreads his old sleeping bag on top of the hill in what I've come to think of as "our spot," in the same way that the fallen log in the woods is my friends' spot. This one, however, has romantic potential.

Usually, I leave a foot between us on the sleeping bag. Tonight I edge more toward Ty. In a burst of confidence I lean my head on his shoulder.

I feel his breath quicken but he doesn't push me away. We sit like that for a few moments, and then I say, "I like being with you."

It sounds so simple and innocuous on one level, but so forward and flirty on another. And his silence after I say it means that my own voice is echoing in my mind, taking on a hundred different interpretations and connotations and making me feel more insecure by the second.

Finally, Ty sighs and moves his shoulder from under my head.

I stare forward into s.p.a.ce, not wanting to face him as he pulls his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them.

"I like being with you too, Lacey," he says. Which is the right thing to say, but the way he's all curled in a ball, like he's protecting himself from me, tells a different story.

"Okay," I say. And I'm so tired of us sitting here, talking about everything, things I don't even talk to my best friends about, that I turn to face him now with renewed energy, silencing the doubting voices in my head.

"So what is it?" I ask. "Do you like me, but you're not attracted to me? Or maybe you like Starla Joy? Or someone else entirely, like ...," and I think about how I saw Ty talking to Bore-a Bergen in the halls earlier this week, and I let out a small gasp. "It's not Laura Bergen, is it?"

He chuckles and shakes his head at me. "No," he says. "It's not Laura Bergen. It's not Starla Joy. And it isn't that I'm not attracted to you. You've got the prettiest face I've ever seen, Lacey Anne. And you keep getting prettier."

I look away from him now, embarra.s.sed but also the good kind of nervous, because I can feel the electricity between us. And he just admitted to feeling it too, in his own way.

He reaches for my chin, bringing my eyes back to him and holding my face tilted upward like he did once before, but this time he follows through with what I expect-a kiss. It's soft and gentle, but I can also feel the longing within it. Tingles pa.s.s through my body and down to my toes, and I'm not sure I'm breathing.

When we pull back, I open my pale eyes and look into his bright blue ones. I can feel that mine are shining with happiness-this is what I've wanted-but I also want to see that feeling reflected in his. What I see instead is something more like sadness, or nervousness, or fear. I watch his gaze dart to the right as he straightens up.

"I shouldn't have done that," he says.

My heart sinks like an overweight fishing lure.

"It's okay," I say. "I wanted you to."

"Lacey, it's just-" he starts, and then stutters a bit. "You just ... you don't really know me."

"I know you, Tyson Davis," I say, smiling at him, still hoping to savor this moment. "I know you love trains and know all about them, you always shared the glue, you add a packet of sugar to already-sweet tea, and you aren't quite ready for h.e.l.l House. It's really okay."

"You used to know me," he says. "And maybe you know who I'm trying to be. But there are things-"

The beams of two headlights flash into the parking lot, and we both turn to look. It's just someone turning around, but it breaks the moment.

Ty stands up and starts to gather the sleeping bag while I'm still sitting on it. I fall over sideways as he pulls it out from under me.

"Sorry," he says. "I have to go." He tucks the sleeping bag under his arm and leaves me stumbling after him, brushing gra.s.s from my jean skirt and fighting back the tears that are starting to sting my eyes.

Ty doesn't look back again, just revs up his loud engine and flees, like he's robbed a bank and needs to get away as fast as possible.

I stand in the parking lot, staring after him for a minute before getting into my car. A wave of shame washes over me as I sink behind the wheel, and when I get home and walk in the door, I drop the keys on the front table and go straight to my room. I text Starla Joy but she doesn't respond and I figure she has enough to handle without me whining to her. I consider calling Dean, but I'm embarra.s.sed to talk about this with him.

A few minutes after I get home, Mom knocks on my door to offer leftovers, and I just shout, "I ate at Joey's. Doing homework."

She pushes the door open anyway, bringing in a cup of b.u.t.ternut squash soup and a piece of toast on a tray. I sit up and try to look normal.

"Thanks," I say softly, hoping she'll put it down and go.

But she sits on the edge of my bed, staring at me like I'm a mystery.

"Are you okay, Lacey Anne?" she asks.

I want to tell her that I don't even know what's going on with me. I don't even know if I'm okay. But I just say, "I'm fine, Mom."

I take a bite of the toast to confirm it, and she looks down at her hands.

"You know that you can talk to us ...," she starts. "To me, I mean, about Tessa. If you're upset or if there's something you need guidance about."

I stay quiet.

"I know your father is normally the one who gives advice," she says, turning her head away from me.

And I realize it's true. It's always been Dad who's there with a sermon-ready lesson or a parallel Bible story to explain away any confusion I've had in the past. But this feels beyond him.

I suddenly feel a rush of affection for my mother, and I reach over the tray to take her hand just as she stands up to go. She doesn't turn around, doesn't see that I reached out, and I take my hand back.

"Thanks for the soup," I say, as she opens the door to go.

"You're welcome, honey," she says quietly, slipping out into the hallway.

When she closes the door, I wonder. If I had taken her hand, if she had stayed ... would I have told her about my feelings for Ty?

I lie back on my bed and stare at the ceiling, at my glow-in-the-dark stars. I feel a tear trickle down the side of my face as I wonder what happened. I got what I wanted-the kiss. I thought it was what I wanted, anyway. I guess I only wanted it if Ty wanted it too.

And he didn't.

In the morning I wake up feeling like a s.l.u.t. I don't even like thinking of that word, but it's what I hear in my head when I think about what I've done. How could I have pressed Ty into kissing me? He obviously didn't want to. He obviously felt sorry for me after I practically threw myself at him. Maybe he even thinks I've gone out there with him to Ulster Park-alone and on a sleeping bag for goodness' sake-just so we could hook up.

The thought makes me sick to my stomach, and I wait until the last minute to get in the shower and get ready for church. When they ask me about me missing breakfast, I tell my parents that I'm tired from work, and I grab an apple to eat as the three of us head out the door.

When we walk into the sanctuary, I look down at the floor until we reach our row. I don't want to catch Ty's eyes, not after I shamed myself so wholly last night. I'm unable to concentrate on Pastor Frist's sermon, and when I stare up at the stained-gla.s.s windows behind the pulpit, all I see are muted colors and messy imperfections in the gla.s.s.

We have a h.e.l.l House rehearsal today, and I'm thankful to see Ty and Miss Moss exit the building after the service. That means there's less chance I'll run into him this afternoon. I wonder if he's avoiding me as much as I'm avoiding him.

As Mom and Dad get caught up in their Sunday greeting rituals, I pa.s.s Starla Joy's row and nod. She follows me out the back doors and around the side of the church facing the woods.

"What happened?" she asks. "Lacey, you look awful."

"I feel awful," I say. And then I just come out with it: "Ty and I kissed last night."

Starla Joy's eyes open wide and she grabs my arm. "You did not!" she says.

"We did."

"And are you happy?" she asks, dropping her grip.

"Well, I was," I say. "But then he ran off and said, *We shouldn't have done this' or *This was wrong' or something like that. He just left me there."

"In Ulster Park?" asks Starla Joy.

"Yeah," I say. "It was a total disaster. He didn't even say hi to me today."

"I saw you barrel past everyone with your head down when you walked into church," says Starla Joy. "I don't think you gave him much of a chance."

"Still ...," I say. "He's the one who kissed me and then ran away like I'd shot at him."

Starla Joy sighs and looks at me seriously.

"Do you think he's super conservative and thinks that kissing before marriage should be off limits?" she asks.

"That's what I wondered!" I said. "Before the kiss, I mean."

"And after?" Starla Joy asks.

I flash back to his warm lips on mine, the way our bodies folded toward each other as our mouths touched ever so gently.