Small Town Sinners (12 page)

I spit and rinse my mouth, thinking about how Tessa may have known she was pregnant during auditions, and she still went for that part. Did she think it would help her work through having a baby? Was she in denial? I know she’d never consider an abortion in real life.

I’m distracted through breakfast, and Dad notices.

“Nervous about the real work starting?” he asks.

“Huh?” I ask, wondering if he’s already worrying about me playing the biggest role in Hell House. I need to learn my lines.

“Now that you’re a junior,” he says. “It’s the most important year to show your academic work is up to State’s standards.”

“Oh,” I say, looking down at my scrambled eggs. “Yeah.”

“Don’t worry, honey,” Mom says, heading over to the table to pour more coffee into Dad’s mug. “You’re a legacy.”

She and Dad smile at each other, and I feel that familiar tightness in my chest again. I haven’t told them yet that maybe I don’t want to go to State.

I scoop up the last forkful of eggs and grab my bag. “I’m gonna wait outside,” I say, pushing back from the table before they can say anything else.

I step through the front door just as Starla Joy’s truck pulls into my driveway. I can see her beaming from behind the steering wheel.

She looks bright, happy, upbeat—the opposite of how I know she feels. Her hot-pink lips stay frozen in a smile as I climb into the passenger side of the truck—it’s so weird that Tessa’s not here—and she swishes her head around so I can see the tiger lily she’s pinned into her dark, shiny ponytail.

“Good disguise,” I say.

She grins at me, genuinely now.

“Momma always says, ‘Face a rough day with color and style,’ ” she says.

“Your momma should talk to Dean,” I respond.

At school, Dean meets us in front of Starla Joy’s locker first thing. She called him last night to tell him what was going on. And although we know Dean kept it a secret, it’s obvious that the word is out.

How does the rumor mill turn?
I wonder. Did Starla Joy’s mom call a friend who told her daughter, who told her best friend, who told two people, who each told three, who each told four? My head swims with gossip math. One thing is for sure: everybody knows.

In the hallway, as people walk by the three of us, all chattering about nothing before the first bell rings, I can feel the stares. They’re not talking about us overtly, they’re just
looking
. Like we have special information, and they want to find out what we know.

I can tell what they’re thinking, because I’ve been them. Who am I kidding? I
am
them. I want to hear where Tessa is, how she is, what’s going through her mind, if her heart is breaking. But this isn’t the time or place to ask those questions. Starla Joy will tell us later, if she wants to, if she even knows herself.

For now, she and Dean and I huddle together, protecting each other from something we don’t quite understand.

At lunch, I finally see Ty. Usually he meets Dean and me after second period to walk to third because our classrooms are close together, but he didn’t today. And when I catch a glimpse of him across the courtyard as Starla Joy and I settle into our usual lunch spot near the amphitheater, I can tell he’s avoiding us. Or me. Or something.

But when Starla Joy reaches up to wave at him, he comes over with a friendly smile.

“How are you?” he asks, looking at her and not me.

She works her pink lips into a big grin and says, “Just peachy.”

“It’ll be okay,” Ty says, though he sounds unconvinced.

Starla Joy smiles again and returns her gaze to the bunch of grapes she’s been picking at.

Ty sits down and we’re all quiet for a minute. I haven’t known what to say since last night, and today I found myself thinking about Hell House and the lines I’ll have to learn before I reminded myself that wasn’t appropriate—I should be thinking about Tessa now. Tessa and Starla Joy.

“I wonder when it happened,” says Starla Joy. She’s staring off in the distance and it’s like she’s not even really talking to us, but just letting her inner thoughts speak out loud. She looks at her fingers and counts. “March,” she says. “Maybe over spring break last year when they drove to the beach … or that weekend when Momma and I went away overnight to see Grandma on her birthday and Tessa said she had to finish a history paper …”

“Starla Joy, you don’t have to—” I start. I was going to tell her she doesn’t have to think about this so specifically, that it doesn’t matter, but she keeps talking over me.

“It had to be unplanned,” she says, with that ghost look still in her eyes. “She wouldn’t have planned to have sex, right?”

Starla Joy looks at me now and wants me to confirm that no, Tessa would never have planned to break the purity pledge. I shake my head. “No, I’m sure it wasn’t planned,” I say.

“If it was planned,” says Ty, “they would have used protection.”

I glance over at him, but he’s looking at Starla Joy.

“They didn’t have any,” I say, “because it
wasn’t
planned.”

“Exactly,” says Ty, still focusing on Starla Joy. “You know, at my old school they handed out condoms in the guidance office.”

I feel a blush creep into my cheeks involuntarily. “Really?” I ask before I can stop myself.

“Yeah,” he says, finally looking my way. “There was a basket there. It wasn’t like they put one in every locker, but you could get one—almost without anyone knowing.”

I want to ask Ty if he ever got one for himself. He’s kind of talking like he did, but I can’t believe he would have. Would he?

“Well, I know for a fact that Tessa wouldn’t have been caught dead with a condom,” says Starla Joy, finally tuning back into us. “I’m sure this was some crazy night gone too far—we’ve always believed in abstinence.”

“Yeah, like that’s the only option,” says Ty softly. He looks down at his shoes, and I can tell he’s about to say something more.

But then we hear Tessa’s boyfriend Jeremy’s voice, and all of our heads turn in his direction.

I can’t make out what he’s saying, exactly, but he’s shouting and whooping it up with his group of jock friends on the other side of the amphitheater, like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“How can he act like that?” Dean is suddenly standing next to us, covered in paint because he’s coming from the art building, and saying what we’re all thinking.

“They always do,” says Starla Joy, still holding her lips in a smile shape, though there’s no happiness in her eyes. “The guys get to go on with their lives, doing whatever they want, taking no responsibility because they’re not physically tied to the sin they’ve committed.”

It’s creepy to watch Starla Joy in this moment. She’s talking like a robot and it seems like she’s not really here. It’s like she’s gone a little bit crazy. And she sounds like her mom. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s quoting Mrs. Minter.

“Not all the guys,” I say, not wanting my friend to feel the bitterness that I see in her face.

Ty stands up. “I’ve got to go finish some chemistry homework,” he says. “I have Brenner next period.”

I know that’s true, because I know Ty’s schedule. And Mr. Brenner is one of the toughest teachers. But I can’t help but feel like Ty’s leaving us because he can’t handle it here. Because what we’re talking about is too much for him.

He strides into the building, past Jeremy and his friends. Ty’s looking down at the ground the whole time, not meeting their eyes, and never turning around to see me watching him go.

Chapter Fourteen

When I get home, I see that Dad’s car is in the driveway. He must have taken off early from work when he heard the news about Tessa. I hope it wasn’t for my benefit.

But when I walk in and find my parents sitting together on the couch, speaking in hushed tones, I know that I’m in for something.

“Hi, honey,” Mom says, patting the couch next to her.

I smile, drop my bag, and sit in the armchair across the room instead. I don’t want to be lined up like three ducks in a row while we talk about this. I want to face them.

“We knew you’d find out about Tessa,” Mom says. “And we just want you to know that we’re here to talk if you have anything you want to express. You and Starla Joy have always been so close. It must be very hard on her.”

“It is,” I say. I’m about to say something more, because my parents seem like they’re being pretty calm and sympathetic. But then my dad starts talking.

“Did you know about this?” he asks, a hint of accusation in his voice. Or maybe I’m being paranoid.

“Just since yesterday,” I say. “Starla Joy told me.”

“Oh, honey, your allergy headache?” says Mom, wringing her hands. “I knew there was something more to that. But you didn’t feel like you could—”

“Didn’t you think you should tell us?” Dad asks, raising his voice to interrupt Mom.

“It wasn’t my news to tell,” I say, not really knowing where my father is going with this, but feeling both intimidated and annoyed by his tone, which is getting harsher with each sentence.

“Oh, don’t be silly, Lacey Anne,” Dad says, standing up and pacing the floor in front of me. “This isn’t the time for teenage secret keeping.”

He looks at me and I stare back blankly. This doesn’t seem like my dad, the children’s pastor. He’s so angry.

“Don’t you know that when something like this happens it can affect everyone, especially friends of the Minter girls, in ways they don’t understand,” he continues, running his hand through his tuft of graying hair.

I glance over at Mom for help, but she’s looking down at her hands, which are folded in her lap. It’s like she’s willfully bowing out of this conversation because Dad’s being loud.

“How am I supposed to be affected?” I ask.

“Well, maybe you’ll feel like everybody’s breaking the rules, and that it’s okay to stray from your morals,” he says.

“Oh, yeah, Dad,” I say, incredulous. “Knowing that Tessa had premarital sex and got pregnant really makes me want to run off with a guy right away.”

Mom looks up sharply, and I feel a pang of guilt for saying something so shocking.

“Lacey Anne,” says Mom, recovering, “when girls like that get themselves into trouble, they can affect other girls in the community too.”

“Girls like what?” I ask.

“Like the Minter girls,” says Dad, softening his voice now and walking toward my chair. “They’re lovely, and I know you’ve looked up to Tessa. But she and Starla Joy are girls without a male role model. They’ve grown up in a house with a mother who’s had different boyfriends. It can get confusing for them, I know.”

“But we don’t want it to get confusing for
you
,” Mom says, looking at me again.

“I’m not confused,” I say. “And Mrs. Minter has dated maybe one man since Mr. Minter left.” I wonder why my parents aren’t blaming Mr. Minter for some of this instead of calling Starla Joy and Tessa
girls like that
.

For some reason, that phrase sets off an alarm bell in my head, and I think of Jeremy today at lunch, laughing and hanging out like every other carefree senior, while Tessa is probably sitting in some gray room at Saint Angeles, scared and alone. What about
boys
like that?

“No one’s blaming the Minter girls,” Dad says. “Your mother and I just think you should branch out in your friendships a little bit … maybe find some other girls, like Laura Bergen or Maryanne Duane, to hang around with.”

“I can’t believe you’re saying this,” I say, straightening up in my chair.

“Honey, we’re not asking you to drop Starla Joy,” says Mom. “We just think you’ve spent so much time with her and Dean, and now Ty, that you’re limiting yourself. Maybe you should find some other social circles too.”

I feel the hairs on my neck start to prickle.

“What does this have to do with Dean or Ty?” I ask.

“Nothing,” Mom says, looking quickly at Dad. I know there’s something they’re not saying, but all I can think about is that they’re asking me to avoid Starla Joy, my best friend, when she’s in total crisis. And I feel as surprised as if they’d asked me to help them steal a car. This isn’t what I’ve been taught my whole life. John 15:12-13: “My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.” I almost want to say it out loud to them.

Dad kneels down next to my chair, and I stare at our soft beige carpet, focusing on a tiny faded stain next to the leg of the coffee table. It’s from when I was six years old and Starla Joy and I were trying to paint each other’s nails. We spilled a whole bottle of pink Frosted Pearl nail polish, but Mom just laughed as she cleaned up the mess, calling us her little beauty queens. That one spot never came out.

As I fixate on it I feel a tear run down my cheek, and Dad thinks it’s there because I’m sad, because I’m giving in. He reaches up a finger and brushes my tear away, like he’s always done.