Free Small Town Sinners by Melissa Walker Page A

places.”
    Great. Now I’ve gone and rambled in defense of shedding clothes in Ty’s car, which isn’t even what happened. Are my parents really insinuating that anything remotely untoward took place? ’Cause it didn’t. And they should know I’m not like that.
    “Okay,” says Mom, sighing and returning to the kitchen with an efficient gait. “Dinner’s ready.”
    When we sit down and my parents take my hands for prayer, I feel that tightness again, the kind that makes it hard to breathe, and I start to think that the way my parents are acting—the way they seem wary of Ty—is causing it. They’re not giving him a chance, maybe just because he moved away, which seems really narrow minded.
    “Lord, thank you for bringing this food to our table so we may enjoy time as a family and the sustenance of you, our God. Thank you for the beautiful woman who cooked the meal,” my father says, and I can almost feel him smiling at Mom. “Thank you for the sun today, and for the safe return of Lacey’s sweater. Help her to be more careful in the future. In Jesus’s name we pray. Amen.”
    And instead of saying “Amen,” I want to scoff at my father’s annoying sweater mention. But I don’t need that between me and God, so I just say “Amen” and get on with dinner.

Chapter Ten
    For the rest of the week, I work three double shifts at the barbecue. School starts on Monday, so Mom has been making me do all these last-minute summer chores, like getting my room cleaned up and organized and helping her with her to-do list for the last church supper of the summer.
    I do everything she asks in a zombie state because there are two things that take up 90 percent of my brain right now: number one, Ty, and number two, Hell House. The cast list gets posted Sunday.
    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