I’m about to tell Starla Joy and Dean—and by default the whole lobby—that this is the long-lost Tyson Davis. As I open my mouth, though, I think better of it. I want to keep what I know to myself for now, just for the length of the movie. It’s a secret that will sit in the dark with me for a couple of hours before it makes its way into my circle.
Ty buys me a drink with his own money, and I see Starla Joy notice that and raise her eyebrows before she turns and heads into the theater with Dean. When Ty and I get to their row, the lights are starting to dim for previews, and we take the two seats on the aisle next to my friends.
“This is supposed to be like Goodfellas meets The Bourne Identity meets Silence of the Lambs,” whispers Dean, more excited than I’ve seen him in weeks. He would stay in his room alternating old movies with new video games all day if his mom would let him.
“Mafia who are international agents involved with a serial killer?” asks Ty.
Dean nods happily.
We sit down and Ty’s shoulder touches mine. It feels exhilarating. I lean back in my seat, glad that for now—even just these two hours in the dark—I’m the only one who knows that sweet little Tyson Davis is back.
Chapter Six
When we get out of the theater, it’s dusk. The sun doesn’t set until pretty late this time of year, and this hour is my favorite—when the fireflies come out across the meadows. I can see a few tiny glow spots hovering over the train tracks as Starla Joy, Dean, Ty, and I start to walk back toward the restaurant where we parked.
As I step over the rails, I think about Ty’s timing of the train, the moment when I figured out who he is. I look up at him and catch him staring at me with a smile on his lips.
“Should we tell them?” he asks.
Starla Joy whips around, always eager for any kind of information. “Tell who what?” she asks, and I start laughing as Dean turns and walks backward to face us and get in on the gossip.
“Do you guys remember that boy Tyson Davis?” I ask.
“Sure,” says Starla Joy.
“Yeah,” says Dean, sticking his hands in his hoodie pockets, despite the fact that it’s sweltering out. He kicks up some dust with the backs of his heels as he walks. “He left after first grade and never came back. Did he Facebook you or something?”
“No,” I say, smiling slyly. “But I went to the movies with him recently and I think you guys would like him now, too.”
“Huh?” says Starla Joy, staring at the sky like she’s trying to figure this out. “You went to the movies with Tyson Davis and we didn’t know about it? When could that possibly have happened?” She barrels on while Ty and I look down to hide our laughter. “I know you spent Wednesday at the church, and on Thursday you had the late shift at Joey’s, and Friday we did, like, nothing at our spot in the woods before you went fishing with your dad, and I’ve been with you all day today, so …”
I look over at Dean, and I can tell he’s caught on. His eyes are crinkled knowingly and there’s a tight smile on his lips, but I can see from his expression that he wants to keep Starla Joy on the line a little longer.
“Lacey and I do lots of things that you don’t know about, Starla Joy,” says Dean, turning around in front of us so no one can see his face. He’s probably laughing inside.
“Y’all do not!” says Starla Joy, stomping her foot. “I know just about every hour you and Lacey spend together and what you’re doing.” She turns to me. “There’s no way you’ve gone to the movies with a guy we used to—”
Then she goes silent and looks over at Ty. “Ty … son?” she asks, a lightbulb look in her eyes.
“Hey, hey, Sarah Joyce Minter,” Ty says, using the name every teacher calls Starla Joy each year, until she corrects them with her preferred moniker.
We all stop walking and he gives her a hug, which makes me prickle a tiny bit against my will. Guys usually like Starla Joy more than they like me. And maybe Ty will too. But I shake that thought away as Ty grabs Dean’s outstretched hand and gives him a manly half hug, pat-on-the-back style.
“Hey, man,” says Dean. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” says Ty. “It’s nice to be back.”
“Wait a second,” says Starla Joy, still confused. “When did you …? How did you …?” She stammers out a few questions before I rush in to save her.
“I just figured it out before the movie,” I say.
“The trains,” says Dean, nodding knowingly as we start walking again. “Tyson Davis was always obsessed.”
“Still am,” says Ty. “But it’s Ty now.”
“Okay, Ty,” says Starla Joy. “So why the secret identity game?”
He looks toward the parking lot at Joey’s, now coming into view. “I just want to ease back into things,” he says. “Kinda feel out where I belong, now that we’re all older. Find out who my friends are slowly.”
That makes sense, I think, as I nod my head and look up at him.
He catches my eye and smiles as we reach the cars. “Can I drive you home, Lacey Anne?” he asks.
I look at Starla Joy, who’s twirling her dark hair around her finger and pointedly not looking at me. Then I glance at Dean, who gives me a nod.
“Sure,” I say, not knowing why I need my friends’ approval, but grateful for Dean’s gesture.
“Okay, bye,” says Starla Joy, louder than she needs to. I wonder if she’s annoyed or just making fun of me, but in this moment I don’t really care.
Dean waves and they load into Starla Joy’s truck, driving away just as Ty opens the passenger side door of his old BMW for me to get in. He’s chivalrous, I think.
The ride home is only about four minutes long, but somehow the first minute—when we’re not talking—feels like an eternity.
Then Ty says, “So what part are you going for?”
“Huh?” I’m relieved that he’s talking, but what is he talking about?
“In Hell House,” he says. “What part?”
“Oh,” I say. And I just let it out, like it’s no big deal. “I want to play Abortion Girl.”
Then there’s a pause, and he looks at me like I’m crazy. And I feel crazy. Because I’ve never voiced that wish; I’ve never told anyone that I dream of that role. It’s the cornerstone of the whole show—the lead, really—and I want it.
“Abortion Girl …,” whispers Ty, like he’s just figured out what I mean.
“I know, I’m silly,” I say, starting my backpedaling ramble. “It usually goes to a senior and I’m just a junior this year and there are lots of other girls who’d probably be better for it and—”
Ty stops me. “No, I just was trying to remember that scene,” he says. “I’ve never actually been to Hell House.”
Of course! He left before he was old enough to go to one.
“Your other town didn’t have a Hell House?” I ask.
“No,” says Ty, laughing a little. “It’s kind of a unique thing.”
“Really?” I ask. I mean, I know we’re the only church in the county that hosts one, and kids do come from miles around to go, but I just figured most places had their own version. My aunt’s church two towns over has a Hell House, but I think they call it Judgment House or something, which sounds too soft to me. I like the shock factor of the word “hell”—it appeals to kids who aren’t on the right path, but they always get drawn in by the outreach and they end up signing a card to pledge their life to Jesus by the end of the show. It’s effective.
“Yes, really,” says Ty. “I’m not sure how I feel about it either.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
Ty looks at me for a moment, but then he waves his hand dismissively. “Never mind,” he says. “Anyway, tell me why you want to play Abortion Girl.”
“Oh, well, teen pregnancy is an issue in this town,” I say. “I don’t know if you remember. I mean, we were young so it wasn’t like girls in first grade had trouble with that, but you know, in high school people are older and …”
<
br /> My voice trails off, and I realize that not only am I stating very obvious facts (“in high school people are older”—duh!) but I’m also talking about pregnancy with a boy. And pregnancy means sex and if I make it sound like everyone at our high school has sex—which they don’t—OMW! What am I saying? Backtrack, backtrack.
“You know, it’s important to show girls that the wrong choices can lead to really painful consequences,” I finish.
“And guys too,” says Ty.
“Right,” I say. I look at him, wondering if he’s making fun of me. But he’s just smiling sweetly.
As we pull up near my house, Ty doesn’t go into my driveway. Instead, he stops along the curb. I didn’t ask him to do that, but I’m glad he did. The trees in the yard block my parents’ view, and I’m not ready to explain to them why I got dropped off in a boy’s BMW, even if that boy is someone my parents knew when he was younger.
“So, besides movies, what’s there to do in West River these days?” Ty asks, leaning back in his seat and turning to face me.
I unbuckle my seat belt and angle myself toward him. “There’s ice cream downtown and a really nice bookstore,” I say.
“Thrilling,” he says, with an air of sarcasm that offends me a little. This is our home, and even though maybe I’m supposed to be all jaded about it like some kids are, I actually love it.
“Well, I’m sure things are much more exciting where you’ve been living,” I say snarkily, reaching for the door handle.
“No, Lacey,” Ty says, touching my arm to keep me from going. I feel a tingle work its way up to my shoulder. “I didn’t mean it that way. Believe me, I was bored out of my mind most of the time.”
I smile back and let out a sigh. “Sorry,” I say. “I’m overly sensitive because some people always talk about getting out of here and traveling and stuff.”
“And you don’t think about that kind of thing?” Tyson asks.
“A little,” I say. “I don’t really want to go to State, like my parents did. They tell me how they want me to be a teacher, because I like English so much. But I’d like to do something like be a lawyer maybe, or even a judge.”
“Really?” asks Ty, like he’s curious about me, like he wants to know more.
“Yeah,” I say. “I mean, I like thinking things over a lot, considering different sides of problems and figuring out what’s right.”
“That’s cool,” says Ty. “You could totally be a judge.”
I smile at him and swat his arm. “You don’t know whether I could or not,” I say. “You just re-met me.”
“I remember you,” he says. “You always had big ideas and a really nice laugh. And you were always making sure everyone got along.”
I see his face turn a little red, and mine does too as I let out a nervous giggle. I can’t believe I told Ty that, about my wanting to maybe go into law. I haven’t really talked about it with anyone.
“I should go,” I say, watching the front porch light come on through the trees in our yard. My parents are expecting me home, and they know what time the movie ended.
“Oh, sure,” says Ty. He gives me a small wave. I open the door, close it with a gentle click, and hurry up my driveway, bouncing happily. I’m so glad Tyson Davis is back.
The next night at dinner, Mom’s wearing a new pair of earrings. They’re small crystal hearts, and they sparkle in the light as she sets down Dad’s plate of baked chicken and green beans.
Earlier, I went into the garage to ask Dad about Ty’s return. I fingered Dad’s fishing rod as he sorted the new lures he’d just bought. He prides himself on his immaculately neat tackle box.
“That’s an amazing flash spinner,” I said, holding up a shiny lure and letting it twirl in my fingers and catch the light.
“Isn’t it?” said Dad, looking up with a smile. “I expect to hook some beauties on that one.”
“Yeah,” I said, putting it back down in its spot.
“So,” I said. “Did you notice the new guy who was at the Hell House meeting?”
“I did indeed,” said Dad. “In fact, just this afternoon I learned that our new congregation member is the young Tyson Davis. He’s staying in town with his aunt, Vivian Moss.”
“I know,” I said.
Dad looked at me with a question in his eyes, and I felt nervous for a moment.
“I served him a sandwich at Joey’s yesterday,” I said, leaving out the part about the movies.
“It seems he’s been away from the church for a while,” said Dad. “I expect you can help him come back into the fold.”
I nodded casually, letting a smile creep across my face.
Then Dad returned to sorting his fishing lures, and I went back in the house without asking any follow-up questions. Having my dad practically tell me to hang out with Ty was a plus. And I didn’t want to seem too interested.
As Mom brings her own plate over to the table and finally sits down with us for dinner, Dad reaches out for my hand, bowing his head for prayer. I close my eyes.
“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 Theresa’s beautiful earrings, and thank you for their sale price.” I laugh a little. Dad squeezes my hand affectionately—he likes to try to make me laugh during prayer some nights, and I can tell he’s in a good mood. “Thank you for Lacey’s curious nature. In Jesus’s name we pray. Amen.”
Chapter Seven
“The home and family are major targets for the Kingdom of Hell,” says Pastor Frist.
The second Hell House meeting is finally here. Dad is being maddeningly silent about how the production is going to be staged this year, but we’ll all find out today. I’m in a row with Dean and Starla Joy and Tessa. Ty’s not here—the other night I got the feeling that Hell House isn’t really his thing, but I’m going to try to convince him to get involved.
As Pastor Frist describes the domestic abuse scene, I can feel a few eyes sweep over Starla Joy and Tessa. Everyone knows their dad hit their mom when they were little, and that’s most of the reason why he’s been gone for three years and no one talks about it. I squeeze Starla Joy’s hand and she sits there, still, not reacting. I see Tessa lean in toward her sister protectively. They fight sometimes, but Tessa has always looked after Starla Joy, especially when things with their parents were really bad, just before their dad left.
Thankfully, Pastor Frist doesn’t linger on that topic. He explains that the scene will involve spousal abuse, and then hands the mic back to Dad, who moves on to talk about the drunk driving scene.
“The false highs and constant lows of alcohol are never more sobering than when you realize that you are a killer,” says Dad, using his ominous voice, the one he employs when he plays Satan in the show. He explains that the scene will be a combination of an out-of-control party and a drunk driving accident that results in an innocent bystander’s death. I zone out a little—this is pretty standard.
But when Pastor Frist starts talking about the abortion scene, I listen extra carefully. I want the part so badly. The emotional range it takes to play a girl who has ended her baby’s life is immense—and the scene is beautiful. Last year, the Youth Leaders decorated the walls with pink tissue paper and had speakers set up to play audio of a heartbeat, so when people walked into the room, it was like being inside a womb. Julia, who played Abortion Girl last year, sat in the middle of the room, where she met her murdered baby at various ages—those roles go to younger kids who say things like, “Why did you kill me, Mommy?” It’s an intense moment, and like I said, most of the audience usually leaves that room weeping. Abortion Girl is the best part in the show.
“This year’s abortion stage will not be a womb,” says Pastor Frist. People start to chatter a little, like they might object—that scene is so moving it shouldn’t be messed with—but then Dad tells us that the setting will be a hospital gurney where an abortion has just been performed.
“Wow,�
� whispers Tessa, who has perked up and is listening intently.
It sounds so powerful. I’m going to do it, I think. I’m definitely auditioning.
The next day, in the living room, I go over the lines for Abortion Girl. I know that on Saturday it won’t be a secret that I want this part. But I feel like if I tell my friends I’m going for it, they’ll try to talk me out of it. Not because they don’t believe in me or anything like that, just because, well, it’s a senior girl part. But still, I can’t help wanting it. And if I’m going to be able to break out of my quiet shell in the audition, I have to practice.
“I made a mistake … I want my baby back!”
I say this line over and over again, trying to get into the emotion of it, trying to imagine that I’m lying on a hospital bed covered in blood. I’m saying it quietly so Dad won’t hear—Mom’s at church for an auction planning committee meeting—but when the emotion overtakes me, I let out a scream that punctuates the line.
Dad flies out of the bedroom in two seconds.
“Lacey?”
My face turns red.
“Oh, sorry,” I say. “I was, um, practicing for Saturday.”
“Trying out your scream?” he asks, his worried face softening into a smile.
“Something like that.” I can feel that I’m sweating—I really worked myself up—and Dad sits down next to me on the couch and puts his hand on my forehead.
“You’re not going overboard, are you?” he asks. “Hell House can be intense for everyone involved, and you’ve never been eligible for a lead role before.”
That’s true. Since Dad’s a big part of the church, I’ve been able to have small parts—like as a kid who gets killed by the drunk driver one year, and a weeping little sister at the suicide victim’s funeral another time. But this is my shot. I decide to tell Dad what I’m planning.
“I’m rehearsing for Abortion Girl,” I say, half expecting him to laugh at me. I stare up at my father and watch him break into a grin. But it’s not a mocking one, it’s encouraging. Proud, even.
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