Small Town Sinners Part 3

"Hurry!" says Starla Joy. She's a total sucker for previews.

"Go on," I say. "Get your fibrous popcorn."

Starla Joy and Dean head into the lobby, but I notice that Ty is still standing outside, staring in the direction of the railroad tracks. He glances at his watch, and just then I hear the whistle of an approaching train.

"Six minutes," he says with a wide grin.

We watch the train rush by us, and the wind that the pa.s.sing freight cars churn up makes my hair blow all around my face. I look at Ty and smile. He's still staring at the cars as they chug past.

I fold the grease-stained paper plate that held my pizza slice and drop it in a trash can next to the tracks. I remember there was this boy at my elementary school who used to love to watch trains. All of his projects were train related and he had a huge electric railroad set in his backyard.

Ty turns to face me. And then I get a flash of that boy's face.

"Tyson," I think to myself. And Ty's eyes widen in surprise, maybe delight. I must have said that thought out loud. He smiles encouragingly.

"Tyson Davis," I say more confidently, meeting his grin with my own. This is Tyson Davis, the boy who left just after first grade. He's the only member of our tiny cla.s.s that ever moved away. For a while it felt like there was a hole in our ranks, but I guess after a few years we all just forgot. I step back for a second and take him in, seeing him from head to toe with new-but familiar-eyes. Six to sixteen is a long way to grow.

Ty laughs and pulls me in for a hug. "I thought you'd never guess," he says, as my head presses in to his chest and he squeezes me like an old friend. "It's Ty now," he adds, sounding more serious as we break our embrace.

A thousand thoughts run through my mind: Why did he come back? Where are his parents? Why didn't he say something earlier, especially with all the questions we asked? It's like he needed me to know who he was without having to tell me.

And then I feel a rush of happiness. I'm glad it's him. It makes sense, the way I felt when I first saw Ty. He isn't a mysterious stranger, he's Tyson, a boy I've known my whole life. Even my parents knew his family. I want to ask him my million questions, but he grabs my hand and says, "We'll miss the movie," and he pulls me toward the theater.

But I hold back, still grasping his fingers.

"Don't you want to talk?" I ask.

"Sure," he says, smiling brightly. "After."

And that's all I need to feel warm inside, knowing that there'll be an after. As we walk through the gla.s.s door, he puts his arm around me, like he's been doing it for years.

"Want a drink?" he asks.

I nod, feeling closer to him now that I've figured out who he really is. And also because of his arm.

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 Ident.i.ty 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 s.h.i.+ft at Joey's, and Friday we did, like, nothing at our spot in the woods before you went fis.h.i.+ng 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 p.r.i.c.kle 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 ident.i.ty 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 pa.s.senger 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 h.e.l.l 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 h.e.l.l House."

Of course! He left before he was old enough to go to one.

"Your other town didn't have a h.e.l.l 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 h.e.l.l 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 "h.e.l.l"-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 ..."

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 s.e.x and if I make it sound like everyone at our high school has s.e.x-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 fis.h.i.+ng 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 s.h.i.+ny 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."