Small Town Sinners Read Free Page B

Joy.
    I blink. I’m not sure.
    Dad holds it flat in his hand, moving his palm up and down to demonstrate that it’s heavy, not like the plastic guns we normally use as props. “This baby is from Utah,” he says. “It has the weight of a real gun and it sounds completely authentic when fired.”
    Then he turns to the back of the church, points right at the dove shape in the giant window, and pulls the trigger. A huge bang! echoes through the sanctuary. Every single person jumps, Tessa screams, and Maryanne Duane, who carried around a note last year that got her out of gym class every day at school, starts crying.
    “You can’t say it’s not dramatic,” whispers Dean. I see him smiling. Well, if it takes a real-looking gun to get him into Hell House this year, then I’m glad we have one. I’ve never shot a real gun, but I know most of the guys in town have been to the rifle range. Even Starla Joy’s mother has a handgun that she carries around with her since their dad left. People say she sleeps with it under her pillow, but I’ve never asked Starla Joy about that.
    Dad turns around, grinning. “I’m sorry, Maryanne,” he says. “These are just blanks—I promise. But I think your tears prove that this little lady is effective.” He eyes the gun admiringly and places it back under the pulpit.
    Suddenly, I hear a voice above the mutters. It’s coming from the back of the sanctuary.
    “Pastor Byer,” says the low voice, and though it’s soft, it echoes with a quiet confidence. I turn to see the golden boy from the DMV slowly walking down the center aisle. He’s wearing khaki shorts and a sunny yellow polo shirt, and he hasn’t taken off his sunglasses, even though he’s inside. I wonder if he always wears them. He’s closer to the front now, almost to my row, and he lowers his voice to continue.
    “Excuse me, but isn’t that a little …,” he pauses, glancing over at our row. His eyes move in my direction, but I can’t tell if he’s looking at me—the lenses are too dark. “Extreme?”
    A hush has fallen over absolutely everyone. You could hear the Holy Ghost breathe it’s so quiet.
    Then my dad’s familiar voice answers, and it’s tinged with the fervor he gets when he feels really passionate about something.
    “Son,” says my dad, staring back at the preppy newcomer with determined eyes. “You gotta shake ’em to wake ’em.”
    The new guy’s lips turn up in a half smile, and he nods his head, finally lifting up his sunglasses. He joins our row, sitting down next to Dean. “Yes, sir,” he says.

Chapter Three
    When I get home that night, all I want to do is talk to Starla Joy and Dean about what happened today at church. My parents whisked me away after the Hell House meeting, so aside from a few “OMW!” texts (for “Oh my word!”), the discussion about the new guy hasn’t started yet. I didn’t even get to say hello to him after the meeting, which wasn’t very neighborly.
    I’m sure Dean and Starla Joy are messaging up a storm, but our only computer is in the living room, and Dad’s using it while Mom makes dinner.
    I sit down on a stool in the kitchen and take a pretzel stick from the jar on the counter. Mom looks up.
    “I won’t ruin my dinner,” I say. “I’m just really hungry.”
    “Good,” says Mom, smiling at me, “because I made a lot.”
    She pauses for a moment like she’s thinking about something. “Honey, do you think Dean will get involved with the craft auction again this year?” she asks.
    “Probably,” I say, shrugging and crunching on my pretzel.
    “It’s going to be great,” she says. “Leslie Davis and I just started planning it. Laura Bergen can bead some more of her gorgeous earrings and I’ll see if Dean can build some of his miniature houses. People just love those for Christmas decorations.”
    I nod. Mom can get very excited about charity auctions.
    “I’ll ask him about it at dinner tomorrow,” she says, smiling at the