1

"Good morning, brother."

Tyson Alder couldn't prevent himself from rolling his eyes at the smile and extended hand of an older man in a suit. Not only was it too early for the sixteen year old to be awake on a Sunday, but it was too early for someone to be the level of happiness that came from this old man. There was no doubt in Tyson's mind that he would've been caught rolling his eyes if the old man's eyes were not closed due to his social awkwardness.

Tyson nodded his greeting to the man, and shook his hand. It was nothing personal. Tyson just wasn't the type of person to talk to anyone, short of his parents, before noon.

Right after the balding old man was a middle aged blonde that was slowly but surely beginning to wilt. Without even a second's hesitation, she reached out and hugged with a smile that looked as though it could cure cancer. In that moment, Tyson wished he were sick so that he could vomit all over the women's sparkly prom dress. In his mind, he could vividly see the sheer look of terror that the woman had an her face as he backed up in horror at what happened to her for touching him. Naturally, the teenager would be blamed for not telling the middle aged lady about him being sick, but Tyson knew that if she kept her distance she would have dodged the upchuck. Alas, no such luck on him being sick. Tyson was as fit as a fiddle and there was only his discomfort on the menu.

The church lobby had a glass bookstore to his left behind the greeters and a small office on Tyson's right. Before him stood 4 wood doors and sterile white walls that looked poorly painted. There white tiles beneath the shiny black shoes that served as his prison wear seemed to radiated the already bright lights above him. Tyson remembered that Pastor Dave Patches designed it this way so that it would seem as if churchgoers were walking toward "the path that led to their ultimate salvation."

"There are those red eyes," a masculine voice called out. "Those are the red hot eyes of someone that is on fire for Jesus."

No. My eyes are because of the tint necessary to not get a migraine every time that I am forced to come to this torture dungeon. Tyson thought the words clearly and made sure to coat the articulation with the venom intended for yet another person that was far too cheerful in the morning. The voice belonged to the youth pastor, Frank Dillion. Tyson knew him as another young looking adult that was forever out of touch with what the world is like for people that are still in their teenage years. Tyson nodded, grinned, and walked past the man.

The phrasing of "on fire for Jesus" didn't make sense to Tyson. Hell is often referred to as "the lake of fire", but Christians are supposed to be ablaze for God? A plus B wasn't equaling C.

Tyson made his way down the white hallway. Whenever he was greeted, he would just smile and keep moving forward. It was before noon, and he definitely didn't want to talk to anyone.

"Ty," a voice called out to him. It was feminine and a little fragile sounding. Without looking, Tyson knew that there was only one person brave enough to call him Ty.

He stopped walking, and said, "Serena."

A girl that wasn't much shorter than Tyson came skipping up to his side. Without warning, the young lass with hair as dark as the night itself pulled his left arm to her chest, holding onto it as if her life depended on it. Tyson let out a sigh of exhaust. Serena was another person that was more happy in the morning than he was. At this point, he was beginning to think that all Christians were just bubbly morning people and nothing more.

"This is the day that the Lord has made," Serena quoted with excitement in each word. "I will rejoice and be glad in it. Especially, since you're here now."

Normally, the fact that a girl would dare flirt with him would put a smile on Tyson's face so big that it would rival the Cheshire Cat's, but this girl was Serena Dillion, a preacher's daughter. Even the fact that his arm was now buried into her chest was enough to make his skin begin to crawl. Outside of the fact that she was the youth pastor's daughter, there wasn't really anything wrong with Serena. She was that nerdy pretty girl that every non-nerdy guy claimed that they wanted, but were too afraid to date. This hypocrisy included Tyson, but the church culture is what kept him from entering the door of being anything other than friend. Serena had made it known on several occasions that she wanted more from Tyson, but living a dedicated church life wasn't in the cards for his future.

"Hi Serena," Tyson groaned, breaking his rule of not speaking before noon. She had made a habit of forcing him to break his personal rule, and it annoyed him to his core.

"Is talking to me before noon really that bad?" Serena pouted. She wrapped herself tighter around his arm, drowning it in her bust. "Do you see where your arm is?"

She asked the latter question as if it were a dirty secret that she had been trying to hold onto for a long period of time. No one that would walk down this hall would think anything of the fact that she was holding onto him the way that she was. Everyone knew that she was a preacher's daughter, and all figured that she was incapable of thinking about anything other than the Good Book.

"Holding onto him that hard isn't going to make him stay," a honeyed voice said from behind Serena. "Now if you would please let me through, that would be amazing."

Serena dropped her gaze from Tyson's face to the white tiles on the floor, and squeezed tighter. Tyson couldn't hide the smile as the object of his attraction walked by.

Desiree Adams was not simply a pretty face. The senior was everything that the House of the Lord was against. The smell of smoke filled the hallway as she walked behind Serena. Desiree wore a black tank top that wasn't doing much in the way of hiding the fact that she had on a pink lace bra, or the cigarette burn scars on her arm. Her jeans appeared painted on with how tight they looked on her. Her bronzed skin, though lined with burn scars, only added to the rebellious look that seemed to be more a lifestyle than anything.

"Hey Desiree," Tyson greeted with a cheesy grin that screamed infatuation.

"Hey Tyson," Desiree said with a slight smile. She continued to walk toward the sanctuary. "If you're done drying your girlfriend's tears, come find me."

"She's not my girlfriend," Tyson called after her.

Serena pushed Tyson's hand back towards him. She didn't look up, but he could tell that she was shaking because of Desiree's harsh words.

"That's what you want huh?" Serena asked, crossing her arms in front of her. "I've been here the whole time being your friend, and you'd rather settle for a girl that finds enjoyment of bullying other people. I know you, Tyson. You want all the things that you're not supposed to have until marriage. The devil has cast a spirit of perversion upon you, and part of me was trying to be accommodating. Even now I feel dirty."

Tyson didn't think that Desiree should pick on Serena. It wasn't his wish that anyone get bullied or picked on. He knew all too well what that was like, but he didn't like that Serena kept putting on this act every time that she saw him at church. She would try to make herself seem like she could do everything that Desiree was rumored to have done. He had known that her burying his hand in her chest took more courage than she had in her entire size zero body, but it was all a lie. Tyson knew that the second that he agreed to her terms, he would be trapped with a bible thumper for a time longer than he wanted.

"Dirty," Tyson whispered. His parents walked by and looked at him before eyeing the direction of the sanctuary with a stern look. The message was clear, but he had something to take care of first. He stepped closer to Serena before continuing. "Just a second ago, you had my arm between your breasts."

"I have a bra on so it isn't that big of a deal. It isn't like you felt anything of mine," Serena countered not looking up at Tyson.

Tyson took another step closer toward the olive skinned girl. "But you wanted me to feel you. That's why you pulled my arm so close right? So do it again. I didn't get a chance to lift up that pretty white dress of yours."

Serena took several steps back away from Tyson before looking at him with a look of pure panic. Tyson searched her eyes for the will to continue the act that she was putting him through all for the sake of trapping him in a relationship that didn't fit him. He knew that she wanted to save him, but there was nothing to save him from. Tyson was perfectly fine with who he was, and he wanted his friend to accept that.

"Why would you do that?" Serena asked.

Tyson quickly closed the distance between them. He glanced out of one of the glass windows that lined the hallways before turning to his slightly to whisper in Serena's ear. "Because I've been wondering what color panties you have on today ever since you called me Ty."

"No," Serena squeaked. Her mocha brown eyes were beginning to fill with tears.

"Then do me a favor," Tyson ordered. "Stop pretending that you can do the things that you know that I want done. And if you can't do those things for me, then you have no right to call me anything other than Tyson."

Serena fell to her knees and assumed a prayer stance with her hands together, and Tyson walked off toward the sanctuary, and toward the girl worthy of his attention.