All the Little Lights(102)

I opened the kitchen window, grabbing a place mat and using it to fan the smoke away. After a few seconds, the alarm silenced.

“Goodness, I’ve probably woken the entire house,” she said.

“You okay?” I asked.

“I . . .” She looked around, sniffing at the sight of a broken egg on the floor.

I bent down to scoop the yolk and shell into my hands, standing to fling them into the sink. Mama was a seasoned cook and baker, and it didn’t take long to figure out what had happened.

“Is Duke here?” I asked. But before she could answer, I saw the Chrysler parked outside at the curb. “Oh! I have to go!” I called back.

Elliott stepped out, standing next to his car, but his smile wasn’t as bright, his eyes weren’t as animated as I walked toward him.

When I sat in the passenger seat, he held my hand, but the ride to school was quiet. We both knew that day would be worse than the day before. Each day that passed without news of Presley, the more hostile the school became for us.

Elliott parked and sighed. I squeezed his hand. “Three more days until Christmas break.”

“I’m going to get suspended. I can feel it.”

“Let me ask her about you doing your work in her office, too, okay?”

He shook his head, trying to hide his anxiety with a smile. “Nah. I want to see you more, but I won’t hide.”

“It’s not fair that I’m protected in there, and you’re a sitting duck. And you wouldn’t be hiding. You’d be avoiding a fight.”

“It’s not in my blood to avoid a fight.”

We walked hand in hand into the high school. He kept me a bit behind him—just enough for him to take the brunt of a hard shoulder from his teammates and other students in the hall. The smiles and high fives were gone, replaced by accusing stares and fear.

Elliott kept his eyes forward, his jaw ticking after every shove. He could have put his fist into the faces of every one of them, knocking out teeth or breaking noses, but he quietly repeated his mantra, counting down to Christmas break.

He stayed with me while I opened my locker. After I had Spanish, physics, and world history textbooks stacked in my hands, Elliott walked me to the office and kissed my cheek before trying to make it to his locker and then class before the bell. I wondered if he would get stopped on the way.

“Good morning, Catherine,” Mrs. Mason said. She was already typing away when I stepped inside her office. She noticed my silence and looked up. “Uh-oh. Is everything okay?”

I chewed on the inside of my lip, wanting so badly to tell her about Elliott, but he would hate feeling he was hiding in her office all day.

“It was a hectic morning. Breakfast burned. We had to start over.”

“Were you distracted?”

“It wasn’t me. It was Mama. She’s . . . sad again.” Spending almost four weeks in a small office with Mrs. Mason made it impossible to avoid conversation. After the first week, she was beginning to get suspicious, so I’d tell her just enough to keep her happy.

“Did something happen, or . . . ?”

“You know. She just gets this way sometimes. It’s getting worse the closer I get to graduation.”

“Have you applied to any colleges yet? You still have time.”

I shook my head, instantly dismissing the idea.

“You could easily get a scholarship, Catherine. I could help you.”

“We’ve talked about this. You know I can’t leave her.”

“Why? Lots of kids go to college when their parents are business owners. You could come back with your knowledge and do something amazing with the Juniper. What about hotel management?”

I chuckled.

Mrs. Mason smiled. “Is that funny?”

“It’s just not possible.”

“Catherine, are you telling me you can’t go to college because your mom can’t take care of herself while you’re gone? Does that mean you’re taking care of her?”

“Some days more than others.”

“Catherine,” Mrs. Mason said, clasping her hands behind her nameplate. She leaned over, her eyes sad and desperate. “Please. Please let me help you. What is going on over there?”

I frowned, then turned my back to her, opening my Spanish workbook.

She sighed, and then a steady stream of clicking on her keyboard filled the silence of the small space.

My number two pencil scratched against the notebook paper, adding a new rhythm to Mrs. Mason’s tapping. Sitting in silence with her had become comfortable—safe, even. There was nothing to do here but schoolwork. I could just be.

Just before lunch, the blinds in Mrs. Mason’s office rattled. After some yelling and commotion, Mrs. Mason peeked out and then yanked on the cord.

Coach Peckham stood just inside the office door, holding Elliott’s arm with one hand and the arm of another student I didn’t recognize because both of his eyes were nearly swollen shut.

Mrs. Mason ran out, and I followed her.

“This one,” Coach Peckham said, pushing the boy forward, “started it. This one,” he said, shoving Elliott forward, “finished it.”

“Who is that?” Mrs. Rosalsky asked, scurrying in with an ice pack. She helped the boy to sit, holding two cold squares against his eyes.