All the Little Lights(30)

Mr. Mason squinted his eyes as he read the note, then placed it with the haphazardly stacked papers on his desktop.

“Welcome, Mr. Youngblood.” Mr. Mason looked up at Elliott. “Do you come to us from the White Eagle?”

Elliott lifted one eyebrow in shock at such an ignorant statement. “No?”

Mr. Mason pointed to an empty seat in the back, and Elliott walked quietly down my aisle. A few snickers floated in the air, and I glanced back, seeing Elliott trying to fit his endless legs under the confines of the desk. My height was on the short side. It hadn’t occurred to me that the desks were best suited for children. Elliott was a man, a giant, and he wasn’t going to fit in a one-size-fits-all anything.

The metal hinges creaked as Elliott adjusted again, and more giggles erupted.

“All right, all right,” Mr. Mason said, standing. When he raised his arms to gesture for the class to settle down, his dark sweat stains became visible, and the students laughed even more.

The school counselor walked in and scanned heads until she stopped on Elliott. Looking wholly disappointed, she sighed. “We’ve discussed this, Milo. Elliott is going to need a table and a chair. I thought you had one in here.”

Mr. Mason frowned, unhappy with a second disruption.

“I’m okay,” Elliott said. His voice was deep and smooth, embarrassment dripping off each word.

“Mrs. Mason.” Mr. Mason said her name with the disdain of a soon-to-be ex-husband. “We have it under control.”

The concerned look on her face vanished, and she shot him an irritated look. The rumor was that the Masons had decided on a trial separation the previous spring, but it was going significantly better for Mrs. Mason than it was for mister.

Mrs. Mason had lost fortyish pounds, grown out and highlighted her brunette hair, and wore more makeup. Her skin was brighter, and the wrinkles around her eyes were gone. She was full of happiness, and it had begun to seep out of her skin and eyes and pour out all over the floor, practically leaving a trail of rose-scented rainbows everywhere she walked. Mrs. Mason was better without her husband. Without his wife, Mr. Mason wasn’t much at all.

Mr. Mason held up his hands, palms out. “It’s in the storage closet. I’ll drag it back out.”

“It’s really not a big deal,” Elliott said.

“Trust me, son,” Mr. Mason murmured, “if Mrs. Mason decides something, you best do it.”

“That’s right,” Mrs. Mason said, her patience at an end. “So get it done.” Even when she was cross, happiness still twinkled in her eyes. Her heels clicked against the tile as she left the classroom and clomped down the hallway.

We lived in a town of one thousand, and even two years after Dad had been laid off, not many jobs were available. The Masons had no choice but to continue working together, unless one of them moved. This year seemed like a standoff.

Waiting to hear who was moving would be an interesting twist to our usual school year. I liked both the Masons, but it seemed like one of them would be leaving Oak Creek soon.

Mr. Mason closed his eyes and rubbed his temples with his thumb and middle finger. The classroom was quiet. Even kids knew not to test a man facing the end of his marriage.

“All right, all right,” Mr. Mason said, looking up. “Scotty, take my keys and get that table and chair that I had you stow in the storage room the first day of school. Take Elliott and a couple of desks with you.”

Scotty walked over to Mr. Mason’s desk, picked up his keys, and then signaled for Elliott to follow.

“It’s just down the hall,” Scotty said, waiting for Elliott to find a way out of his desk.

The laughter had melted away like our deodorant. The door opened, and a small breeze was sucked into the room, prompting those sitting next to the door to let out a small, involuntary sigh of relief.

Mr. Mason let his hands fall to his desk, rustling the paper beneath. “They’ve got to cancel school. We’re all going to get heatstroke. You kids can’t concentrate like this. I can’t concentrate like this.”

“Mrs. McKinstry let us have our English class under that big oak between the school and the auditorium building,” Elliott said. His long, dark waves were reacting to the heat, humidity, and sweat, looking stringy and dull. He took a rubber band and pulled it back into a half ponytail, making it look like a bun, with most of his hair sticking out the bottom.

“That’s not a bad idea. Although,” Mr. Mason said, thinking out loud, “it’s probably hotter outside than it is inside by now.”

“At least there’s a breeze outside,” Scotty said, huffing and dripping sweat as he helped Elliott carry in the table.

Elliott held the chair with his free hand, along with his red backpack. I hadn’t noticed him carry it out, and I noticed everything.

I looked at the vent above Mr. Mason’s head. The white strings were lying limp. The air-conditioning had finally met its demise.

“Oh my God, Mr. Mason,” Minka whined, leaning over her desk. “I’m dying.”

Mr. Mason saw me looking up and did the same, standing when he realized what I already knew. The vents weren’t blowing. The air conditioner was broken, and Mr. Mason’s classroom was on the sunny side of the school. “Okay, everyone out. It’s only going to get hotter in here. Out, out, out!” he yelled after several seconds of students looking around in confusion.