All the Little Lights(31)

We gathered our things and followed Mr. Mason into the hallway. He instructed us to sit at the long rectangular tables in the commons area while he found Principal Augustine.

“I’ll be back,” Mr. Mason said. “Either they’re letting school out, or we’re having class at the ice cream parlor down the street.”

Everyone cheered but me. I was busy glaring at Elliott Youngblood. He sat in a chair next to me, at the empty table I’d chosen.

“Your highness,” Elliott said.

“Don’t call me that,” I said quietly, glancing around to see if anyone had heard. The last thing I needed was for them to have something new to make fun of me for.

He leaned closer. “What are the rest of your classes? Maybe we have more together.”

“We don’t.”

“How do you know?” he asked.

“Wishful thinking.”

The school secretary, Mrs. Rosalsky, came over the PA system. “Attention all students, please stand by for an announcement from Dr. Augustine.”

Some shuffling could be heard, and then Dr. Augustine’s voice came over, in her chipper, thirteen-year-old tone. “Good afternoon, students. As you may have noticed, the air-conditioning unit has been on the fritz today, and we’ve officially called a time of death. Afternoon classes have been canceled, as have tomorrow’s. Hopefully we’ll have the issue corrected by Friday. The school’s automated system will call to notify your parents when classes will resume via the phone number we have on file. Buses will run early. For any nondriving students, please have your parents or a guardian pick you up, as we are under a heat advisory today. Enjoy your vacation!”

Everyone around me stood and cheered, and seconds later, the halls filled with excited, jumping teenagers.

I looked down at the doodle on my notepad. A 3-D cube and the alphabet in a bold font were surrounded by thick vines.

“That’s not bad,” Elliott said. “Do you take an art class?”

I slid my things toward me and pushed my chair back as I stood. After just a few steps toward my locker, Elliott called my name.

“How are you getting home?” he asked.

After several seconds of hesitation, I answered, “I walk.”

“All the way across town? The heat index has been triple digits.”

“What’s your point?” I asked, turning to face him.

He shrugged. “I have a car. It’s an ancient piece of crap 1980-model Chrysler, but the AC will freeze you out if it’s set on high. I thought maybe we could stop at Braum’s and get a cherry limeade, and then I’d take you home.”

The fantasy of a cherry limeade and air-conditioning made my muscles relax. Braum’s was now the town’s only sit-down restaurant, and a ride in Elliott’s car, out of the sun, all the way to my house sounded like heaven, but when he parked at my house, he’d expect to come in, and if he came in, he would see.

“Since when do you have a car?”

He shrugged. “Since my sixteenth birthday.”

“No.” I turned on my heel and headed for my locker. He’d had a car for almost two years. There was no question now. He’d broken his promise.

I’d had homework every day for the past two weeks—since the first day of school. Leaving the high school without my backpack or books made me run over a mental checklist obsessively. I felt a momentary bout of panic every fifth step or so. I crossed Main Street and turned left toward South Avenue, a road on the edge of town that passed all the way through to the west side, straight to Juniper Street.

By the time I reached the corner of Main and South, my mind bounced from wishing for a hat, water, and sunscreen, to cussing at myself for turning down Elliott’s offer.

The sun beat down on my hair and shoulders. After five minutes of walking, droplets of sweat began to drip down my neck and the side of my face. My throat felt like I’d swallowed sand. I walked into Mr. Newby’s yard to stand beneath their shade trees for a few minutes, debating whether to stand in their sprinkler before carrying on.

A boxy, russet-colored sedan parked next to the curb, and the driver leaned over, bobbing up and down as he rolled down the manual window. Elliott’s head popped up. “Does a cold drink and air-conditioning sound good yet?”

I left the shade and continued walking without responding. Persistent people were persistent with all things they wanted. At this moment, Elliott wanted to give me a ride home. Later he might want to come inside the Juniper or hang out again.

The poop-mobile drove slowly next to me. Elliott didn’t say another word, even though the window remained down, letting his precious air-conditioning escape. I walked along the curb in the grass, silently grateful for the short burst of cold air coming from the Chrysler’s passenger side.

After three more blocks and seeing me wipe sweat from my brow for the tenth time, Elliott tried again. “Okay, we don’t have to get a drink. I’ll just take you home.”

I kept walking, even though my feet were hot, and my head felt like it was sizzling. With no clouds to break up the sun’s rays, exposure was particularly brutal.

“Catherine! Please let me drive you home. I won’t talk to you. I’ll drop you off and drive away.”

I stopped, squinting under the bright light from above. The whole world seemed to be sun-bleached, the only movement the heat waves dancing over the asphalt.