All the Little Lights(33)

“Nope,” I said, taking the last drink of my tea. The ice slid and surprise-attacked my face. I set the glass down and wiped my mouth.

“Well, you need someone. It’s not good to spend so much time alone. In that whole school, you can’t find one friend? Not one?”

I stood. “I have homework, and then I need to start on laundry.”

Althea clicked her tongue. “I’ll do it later, after I call the repairman. Lord Jesus, it’s too hot to breathe.”

“She says as she sweats over a tub full of hot water, scrubbing dishes,” I teased.

Althea glared at me over her shoulder, that no-nonsense mom glare that I loved so much. Sometimes I wished Althea would stay. It would be nice to be taken care of for a change. Althea’s grandchildren lived somewhere in Oak Creek, but when she visited, she stayed with us to keep her daughter’s controlling husband happy. She was the only good thing about the Juniper.

“We don’t have school tomorrow, either. Their AC is broken, too.”

“Guess it’s goin’ around,” she said, unhappy. “You need to find someplace cool to rest. The upstairs is worse than it is down here.”

I set my glass on the sink and then walked past the thermostat in the dining room, tapping it as if that would do any good. It didn’t move, and the dust and heat were choking me, so I pushed out the front door and sat on the swing.

Occasionally a light breeze would blow through the lattice on each side of our porch, providing a momentary break from the stifling heat. I gently pushed off from the wooden slats of the porch, rocking back and forth, waiting for the sun to set, watching cars drive by, and listening to the screams of kids a few blocks down—probably the ones with an aboveground pool.

The chains creaked in a slow rhythm, and I leaned back, glancing up at the dust-covered cobwebs on the ceiling. Something touched the bare skin just above my right knee, and I yelped, sitting up.

“Sorry. I was walking by and saw you sitting here. Thought I’d stop.”

“Walking by from where?” I asked, rubbing my knee.

The girl before me frowned. “Down the street, dummy. You wanna watch a movie tonight?”

“I don’t know, Tess. We’ll see.”

Tess was seventeen like me, homeschooled, a little quirky and blunt, but I enjoyed her visits. She stopped by when she was bored or when I needed a friend. She had a sixth sense that I appreciated. Her hair was piled on top of her head, and she wore what looked like hand-me-downs from her older brother, Jacob. I’d never met him, but she talked about him so much that I felt like I had.

She sniffed, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “How’s things?” She didn’t look at me when she spoke, just stared down the street toward where she lived.

“Okay. Elliott is back.”

“Oh yeah? How’s that going?”

“I’m still mad. Althea says I shouldn’t be.”

“Althea is pretty smart, but I’m going to have to disagree. I think you should stay away from him.”

I sighed. “You’re probably right.”

“I mean, all you really know about him is that he likes cameras and leaving.”

I swallowed. “He use to like me.”

Tess frowned. “How are you going to explain to Minka and Owen that you’ve decided you can have friends after all?”

I smiled at her. “I have you.”

She mirrored my expression. “Yes, you do. So you don’t need Elliott.”

I made a face. “No, I don’t. I wouldn’t chance going through that again anyway.”

“I remember. You’ve just started getting over him, and then he shows up. Pretty cruel if you ask me.” She stood. “I should go. Jacob is waiting on me.”

“Okay. See you later.” I leaned back, closing my eyes, letting another breeze flow over me. The boards in the porch creaked, and I could tell even with my eyes closed that someone had stepped in front of me. The sun was shadowed, making the dark even darker.

My eyes popped open, and I squinted. Elliott was standing over me with a large fountain drink in each hand. The Styrofoam cups were dripping with sweat, and a cherry stem was poking out from the lid, lodged under the plastic.

He held one cup in front of my face. “Cherry limeade.”

“You promised,” I said, staring at the cup.

Elliott sat beside me, sighing. “I know. But you said it yourself . . . I break promises.”

He held out the drink again, and I took it, sealing my lips over the straw. I took a sip, tasting the ice-cold, tart lime and too-sweet cherry syrup, the carbonation bubbling on my tongue.

“I’ve missed you, whether you want to believe it or not. I thought about you every day. I tried everything to get back to you. I’m sorry about your—”

“Stop talking,” I said, closing my eyes.

He waited for a while, then spoke, as if he couldn’t stop himself. “How’s your mom?”

“She deals with it in her own way.”

“Is Presley still . . . Presley?”

I chuckled and looked at him. “You’ve been at school for a whole day. What do you think?”

He nodded once. “I think yes?”

“You’ve got to stop doing that,” I said.