All the Little Lights(36)

“How are things at home?” she repeated.

“The bed and breakfast isn’t busy. It’s a lot of work, though. I still miss Dad.”

Mrs. Mason nodded. “Is your mom still talking to someone?”

I shook my head. “She’s better.”

Mrs. Mason could see that I was lying. “Catherine,” she began.

“I have a new friend.”

Her eyebrows lifted, creating three long lines across her forehead. “Really? That’s great. Who?”

“Elliott Youngblood.”

“The new quarterback. That’s fun.” She smiled. “He seems like a good kid.”

“He lives down the street from me. We walk down to Braum’s sometimes.”

She sat forward, clasping her hands together. “I’m happy. I just . . . he’s new. He seems . . .”

“Popular? Well liked? Socially opposite of me?”

Mrs. Mason smiled. “I was going to say he seems shy.”

I blinked. “I mean, I guess. I hadn’t thought of him that way. I can’t get him to shut up most of the time.”

Mrs. Mason’s singsong laugh filled the room. The bell rang, and she stood. “Darn. I was hoping we’d have more time. Is it okay to meet again next month? I want to talk to you about college options.”

“Sure,” I said, pulling on my backpack.

Mrs. Mason opened the door to reveal Mrs. Rosalsky standing on the other side of her desk, chatting with Elliott.

He turned to me, looking relieved.

“Mrs. Mason, Elliott needed to speak with Catherine before he left for football practice.”

“I wanted to make sure you didn’t need a ride home.”

Mrs. Mason smiled at me, glad to have confirmed my claim. “That’s very nice of you, Elliott.”

He knew I wouldn’t turn him down in front of school staff, so I agreed and followed him out. He even took my bag, and Mrs. Mason seemed thrilled.

Once Elliott pushed through the doors that led to the parking lot, I snatched my bag back and turned toward home.

“I figured,” he said.

I stopped, turning on my heel. “Figured what?”

“That it was for show. A thank you would be nice.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Why would I thank you?”

“For giving you a chance to fool Mrs. Mason with whatever you’re trying to fool her with.”

“You know nothing,” I said, continuing my walk.

Elliott jogged to catch up to me, tugging gently on my bag to slow me down. “I still want to take you home.”

“I only accepted because I knew that would make Mrs. Mason feel better. I just have a few more months before I turn eighteen. If pretending not to hate you will keep her from calling DHS on my mom again, that’s what I’ll do.”

He frowned. “Why did she call DHS on your mom?”

I walked away from him, holding the straps of my backpack.

“You don’t hate me,” he called.

I trudged to the corner, fighting my conflicting emotions and Althea’s words in my ear. I was behind on laundry, and even if Mama had done it while I was gone, she’d be upset with me. Elliott was distracting me, and creating any more stress for Mama was something I couldn’t afford. When she was unhappy, everyone was unhappy, and that made for a very tense household.

I stepped off the curb to cross the street, and then I was on my back, gasping for air. Elliott was hovering over me, his eyes wide.

“Oh God. Catherine, are you okay? I’m sorry.”

Once my breath returned, I pushed at him. He pulled me to a sitting position while fighting my swinging arms. “What . . . are you . . . doing?” I yelled, fighting him.

He pointed to the road. “You almost walked in front of a car!” he said, trying to subdue my wrists.

I breathed hard, looking out to the road. Besides the high schoolers leaving the parking lot, other vehicles were driving into town from the highway, going faster than they should.

I blinked, looking around, trying to gain the courage to apologize. “Thank you,” I said. “I was preoccupied.”

“Please let me take you home,” he begged.

I nodded, shook up from almost becoming a pancake. I wondered what would happen to Mama and the Juniper if something happened to me. I had to be more careful.



Elliott’s motor could still be heard a block away, and it made me angry that my heart was crying out the farther he drove. I didn’t want to miss him. I didn’t want to want him. Elliott being nice made it that much harder to hate him. My bag hit the dining chair with a smack, and I stood at the sink, filling a cup with cold water.

The sweat that had evaporated in Elliott’s air-conditioned Chrysler was still on my skin, and new beads began to form from standing in the thick, stale air of the Juniper. I set the cup down to splash my face once and then used a dish towel to dry. The thinning fabric was soft against my skin, and I held it against my eyes, enjoying the dark until I heard a stool leg scrape across the floor.

“Who was that? He’s super tan,” Tess said in her no-nonsense tone.

“That,” I said, getting another cup of water, “was Elliott.”

“The boy who left?”

I sighed, setting the cups on the island. “Yes, and he can stay gone. That’s one more complication I don’t need.”