All the Little Lights(85)

“Gather your things,” Ms. Winston said, staring at the paper in her hand. “Now.”

Through the glass wall, I saw Anna Sue walking down the hall, escorted by another office aide. She had her books with her.

Tatum paused, watching her friend. Their gazes met for half a second before Anna Sue passed.

Tatum grabbed her backpack and hurried into the hallway, calling for Anna Sue to wait.

The moment they were out of sight, a few whispers lingered, but then we all went back to our tests. As I filled in circles, the uneasy feeling that something was wrong settled over me. The halls were quiet and tense. The students were exhausted, subconsciously ready for the terror that was about to settle into the bones of the school.

The bell rang, and hundreds of teenagers filed out into the hallways, stopping off at their lockers to exchange books and supplies in the two minutes we were allowed.

“Did you hear?” Madison said, breathless.

“No, but I can feel it,” I said, closing my locker door.

Elliott and Sam appeared next to us with the same confused expressions.

“They’re saying Presley isn’t at school today, and all the clones were called into the office,” Sam said.

“Madison,” Mrs. Mason said, glancing at me. She touched Madison’s arm. “I need you to come with me.”

“Me? Why?” Madison asked.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked.

“Just come with me, Maddy. Don’t argue,” Mrs. Mason whispered.

Madison walked with Mrs. Mason down C Hall toward the office.

We stood watching, a crowd forming around us. People were asking questions, but their voices blurred together.

“Do you think it’s about Maddy’s car?” Sam asked. “Maybe they got caught and want to talk to her about it?”

“Didn’t you see Mrs. Mason’s face?” Elliott said. “Whatever it is . . . it’s bad.” He reached down, sliding his fingers between mine.

Second and third hour came and went. After class, I expected Madison to be at my locker, talking so fast about whatever they’d taken her to the office for, her words barely audible. Elliott, Sam, and I waited at my locker, but Madison never came.

“She’s still in the office,” Sam said.

That was when I noticed the tears, the somber faces, some even looking afraid.

“What the hell is going on?” Elliott asked.

Sam pulled out his cell phone. “I’m texting Maddy’s dad. He should know what’s going o—”

Mr. Saylor passed us, giving Sam a strange look before disappearing around the corner.

“He’s going to the office,” Sam said, putting his phone away.

“I’m going,” I said.

“Catherine, no,” Elliott said, but before he could finish his sentence, I had already closed my locker and was following Mr. Saylor.

Mrs. Rosalsky seemed panicked the moment Elliott, Sam, and I walked in. She stood, holding out her hand.

“Catherine, you should go. You too, Elliott. Sam, go with them.”

“Where is Maddy?” I asked. “Mrs. Mason came for her two hours ago. We just saw her dad.”

Mrs. Rosalsky lowered her chin, meeting my gaze. “Catherine, go. They’ll call you in soon enough.”

“Miss Calhoun,” a man said, stepping out of Mrs. Mason’s office. Madison followed him out with her father, looking horrified.

“What’s going on?” Elliott asked.

“I’m Detective Thompson,” he said, shaking Elliott’s hand. He eyed us with his bulging blue eyes.

“Nice to meet you,” Elliott said, nodding once before peering around to see Madison. “You okay?”

Madison nodded, looking small behind her father.

Detective Thompson wore a dark, worn suit, his Western boots wet from a weekend of rain. His wiry gray mustache made him look more like a cowboy than an officer of the law. “Since you’re both here, why don’t you step into Mrs. Mason’s office?”

I looked to Elliott, searching for an answer in his expression. I hadn’t a clue what was going on, but Elliott seemed unfazed. He took my hand, leading the way. As we passed, Madison’s eyes expressed a dozen warnings. Her hand brushed over mine and Elliott’s as she left with her father, silently wishing us good luck.

Mrs. Mason was standing behind her desk, gesturing for us to take the two chairs that sat in front of it. We did, but Elliott kept hold of my hand.

Detective Thompson stared at our interlaced fingers as he sat in Mrs. Mason’s chair, clasping his hands behind her nameplate.

“Do you know why we’ve brought you in here today?” Thompson asked.

Elliott and I traded glances and then shook our heads no.

“Presley Brubaker didn’t come home last night,” Thompson said matter-of-factly.

I frowned, waiting for the words to make sense, for the detective to explain.

“She ran away?” Elliott asked.

Thompson’s mouth twitched. “It’s interesting you’d say that, Elliott. No one else I’ve spoken to seems to think so.”

Elliott shrugged. “What else could it be?”

The detective sat back, as calm and collected as Elliott. They were staring at each other in a sort of standoff. “I’ll need your birthdates. Let’s start with Elliott.”