All the Little Lights(88)

I turned to Mrs. Mason. “He has nothing to do with this!”

“Come back to my office. We’ll find Leigh’s number. We should call her. Now.”

I nodded, following the counselor back to her office. I sat down in the seat I had just occupied minutes before. My knee bounced, and I dug my thumbnail into my forearm while Mrs. Mason tapped on her computer, then picked up her phone.

“Mrs. Youngblood? Hi, it’s Rebecca Mason. I’m afraid I have some bad news. Presley Brubaker has gone missing, and Detective Thompson from the Oak Creek Police Department has come to collect Elliott for questioning. He just took him to the station less than five minutes ago. Elliott asked that I call you.”

I could hear Leigh panicking through the phone, firing off questions.

“Mrs. Youngblood . . . Leigh . . . I know. I know he’s a good boy. But I think . . . I think you should call an attorney to meet Elliott at the station as soon as possible. Yes. Yes, I’m so sorry. Yes. Goodbye.”

Mrs. Mason hung up the phone and then covered her eyes with one hand.

“Becca,” Mr. Mason said, walking through the door.

Mrs. Mason looked up, trying her best to keep it together, but when she saw her husband, tears welled up in her eyes and spilled over her cheeks.

Mr. Mason rounded the desk and helped his wife to her feet, holding her tight as she tried not to cry. I fell into Mrs. Mason’s line of sight, and she released her husband, straightening her blazer and skirt.

“Catherine?” She cleared her throat. “Leigh is on the way to the police station. John should be there soon. They’re calling Elliott an attorney. I want you to go to class”—sympathy touched her eyes—“and I want you to try very hard not to worry. If anyone, and I mean anyone, bothers you about this, you come straight to me. Do you understand?”

I nodded.

She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Good. I have an appointment with Tatum, Anna Sue, and Brie in ten minutes. Check in with me after lunch, please.”

I nodded, watching her stride out of her office, determined to hold the school together if needed.

The walk to my locker from the office seemed to take twice as long as usual. I twisted the dial, but when I yanked, the door wouldn’t open. The bell rang, and I tried again, desperate to avoid suspicious eyes and whispers. When I failed again, my bottom lip trembled.

“Let me,” Sam said, yanking straight up on the latch. The lock released, and he pulled my locker open.

I quickly switched out my books and slammed the door, twisting the dial again.

“Maddy went home,” Sam said. “Can I walk you?” He looked around. “I should walk you.”

I glanced over my shoulder, cowering under the accusatory glares of other students passing by. Word had already spread. “Thank you.”

Sam kept me close, walking me across the commons to B Hall. The students glared at me and Sam, and I worried he would become a target, too.

When we reached my world lit class, Sam waved to me and went on to his class. I slipped behind my desk, unable to miss Mrs. McKinstry pausing to look at me before taking roll.

I closed my eyes, holding Elliott’s keys tight in my hand. Just a few more hours, and I could go to him. Just a few more hours, and— “Catherine!” Mrs. McKinstry said.

I looked down, feeling warm liquid pool in my palm and drip down my wrist. Elliott’s keys had punctured my hand.

Mrs. McKinstry grabbed a paper towel and rushed over, forcing me to open my hand. She dabbed my palm, the white paper soaking up the crimson.

“Are you okay?”

I nodded. “Sorry.”

“Sorry?” she asked, surprised. “What on earth do you have to be sorry about? Just . . . go to the nurse. She’ll get you cleaned up.”

I gathered my things and rushed out, relieved that I didn’t have to suffer through an entire class with twenty-five pairs of eyes on the back of my head.

The nurse’s office was across from administration, just around the corner and ten feet down from my locker. I stopped at 347, unable to take another step. Feeling Elliott’s keys wadded with the paper towel, I turned on my heel, running toward the double doors that led to the parking lot.





Chapter Twenty-Seven

Catherine

My worn, black Converses looked painfully juvenile next to Leigh’s snakeskin stilettos. She sat with perfect posture, waiting in one of the ten or so unpadded metal chairs that lined the main hall of the Oak Creek Police Department.

The walls were a dirty tan, the matching baseboards scuffed with black and splattered with coffee and unknown stains. I counted seven doors breaking up the monotony of the walls that bordered the hallway, most of their top halves taken up by Plexiglas windows that were covered by cheap miniblinds.

The fluorescent lights buzzed above our heads, a reminder that the sunlight from the front windows only reached to the end of the hall.

Occasionally an officer or two would pass us, each one watching with wary eyes, as if we were part of some intricate plan to help Elliott escape.

“I don’t have to tell you that it’s not a good idea to drive Elliott’s vehicle without a license,” Leigh said, keeping her voice low.

I cowered. “Yes. It won’t happen again.”

“Well,” she said, wiping her palms on her slacks, “I’m sure Elliott doesn’t mind, but next time, call me. I’ll come.”