She touched my shoulder and winked. “Well, you’re mine, aren’t cha? I suppose I’m to blame.”
“Hi, ma’am,” he said. “I’m Elliott. Youngblood?”
“I’m Mavis,” Mama said, pleasant and polite and light as if the humidity didn’t choke her like it did the rest of us.
“I just moved in with my aunt Leigh down the street.”
“Leigh Patterson Youngblood?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh my,” Mama said. She blinked. “How do you get on with your aunt Leigh?”
“It’s getting better,” Elliott said with a smirk.
“Yes, well, bless her heart. I’m afraid she’s a bit of a bitch. Has been since high school,” Mama said.
Elliott laughed, and I realized how much I’d missed him. I cried on the inside like I’d been doing since he left.
“Goodness, where are our manners? Would you like to come in, Elliott? I believe I have some tea and fresh fruit and vegetables from the garden. Or what’s left of it after this drought.”
I turned to glower at Mama. “No. We have work to do. Poppy and her dad are here.”
“Oh. Well,” Mama said, touching her fingers to her chest. She was suddenly nervous. “I’m so sorry, Elliott.”
“Another time,” Elliott said, saying goodbye with a salute. “See you tomorrow, Princess Catherine.”
I bristled. “Don’t call me that. Ever.”
I guided Mama inside, letting the screen door slam behind me. Mama wrung her hands on her apron, fidgeting. I took her upstairs, down the hall, and up another five steps to the upper master bedroom and gestured for her to sit down at the vanity. She hadn’t been able to spend a night in her and Dad’s room since he died, so we’d transformed the small attic storage area into a place of her own.
She fussed with her hair and took a tissue to remove the smudges from her face. “Lord, no wonder you didn’t want him inside. I’m a fright.”
“You’ve been working hard, Mama.” I picked up her comb and pulled it through her hair.
She relaxed and smiled. “How was your day? How was school? Are you finished with your homework?”
No wonder she liked Elliott. She spoke in question marks, too. “All good, and yes. Just geometry.”
She snorted. “Just geometry.” She mimicked my flippant tone. “I could barely handle a simple algebra equation.”
“That’s not true,” I said.
“Only because your daddy . . .” She froze, and I watched her eyes grow vacant.
I set down the comb and walked down the hall, down the steps, trying to find something to do. Mama was upset now and would make herself scarce for the rest of the evening. She spent her days pretending everything was fine, but once in a while, when Dad came up in conversation, it would hit her too hard, she would remember too much, and she would sneak away. I would stay—cleaning, cooking, speaking with the occasional guest. My time was spent updating the books and trying to keep the decrepit house in working order. Running the Juniper, even a tiny bed and breakfast with infrequent visitors like ours, created enough work to keep two full-time employees busy. On some nights, I was glad when she shut herself away from her memories, leaving me to do it all. Busy had become peaceful.
The door slammed, and Poppy cried my name from the top of the stairwell. “Catherine!”
I rushed up the steps, holding her while her sobs shook her body. “Daddy left again!”
“I’m sorry,” I said, rocking her gently.
I was glad to deal with Poppy rather than her father. Duke was a loud, angry man, always yelling and busy (but not the peaceful kind), and not at all pleasant to accommodate. When Duke was around, Poppy was quiet. Mama was quiet. That left only me to deal with him.
“I’ll stay with you until he gets back,” I said.
She nodded and then buried her head in my chest. I sat with her on the worn, scratchy red runner that cascaded down the stairs until it was her bedtime, and then I tucked her in.
I wasn’t sure if Poppy would still be here in the morning, but it wouldn’t be hard to make sure she had something quick and sweet for breakfast or that Duke would have his oatmeal or Denver omelet. I descended the stairs to ready the kitchen for morning. If I prepped, Mama would cook while I got ready for school.
After cleaning and placing the freshly sliced tomatoes, onions, and mushrooms in the refrigerator, I trudged back up the stairs.
Mama had her good days and bad days. Today had fallen somewhere in the middle. We’d had worse. Running the Juniper was too much for Mama. I still wasn’t sure how I kept it together, but when all that mattered was making it until tomorrow, age didn’t matter, only what needed to be done.
I showered and pulled my pajama top over my head—it was too hot to wear anything else—and then crawled into bed.
In the stillness, Poppy’s whimpers traveled down the hall. I froze, waiting to hear if she would fall back asleep or if she would get more upset. Nights at the Juniper were hard for her, and I wondered what it was like when she was away, if she was sad and scared and lonely, or if she tried to forget the part of her life that existed between her nights on Juniper Street. From the little she’d told me, I knew her mother was gone. Her father, Duke, was frightening. Poppy was trapped in a cycle of being stuck in a car with him while he traveled to different towns for sales jobs and being left alone for hours and sometimes days at a time while he worked. Her time at the bed and breakfast was her favorite, but it was just a small fraction of her life.
Thoughts of school the next day interrupted my worries for Poppy. I would work hard to keep people away and even harder to keep Elliott away. We were the only two kids our age who lived on Juniper Street. Aside from Tess and a single preschooler, the neighborhood was full of empty nesters and grandparents whose kids and grandkids lived halfway across the country. Coming up with excuses to ignore or avoid Elliott wouldn’t be easy.
Maybe he would get popular fast and no longer need to try to be my friend. Maybe he would call me weird and spit in my hair like some of the other kids. Maybe Elliott would make it easier to hate him. While I drifted off to sleep, I hoped that he would. Hate made loneliness easier.
Chapter Seven
Catherine
Small white strings tied to a metal vent on the ceiling swayed to a silent beat somewhere inside the ventilation system of the school. They were meant to show that the AC was working, and it was, just not very well.
Scotty Neal twisted himself to stretch, grabbing my desk until his back popped, and then heaved a dramatic sigh. He lifted the bottom of his T-shirt and used it to wipe the sweat from his red, blotchy face.
I twisted my hair, now several inches past my shoulders, into a high bun. The strands at the nape of my neck were damp and tickling my skin, so I smoothed them upward. The other students were fidgeting, too, overheating by the minute.
“Mr. Mason.” Scotty groaned. “Can we get a fan? Water? Something?”
Mr. Mason dabbed his brow with a handkerchief and pushed his glasses up his slick nose for the dozenth time. “That’s a good idea, Scotty. Water break. Use the fountain around the corner. There are classrooms in session between here and there. I want quiet, I want an efficient system, and I want you back here in five minutes.”
Scotty nodded, and chairs scraped against the muted green tile as everyone stood and headed out the door, not at all quiet. Minka passed me, her hair frizzy and threatening to curl. She glared at me over her shoulder, still angry that I’d broken up with her and Owen two years before.
Mr. Mason rolled his eyes at the chatter and shook his head, and then he noticed me, the lone student still in the room.
“Catherine?”
I raised my eyebrows to acknowledge him.
“Aren’t you thirsty?” He waved me away, already knowing the answer. “Oh, it’s a circus out there. I get it. Make sure you go after everyone gets back in, okay?”
I nodded and then began to doodle on my notepad, trying no
t to think about the line of sweat forming on his shirt where his man boobs sat flat like thick, twin pancakes on his beer gut.
Mr. Mason took a breath and then held it. He was about to ask me a question, probably something like how was I doing or if everything was okay at home. But he knew better. Everything was fine or good or okay. It had been fine or good or okay in his class the year before, too. He seemed to remember to ask me on Fridays. By Christmas break, he’d stopped.
After half the students had returned, Mr. Mason looked at me over his glasses. “Okay, Catherine?”
Not wanting to protest in front of everyone, I nodded and stood, concentrating on the green and white tiles as I walked. Giggling and chatter grew louder, then several pairs of shoes came into view.
I stopped at the end of the water fountain line, and the clones giggled.
“It was nice of you to stay at the back of the line,” Presley said.
“I’m not drinking after her,” her friend Anna Sue muttered.
I dug my thumbnail into my arm.
Presley shot a smirk to her friend and then addressed me. “How’s the bed and breakfast, Cathy? It looked closed the last time I drove by.”
I sighed. “Catherine.”
“Excuse me?” Presley said, pretending to be offended that I even responded.
I looked up at her. “My name is Catherine.”
“Oh,” Presley mocked. “Kit-Cat’s feeling feisty.”
“She’s decided to walk among the peasants,” Minka muttered.
I gritted my teeth, letting go of my arm to ball my hand into a fist.
“I heard it’s haunted,” Tatum said, the excitement of drama sparking in her eyes. She raked her bleached tresses out of her eyes.
“Yes,” I snapped back. “And we drink the blood of virgins. So you’re all safe,” I said, turning for the classroom.
I rushed for the safety of Mr. Mason’s presence, sliding into my desk. He didn’t notice, even though no one was distracting him. No one was talking or moving. It was almost too hot to breathe.
Scotty returned, wiping drops of water off his chin with the back of his hand. The gesture reminded me of Poppy, and I wondered if she would be at the Juniper when I got home, how much help Mama would need, and if anyone new had checked in while I was gone.
“Can I help you?” Mr. Mason asked.
I looked up from my notepad. Elliott Youngblood stood with a gigantic boat of a sneaker partially inside the threshold of the doorway, one hand holding a small, white paper, a faded red backpack strap in the other. More students returned, pushing Elliott forward a step as they shouldered past him, like he was an inanimate object in their way. No apologies, no acknowledgment that they had brushed their sweaty skin against him without so much as an excuse me.
“Is that for me?” Mr. Mason asked, nodding to the paper in Elliott’s hand.
Elliott walked forward, the top of his head barely clearing the small paper Saturn hanging from the ceiling.
I imagined ways to hate him. People who were too tall or too short or too anything usually had exaggerated feelings of inferiority, and Elliott had likely become sensitive and insecure—impossible to be around.
Elliott’s bulky arm reached out to give Mr. Mason the paper. His nose wrinkled on one side when he sniffed. I was mad at his nose and his muscles, and that he looked so different and so much taller and older. Mostly I hated him for leaving me alone to find out Dad had died. I had given him my entire summer—my last summer with Dad—and I’d needed him, and he’d just left me there.
Mr. Mason squinted his eyes as he read the note, then placed it with the haphazardly stacked papers on his desktop.
“Welcome, Mr. Youngblood.” Mr. Mason looked up at Elliott. “Do you come to us from the White Eagle?”
Elliott lifted one eyebrow in shock at such an ignorant statement. “No?”
Mr. Mason pointed to an empty seat in the back, and Elliott walked quietly down my aisle. A few snickers floated in the air, and I glanced back, seeing Elliott trying to fit his endless legs under the confines of the desk. My height was on the short side. It hadn’t occurred to me that the desks were best suited for children. Elliott was a man, a giant, and he wasn’t going to fit in a one-size-fits-all anything.
The metal hinges creaked as Elliott adjusted again, and more giggles erupted.
“All right, all right,” Mr. Mason said, standing. When he raised his arms to gesture for the class to settle down, his dark sweat stains became visible, and the students laughed even more.
The school counselor walked in and scanned heads until she stopped on Elliott. Looking wholly disappointed, she sighed. “We’ve discussed this, Milo. Elliott is going to need a table and a chair. I thought you had one in here.”
Mr. Mason frowned, unhappy with a second disruption.
“I’m okay,” Elliott said. His voice was deep and smooth, embarrassment dripping off each word.
“Mrs. Mason.” Mr. Mason said her name with the disdain of a soon-to-be ex-husband. “We have it under control.”
The concerned look on her face vanished, and she shot him an irritated look. The rumor was that the Masons had decided on a trial separation the previous spring, but it was going significantly better for Mrs. Mason than it was for mister.
Mrs. Mason had lost fortyish pounds, grown out and highlighted her brunette hair, and wore more makeup. Her skin was brighter, and the wrinkles around her eyes were gone. She was full of happiness, and it had begun to seep out of her skin and eyes and pour out all over the floor, practically leaving a trail of rose-scented rainbows everywhere she walked. Mrs. Mason was better without her husband. Without his wife, Mr. Mason wasn’t much at all.
Mr. Mason held up his hands, palms out. “It’s in the storage closet. I’ll drag it back out.”
“It’s really not a big deal,” Elliott said.
“Trust me, son,” Mr. Mason murmured, “if Mrs. Mason decides something, you best do it.”
“That’s right,” Mrs. Mason said, her patience at an end. “So get it done.” Even when she was cross, happiness still twinkled in her eyes. Her heels clicked against the tile as she left the classroom and clomped down the hallway.
We lived in a town of one thousand, and even two years after Dad had been laid off, not many jobs were available. The Masons had no choice but to continue working together, unless one of them moved. This year seemed like a standoff.
Waiting to hear who was moving would be an interesting twist to our usual school year. I liked both the Masons, but it seemed like one of them would be leaving Oak Creek soon.
Mr. Mason closed his eyes and rubbed his temples with his thumb and middle finger. The classroom was quiet. Even kids knew not to test a man facing the end of his marriage.
“All right, all right,” Mr. Mason said, looking up. “Scotty, take my keys and get that table and chair that I had you stow in the storage room the first day of school. Take Elliott and a couple of desks with you.”
Scotty walked over to Mr. Mason’s desk, picked up his keys, and then signaled for Elliott to follow.
“It’s just down the hall,” Scotty said, waiting for Elliott to find a way out of his desk.
The laughter had melted away like our deodorant. The door opened, and a small breeze was sucked into the room, prompting those sitting next to the door to let out a small, involuntary sigh of relief.
Mr. Mason let his hands fall to his desk, rustling the paper beneath. “They’ve got to cancel school. We’re all going to get heatstroke. You kids can’t concentrate like this. I can’t concentrate like this.”
“Mrs. McKinstry let us have our English class under that big oak between the school and the auditorium building,” Elliott said. His long, dark waves were reacting to the heat, humidity, and sweat, looking stringy and dull. He took a rubber band and pulled it back into a half ponytail, making it look like a bun, with most of his hair sticking out the bottom.
“That’s not a bad idea. Although,” Mr. Mason said,
thinking out loud, “it’s probably hotter outside than it is inside by now.”
“At least there’s a breeze outside,” Scotty said, huffing and dripping sweat as he helped Elliott carry in the table.
Elliott held the chair with his free hand, along with his red backpack. I hadn’t noticed him carry it out, and I noticed everything.
I looked at the vent above Mr. Mason’s head. The white strings were lying limp. The air-conditioning had finally met its demise.
“Oh my God, Mr. Mason,” Minka whined, leaning over her desk. “I’m dying.”
Mr. Mason saw me looking up and did the same, standing when he realized what I already knew. The vents weren’t blowing. The air conditioner was broken, and Mr. Mason’s classroom was on the sunny side of the school. “Okay, everyone out. It’s only going to get hotter in here. Out, out, out!” he yelled after several seconds of students looking around in confusion.
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!”
All the Little Lights Page 9