"To come back."
Althea smiled and leaned closer, reaching for my hands. "My baby . . . you listen to Miss Althea. He did come back." She stood, returning to the sink. She turned on the tap, preparing to fill the basin with water and wash the dishes that wouldn't fit in the dishwasher. "Sounds to me like when he did, he came straight home."
"I needed him," I said. "He left when I needed him, and now that I don't, he shows up. He's too late."
Althea swirled her fingers in the water, mixing in the dish soap. She looked up but didn't turn around, and she spoke slow and sweet. I could hear the smile in her voice, like she was remembering a simpler time. "Maybe you still need him."
"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.
"What?"
"Speaking in questions. The way your tone goes up. It's weird."
"Since when did you stop liking weird?"
"Since my life became its definition."
"You want me to watch my tone?" He nodded once. "Done."
Elliott looked like he'd spent his time away living in a gym. His neck was thick, his jaw square, and the curves of his shoulders and arms defined and solid. He moved with more confidence, gazed into my eyes for too long, and smiled with the kind of charm that came with arrogance. I liked him the way he was before: gangly and awkward, soft-spoken and quietly defiant. He was humble then. Now I was looking at a boy who knew he was attractive and certain that single trait would earn him forgiveness.
My smile faded, and I faced forward. "We're different now, Elliott. I don't need you anymore."
He looked down, frowning but not yet defeated. "Looks like you don't need anyone. I noticed Minka and Owen walk by, and you didn't even look at them."
"So?"
"Catherine . . . I left all my friends, my football team, my mom . . . I came back."
"I noticed."
"For you."
"Stop it."
He sighed. "You can't stay mad at me forever."
I stood, tossing the drink at him. He caught it against his chest, but the lid popped off, and red liquid splashed his white shirt and face.
I spat out an involuntary laugh. Elliott's eyes were closed, his mouth open, but after the initial shock, he grinned. "Okay. I deserved that."
It wasn't funny anymore. "You deserve a soda in the face? My dad died, Elliott. They carried out his body on a gurney while I watched, in front of the whole neighborhood. My mom mentally checked out. You were supposed to be my friend, and you just . . . left me standing there."
"I didn't want to."
Tears burned my eyes. "You're a coward."
He stood, a head and a half taller than me. I knew he was staring at the top of my head, but I wouldn't look at him.
"My mom came to get me. I tried to explain. She saw the ambulance and police car and freaked out. She forced me to go with her. I was fifteen at the time, Catherine, c'mon."
I craned my neck, narrowing my eyes at him. "And since then?"
"I wanted to call, but you don't h
ave a phone, and then mine got taken away. I was angry about the way they made me leave. I snuck a couple of phone calls to my aunt to check on you, but she refused to go to your house. She said things had changed, that your mom wouldn't speak to her anyway. I was caught halfway to Oak Creek a week after I got my car, and my dad put a forty-five-mile-per-hour governor on it. I tried to drive here anyway, and they took my car away. I tried talking all my friends into driving me here. I tried everything to get back to you, Catherine, I swear to God."
"That means nothing to me. There is no god," I grumbled.
He touched his finger to my chin and gently lifted it until my gaze met his. "The second my parents told me they were getting a divorce, I asked to come live with my aunt until it was settled. I told them I didn't want to spend my senior year in the middle of their war, but we all knew the real reason. I needed to get back to you."
"Why?" I asked. "Why were they so hell-bent on keeping you away from me?"
"The day I left, Aunt Leigh called my mom. It came up that we were spending a lot of time together. My mom had a hard time here. She hates Oak Creek, and she didn't want me to have a reason to stay. She was hoping I'd forget about you."
"But you're here. I guess she gave up?"
"She doesn't care about anything anymore, Catherine. Not even herself."
I felt my resolve wavering, and I pressed my cheek against his chest. He wrapped his arms around me, heat radiating through his thin gray T-shirt.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't want to leave you here like that. I didn't want to leave you at all." When I didn't respond, he tried to guide me toward the door. "Let's go inside."
I pushed away from him, shaking my head. "You can't."
"Go in? Why?"
"You have to leave."
"Catherine . . ."
I closed my eyes. "Just because I was angry at the way you left me doesn't mean I've missed you. I haven't. At all."
"Why not? Because of the dozens of friends you have hanging around?"
I glared up at him. "Leave me alone."
"Look around. You're already alone."
Elliott turned on his heel, shoved his hands into the pockets of his cargo shorts, and walked down the steps and through the gate to the street. He didn't turn right toward his aunt's. I wasn't sure where he was going, and I tried not to care.
My eyes filled with tears, and I sat on the swing, once again pushing back and listening to the chains squeak against the hook from where they hung.
The swing sank lower, and I involuntarily leaned against Althea, who'd sat down next to me. I hadn't even heard her come outside.
"You done run that poor boy off."
"Good."
Chapter Nine
Catherine
Mr. Mason turned away from his scribblings on the SMART Board, wiping his brow with a handkerchief. It was still in the midnineties, and the teachers were getting crankier every day.
"C'mon, you guys. It's almost October. You should know this. Anyone?"
The leg of Elliott's table screeched against the tile floor, and we all turned to stare at him.
"Sorry," he said.
"Is the table working out for you?" Mr. Mason asked. "Mrs. Mason has been hounding me for an update."
"It's fine," he said.
"Heard you won the quarterback spot," Mr. Mason said. "Congratulations."
"Thanks," Elliott said.
"Barely." Scotty sniffed.
Every girl in class immediately looked at Elliott with a sparkle in her eye, and I faced forward, feeling my cheeks get hot. "Photoelectric effect," I said, desperate to take attention away from Elliott.
"That's right," Mr. Mason said, pleasantly surprised. "That's right. Good job, Catherine. Thank you."
The door opened, and Mrs. Mason stepped in, looking trim and glowing. "Mr. Mason."
"Mrs. Mason," he grumbled.
"I need to see Catherine Calhoun in my office, please."
"You couldn't have sent an aide?" Mr. Mason asked. Hope was in his eyes, as if he were waiting for his estranged wife to admit she'd just wanted to see him.
"I was next door." Revenge glimmered in her eyes. Coach Peckham was teaching health one classroom over, and it was rumored they were dating. "Catherine, gather your things. You won't be back today."
I glanced over my shoulder at Elliott, although I wasn't sure why. Maybe because I knew he'd be the only person to care why I was being summoned to the counselor's office. He was sitting forward, a combination of curiosity and concern on his face.
I leaned over to shove my textbook, notepad, and pen into my backpack, and then stood, sliding my arms through the straps.
Mr. Mason nodded to me and then continued with his lecture, pointing to his pitiful illustrations of photoelectrons on the board.
Mrs. Mason led me down the hallway, across the commons area, to the office. Her long legs took small but graceful steps within the confines of the pencil skirt she wore. The hem hit just below her knee, almost modest if it hadn't been skintight, balancing the sheer red blouse with the first three buttons undone. I smiled. She was enjoying her freedom, and I hoped that would be me someday.
We garnered stares from the school secretary, Mrs. Rosalsky, a few of the office aides, and a few delinquents who were carrying out their in-house suspension.
Mrs. Mason's door was already open, a knitted heart with her name embroidered in the center hanging from a single nail in the wood. She closed the door behind me and, with a smile, directed me to sit.
"Miss Calhoun. We haven't spoken in a while. Your grades look great. How are things?"
"Things are good," I said, barely able to look her in the eyes.
"Catherine," she said, her voice warm, "we've discussed this. You don't have to be embarrassed. I'm here to help."
"I can't help it."
"It wasn't your fault."
"No, but it's still embarrassing."
I sat in this chair three times a week during the first half of my sophomore year, rehashing how I felt about my father's death. Mrs. Mason gave Mama six months, and when she felt Mama wasn't going to get better, she called DHS to go to the Juniper for an interview. That made Mama worse, and late one night she ended up at the Masons' home.
After that, I learned to pretend. Mrs. Mason summoned me once a week. Junior year was just once a month, and this year, I had just begun to think she wasn't going to call me in at all.
She waited, her eyes soft and her small smile comforting. I wondered how Mr. Mason could have ever done anything but work hard to keep her. In any other town, she'd be married to a lawyer or businessman, counseling kids only because it was her passion. Instead, she'd married her high school sweetheart, who'd turned into a grumpy, round, sweaty, mustache-wearing lump of boring. I knew better than anything there were worse things to come home to, but Mrs. Mason was on her way to happy, and Mr. Mason wasn't it.
"What about for you?" I asked.
One side of her mouth turned up, accustomed to my deflection. "Catherine, you know I can't discuss . . ."
"I know. But I'm just curious why you left if it wasn't that bad. Some people stay with better reasons to leave. I'm not judging you. I guess I'm just asking . . . at what point did you decide it was okay?"
She watched me for a moment, trying to decide if being honest would help me. "The only reason you need to leave is if you don't want to stay. You know what I'm talking about. When you walk into a place and feel you don't belong--where you're not comfortable or even welcome. The important things are to be safe, happy, and healthy, and so many times those things are synonymous. When you're not yet an adult, it's important to let someone you trust help navigate that for you."
I nodded and glanced at the clock. In ten minutes, the bell would ring, and I'd be walking home in the heat to a place that fit every one of Mrs. Mason's descriptions.
"How are things at home?" she repeated.
"The bed and breakfast isn't busy. It's a lot of work, though. I still miss Da
d."
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?"