Catherine did exactly as I said, pulling out slowly onto the road. After I reminded her to turn off the signal, she held onto the steering wheel at ten and two, gripping it for dear life as she rolled down Twenty-Ninth at fifteen miles per hour.
"You're doing it," I said.
"I'm doing it!" she squealed. She giggled for the first time since the summer I'd met her, and it sounded like wind chimes and a symphony and triumph all at once. She was happy, and all I wanted to do was sit back and watch her enjoy the moment.
Chapter Fifteen
Catherine
Rain pelted the rectangular windows that made up the north wall of Mr. Mason's classroom. The students were quiet, heads down, taking a test, so the fat droplets were the only sound other than the occasional pencil lead breaking or someone using their eraser and then wiping away the crumbs.
November rain brought autumn as it did every year, finally cooling the triple-digit temperatures to tolerable highs. The dark clouds were swirling in the sky, and the gutters were overflowing, allowing a curtain of water to steadily drip onto the ground. I could hear the splattering in the dirt as mini-ditches in the soil began to form below.
I circled my last multiple-choice answer and put down my pencil, picking at my nails. Minka was usually the first to finish, and I was typically second, or third after Ava Cartwright. I glanced over, curious, and was surprised to see Ava and Minka still working. I looked over my test again, worried I'd missed something. I flipped the two stapled pages, checking over each question, out of order, the way I'd answered.
"You finished, Catherine?" Mr. Mason asked.
Ava looked up at me long enough for me to notice her aggravation and then leaned closer to her paper.
I nodded.
He waved me forward. "Bring it up, then."
His forehead was covered in beads of sweat, the underarms of his short-sleeved button-down wet even though it was comfortably cool.
I laid my test on his desk, and he immediately started grading it.
"Are you feeling okay, Mr. Mason? You look a little pale."
He nodded. "Yes, thanks, Catherine. Just hungry. I've only had a couple of protein shakes today. Have a seat, please."
I turned, meeting Elliott's eyes. He was smiling at me, as he had been every time he saw me since his first football game. It was the first time he'd kissed me, the first time he'd told me he loved me, and he hadn't missed an opportunity to do either since.
Elliott's last few games had been out of town, but there was a home game at seven thirty against the Blackwell Maroons. Both teams were undefeated, and Elliott had been talking about it all week, as well as the scholarships he could be awarded. College, for the first time, was real to him, making his football victories mean more. A home game meant we could celebrate together, and Elliott couldn't contain his excitement.
One by one, the other students turned in their papers. Elliott was one of the last, handing his test to Mr. Mason just as the bell rang.
I gathered my things, staying behind while Elliott did the same. We walked together to my locker, and he waited while I fought with the handle. This time, though, I opened it on my own. Elliott kissed my cheek. "Homework?"
"For once . . . no."
"You think . . . you think you might want to go with me somewhere after the game?"
I shook my head. "I'm not comfortable at parties."
"Not a party. It's um . . . it's senior night. My mom's coming into town, and they're cooking this big dinner after the game. All my favorites."
"Huckleberry bread?"
"Yes." He nodded once, seeming nervous. "And . . . I thought maybe your mom could come, too."
I turned my head, giving him side-eye. "That's not possible. I'm sorry."
"You don't have to be sorry. But I kind of told my mom about you, and she's really looking forward to meeting you and . . . your mom."
I stared at him for a moment, feeling my heart thump in my chest. "You already told her she'd come, didn't you? Elliott . . ."
"No, not that she'd come. I told her I'd ask. I also told her your mom hasn't been feeling well."
I closed my eyes, relieved. "Good." I sighed. "Okay, we'll just stick with that."
"Catherine . . ."
"No," I said, closing my locker.
"She might enjoy herself."
"I said no."
Elliott frowned, but when I began to walk down the hall to the double doors leading to the parking lot, he followed.
The rain stopped just a few steps into our trek from the door to Elliott's Chrysler, and the clean smell of a passing storm seemed to energize the already antsy students. It'd been a few weeks since we had a home game, and everyone seemed to feel the same electricity in the air. Pep Club banners hung from the ceiling, bearing phrases like Beat Blackwell and Murder the Morons, the football players were wearing their jerseys, the cheerleaders wore their matching uniforms, and the student body was a sea of white and blue.
Elliott used the palm of his hand to wipe away the droplets on the hood of his car. I touched the cobalt blue number seven on Elliott's white mesh jersey and looked up at him. "I'm sorry if you're disappointed. I told you."
"I know," he said, touching his lips to my forehead.
Another wave of students burst through the double doors. Car engines were revving, horns were honking, and Scotty and Connor were spinning donuts in the far lot closest to the street.
Presley was parked four spots down from Elliott, and she passed us with a smile.
"Elliott," she called. "Thanks for the help last night."
Elliott frowned, waved her away, and then shoved his hands in his pockets.
It took a while for me to process her words, and I still wasn't sure what she had meant.
Elliott didn't wait for me to ask. "She um . . . she texted me for help on Mason's study guide." He opened his door, and I slid inside, anger slowly engulfing me from the inside out. Presley knowing something about Elliott that I didn't made me feel irrationally upset, and my body was reacting in strange ways.
He sat next to me and produced his phone, showing me the back-and-forth. I barely glanced at it, not wanting to look as desperate as I felt. "Look," he said. "I gave her the answers, and that was it."
I nodded. "Okay."
Elliott started his car. "You know I'm not interested in her. She's awful, Catherine." I picked at my nails, sullen. He continued, "Never in a million years. I know she texted me just so she could thank me in front of you today."
"I don't care."
He frowned. "Don't say that."
"What should I say?"
"That you care."
I looked out the window as Elliott backed out of his parking spot and drove toward the exit. Coach Peckham was standing at his truck near the stadium, and Mrs. Mason was standing with him. She was tossing her hair over her shoulder, her grin almost as wide as her face.
Elliott honked his horn, and they immediately sobered, waving at him. I wondered why Mrs. Mason would so fervently leave her small-town husband and marriage behind just to fall face-first into another one. Coach Peckham was twice divorced--his second wife a former student who'd just graduated four years before--and Mrs. Mason behaved like she'd caught the town's most eligible bachelor.
Elliott and I didn't speak the entire way to the Juniper, and the closer we came, the more Elliott fidgeted. The windshield wipers swept the rain away, offering a calming rhythm, but Elliott ignored it, looking like he was trying to think of something to say that would make everything okay. When he pulled his car up to the curb, he shoved the gear into park.
"I didn't mean that I didn't care," I said before he could speak. "I just meant that I wasn't going to argue over Presley. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what she's up to."
"We don't have to argue. We can just talk."
His response stunned me. My parents never just talked when they disagreed. It was always a shouting match, a war of words, crying, pleading, and opening old wound
s. "Don't you have to get to the game? This seems like a long conversation."
He checked his watch and then cleared his throat, unhappy that we were pressed for time. "You're right. I need to get to the locker room."
"I just have to check in, but if I take too long, go ahead. I can walk to the game."
Elliott frowned. "Catherine, it's pouring. You're not walking in the rain."
I reached for the passenger door's handle, but Elliott took my hand in his, staring at our intertwined fingers. "Maybe you could sit with my family during the game?"
I tried to smile, but it felt strange on my face, coming across as more of a pained expression. "You'll be down on the field. It will be weird."
"It won't be weird. Aunt Leigh will want you to sit with them."
"Oh. Okay," I said, the words sounding garbled in my mouth. "I'll just be a minute."
I ducked out of the Chrysler and ran to the house, only stopping long enough to open the gate. Before I reached the porch, the front door opened.
"Goodness, child. Don't you own an umbrella?" Althea asked, brushing me off with a tea towel.
I turned to see Elliott wave at me, and I pulled Althea inside, closing the door behind us.
"How's it going with the boy?"
"Pretty great, actually," I said, raking back my half-wet hair. I looked around, noticing that everything seemed to still be in order. I knew I had Althea to thank for it. "Elliott has a football game tonight. I'll be home late. Did Mama say she needed anything?"
"I'll tell you what. If she does, I'll take care of it."
"Thank you," I said, trying to catch my breath from the short sprint to the house. "I have to change. I'll be down in a second."
"Get an umbrella, baby!" Althea called after me as I climbed the stairs.
In my room, I peeled off my sweatshirt and replaced it with a blue sweater and a coat. After combing my hair, brushing my teeth, and running ChapStick over my lips, I stopped just short of my bedroom door, snatching my umbrella from the corner.
The sound of my shoes squeaking against the stairs was unavoidable, but Mama was bound to say something about it.
"Catherine Elizabeth," Mama lilted from the kitchen.
"I'm sorry, I have to run. You have everything you need?" I asked.
Mama was standing in front of the sink, washing potatoes. Her dark curls were pulled back away from her face, and she turned to me with a smile. "When will you be back?"
"Late," I said. "It's senior night."
"Not too late," she warned.
"I'll have everything ready for the morning. Promise." I kissed her cheek and turned for the door, but she held me back by my coat sleeve, her happy expression gone.
"Catherine. Be careful with that boy. He doesn't have plans to stick around."
"Mama . . ."
"I mean it. It's fun, I know. But don't get too caught up with him. You have responsibilities here."
"You're right. He doesn't want to stay here. He plans to travel. Maybe with National Geographic. He asked if you . . ." I trailed off.
"Asked if I what?"
"If you'd like to come to his aunt's house for dinner."
She whipped around, taking a potato in one hand, a peeler in the other. "I couldn't. Too much to do. We're at capacity."
"We are?" I asked, looking up.
Mama grew quiet, raking the peeler against the potato, skinning it bare. The faucet was still running, and she raked faster.
"Mama?"
She turned, pointing the peeler at me. "You just be careful of that boy, you hear me? He's not safe. No one outside of this house is safe."
I shook my head. "I haven't told him anything."
Her shoulders relaxed. "Good. Now go on. I have work to do."
I nodded, turning on my heel, and walked toward the door as fast as I could, opening the umbrella once I was outside. The Chrysler was still idling at the curb, the windshield wipers swaying back and forth.
Sitting in the passenger seat and shaking out the umbrella without bringing the rain inside was a delicate maneuver, but I somehow shut the door without making a mess.
"Did you ask about dinner?"
"I asked," I said. "She's busy."
Elliott nodded, resting his arm on the back of the seat. "Well, we tried, right?"
"I can't stay too long after," I said.
"What? Why?"
"She's being weird. Weirder than usual. She's in a really, really good mood and has been for a while, but she said the Juniper is full."
"What does that mean?"
"It means I should get home early . . . just in case."
"In case of what?"
I looked at him, wishing I could tell him the truth, and then settling for a version of it. "I don't know. It's never happened before."
I sidestepped down the walkway in front of the bleachers where Elliott's aunt Leigh and his mom sat. They seemed to recognize me right away.
Leigh smiled. "Hi, Catherine. Can you sit with us? Elliott said you might."
I nodded. "I'd love to."
Leigh scooted over, directing me to sit between her and her sister-in-law. I could see where Elliott got his rich skin, dark hair that shined even in the moonlight, and beautiful cheekbones.
"Catherine, this is Elliott's mom, Kay. Kay, this is Elliott's friend, Catherine."
Kay response was wooden. "Hi, Catherine. I've heard a lot about you."
I smiled, trying not to shrink under her intense stare. "Elliott said you're having a dinner for him tonight. Should I bring anything?"
"That's nice, but we have it covered," Kay said, looking forward. "We know what he likes."
I nodded, doing the same. Elliott was sure that I would feel comfortable sitting next to his mother. Either she was a good actress, or he didn't see how cold she was to unwelcome strangers.
"Should I go down now?" Kay asked.
"I think it's at halftime?" Leigh said.
"I'm going to go check." Kay stood and carefully stepped around Leigh and me, descending the stairs. People from the stands called her name, and she looked up and waved with a contrived smile on her face.
"Maybe I should sit with Mrs. Mason," I thought aloud.
"Don't be silly. Take it from me, it just takes Kay a while to warm up. That, and she's never happy to be back in Oak Creek."
"Oh," I said.
"I remember when John and I first started dating, Kay was fit to be tied. No one in the family had dated anyone but Cherokee before. Kay and their mother, Wilma, were not happy, and it took a lot of assurances from John that they'd come around."
"How long?"
"Oh, you know," she said, brushing off her pants. "Just a couple of years."
"A couple of years? But . . . Elliott's dad is . . . ?"
Leigh snorted. "Cherokee. And German, I think. Kay doesn't talk about the German, even though he's lighter skinned than I am. And yes, two years. They were long, but it made John and me inseparable. It's good, you know, for things not to come easy. You appreciate them more. I think that's why Elliott spent the last two years grounded trying to get to you."
I pressed my lips together, trying not to smile. Kay returned, looking annoyed.
"You were right. Halftime," she said. Someone else called her name, and she looked up, waved twice without smiling, and sat down.
"It was your idea to let him finish high school here," Leigh said.
"It was his idea," Kay said. She looked at me, unimpressed. "I wonder why."
"Elliott said to be nice," Leigh warned.
"He also said she's an Aquarius," Kay said, smug.
Leigh shook her head and laughed once. "Lord, not that again. You tried that with John and me, remember?"
"You're both on the cusp," Kay said. She forced a smile and then focused on the field.
The band began to play, and then the cheerleaders and Pep Club ran out onto the field, creating a pathway for the players. Another minute later, the team burst through a paper banner, and Kay im
mediately picked out Elliott from the dozens of students and pointed, a real smile lighting her face.
"There he is," she said, grabbing Leigh's arm. "He looks so big."
Elliott wasn't hard to spot. His dark hair poked out from under his helmet.
Leigh patted her arm. "That's because he is, sis. You spawned a giant."
I smiled, watching as Elliott did a quick scan of the crowd and found his mom, aunt, and then me. He held up his hand, his index and pinky fingers pointing to the sky, his thumb out to the side. Leigh and Kay returned the gesture, but when they put their hands down, he still left his up. Leigh gently nudged me.
"That's your cue, kiddo."
"Oh," I said, holding up my hand, my pinky and index finger in the air, my thumb out to the side, and then bringing my hand back into my lap.
Elliott turned around, but I caught the trademark wide grin on his face.
Kay looked to Leigh. "He loves her?"
Leigh patted her arm again. "Don't pretend you didn't know."
Chapter Sixteen
Catherine
The Youngbloods sat around Leigh's oval dining table, spooning out everything from huckleberry bread to cheesy mac casserole. Leigh and her sister-in-law, Kay, had made all Elliott's favorites earlier in the day, and they were ready when we arrived.
Elliott's uncle John sat across from me, his already round belly meeting the edge of the table. He wore his hair long like Elliott, but John's was in a ponytail, wrapped with a thin leather strap down the length of his hair, then tied into a knot at the bottom. Gray strands were mixed in with the dark, concentrated just above his ears. His gold-rimmed glasses sat halfway down his nose.
Elliott stuffed his face, his cheeks still flushed from working hard in the cold fall air, his hair still damp from sweating under his helmet.
I reached up to touch his bruised eye, getting more purple and swollen by the minute. "Does that hurt?"
"It probably will in the morning, but it was worth it to score that touchdown," he said, grabbing my hand quickly to kiss it before spooning more food onto his plate.
"Slow down, Elliott. You're gonna throw up," Kay scolded.
"He never gets full," Leigh said with borderline disgust, watching him eat.
"Maybe we should put ice on it?" I asked, still staring at his eye.
He chewed quickly, swallowed, and smiled. "I promise it's okay." He reached over, pulled my chair closer to him, and kissed my temple quickly before returning his attention to his food.