All the Little Lights

  "It went."

  A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "Is Elliott okay?"

  I sank further into the seat. It would be so easy to expose the Juniper, but to do that I'd have to betray Mama. Althea was right. They couldn't continue as they had without me. But should they? I gazed up at Mrs. Mason from under my lashes.

  "He's okay," I said simply. "They were pretty hard on him."

  Mrs. Mason sighed. "I was worried about that. What do you think?"

  "Do I think he has something to do with Presley's disappearance? No."

  "He likes you. A lot. You don't think he'd be angry about the way she treated you? I heard she was pretty awful. Why didn't you tell me, Catherine? Of all the hours we spent in here together, you couldn't tell me Presley Brubaker was bullying you?"

  "Elliott wouldn't hurt Presley. She's done all kinds of things to me since I've met him, and he's no more than mouthed off to her a few times. He's been in scuffles with other guys, but he'd never hurt a girl. Never."

  "I believe you," Mrs. Mason said. "Is there anything you're not telling me?" When I didn't respond, she clasped her hands together. "Catherine, I can see you're tired. You're stressed. You're pulling away. Let me help you."

  I rubbed the heaviness from my eyes. The clock said eight forty-five. The day was going to drag on, especially knowing Elliott would want to talk. Maybe he wouldn't. Maybe he was tired of failing to climb over all the walls I'd built. I hadn't seen him since leaving his house the night before.

  "Catherine--"

  "You can't help me," I said, standing. "First hour is already over. I should go."

  "Detective Thompson wants me to report to him. I can't tell him what we talked about, of course, but he wants me to email him an assessment of your emotional state."

  I frowned. "He . . . what?"

  "Once you leave, I have to email him. They plan to bring you in for questioning."

  "We haven't done anything! Not liking Presley isn't a crime! Why don't they concentrate on finding her instead of us?" I yelled.

  Mrs. Mason sat back in her chair. "Well, that's the most honesty I've seen from you. That's incredibly brave. Honesty requires vulnerability. How did that feel?"

  I paused, feeling more manipulated than anything else. "Send Thompson whatever you want. I'm leaving."

  I pulled the strap of my backpack over my shoulder and yanked on the door. Mrs. Rosalsky and Dr. Augustine watched me storm out, as did the handful of student aides.

  A yellow note was taped to my locker with the word CONFESS written in block letters. I ripped it off, wadded it up, and threw it to the ground, returning my attention to my locker. I yanked up on the handle, but the door wouldn't open. I tried my combination again and again, feeling dozens of eyes on the back of my head. I tried once more and yanked again. Nothing. Hot tears welled in my eyes.

  An arm appeared over my right shoulder, turned the dial, and then yanked, hard. The latch released, and I grabbed Elliott's arm with both hands, feeling my breath catch in my throat.

  He pressed his right cheek against my left, his skin feeling like sunshine on mine. He smelled like soap and serenity, his voice warming me like a soft blanket. "Are you okay?"

  I shook my head. He was important. I should protect him the way he did me, but I wasn't strong enough to let go. Elliott was anchoring me to everything normal I had left in the world.

  Elliott let go of my locker and wrapped his arm across my collarbones, holding on to my shoulder, his cheek still against mine.

  "I'm so sorry about last night, Catherine. I swore I'd never do that again. You're the last person I'd want to see that. I was tired and raw, and . . . I lost it. I would never, ever lay a hand on you. Just doors, apparently. And trees . . . and Cruz Miller. Aunt Leigh says I need a punching bag in my room. I . . ."

  I turned, burying my face into his chest. He wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight. His warm lips pressed against my hair, and then he pressed his cheek against the same spot.

  "I'm so sorry," he repeated.

  I shook my head, feeling tears run down my nose. I couldn't speak, feeling more vulnerable in that hour than I had in three years.

  "How was it at home?"

  The hall cleared, and the bell rang, but we remained.

  "I'm just . . ." Tears overflowed onto my cheeks. "I'm very tired."

  Elliott's eyes danced while the wheels in his head turned. "I'm staying tonight."

  "I don't want you to get hurt."

  He pressed his forehead against mine. "Do you know what it would do to me if something happened to you? I'd cut off my throwing hand to keep you safe."

  I held him tighter. "So we'll keep each other safe."

  The engine of Madison's mother's Nissan hummed quietly as it idled in front of the Juniper. Madison picked at the steering wheel, recounting her minutes with Detective Thompson.

  "Once my dad came in," she said, narrowing her eyes, "he changed his tune, but oh, was he sure I knew something. Yes, I think she bashed out my headlights. That doesn't mean I'd kidnap her or kill her or do whatever happened to her. Thompson was . . ."

  "Relentless," I said, staring down Juniper Street. The wind was blowing the branches of the bare trees, making me shiver.

  "Yes, that. He said he might call us to the station. Me, you, even Sam. But he is obsessed with Elliott. Do you think . . . do you think it's because he's Cherokee?"

  "His aunt Leigh seems to think so. I'm sure she's right."

  Madison growled. "He's the best of us! Elliott is a great guy. Everyone loves him! Even Scotty Neal, and Elliott took his quarterback position on the football team."

  "They don't love him now," I said. We'd been getting harassed with anonymous notes all day. "Rumors are spreading. They think because we were questioned, we did it. Whatever it is."

  "Some people think Presley's dead."

  "Do you think she's dead?" I asked.

  Madison grew quiet. "I don't know. I hope not. I hope she's okay. I really do."

  "Me too."

  "If she was taken, it wasn't us, but it was someone. He's still out there. That freaks me out. Maybe that's why everyone is so hell-bent on blaming us. If they know it's us, then they feel safer somehow."

  "I guess," I said. "Thanks for the ride home."

  "You're welcome. Are you going to the game this weekend? It's going to be weird cheering and having fun with Presley still missing. Some people are saying they're going to hold a vigil before the game."

  "I don't know. I'm not sure if it's appropriate. I don't want to leave Elliott alone, though."

  "We'll go together."

  I nodded and pulled on the handle, stepping out of the Nissan, the dead grass crunching beneath my shoes as I walked from the curb to the sidewalk. The ground was dusted with billions of tiny specks of Oklahoma snow, much of what wasn't blown away settling into the cracks of the concrete. I stopped at the black iron gate, gazing up at the Juniper.

  Madison's chipper goodbye was a jarring contrast, startling me for half a second before I waved.

  The Nissan pulled away, and I reached for the gate's handle, pressing down and hearing the familiar whine of the hinges as it opened and then again when the springs pulled it shut. I wished for Althea or Poppy or even Willow to be on the other side of the door. Anyone but Duke or Mama.

  "Baby, baby, baby."

  I sighed and smiled. "Althea."

  "Give me that coat and come in here for some hot cocoa. It'll warm you right up. Did you walk home?"

  "No," I said, hanging my coat on a vacant hook by the door.

  I carried my backpack to the island and set it next to a stool before climbing up. Althea set a steaming cup of hot chocolate in front of me, complete with a handful of marshmallows. She wiped her hands on her apron and leaned on the counter, resting her chin in her hand.

  "Althea, why do you stay here? Why don't you stay with your daughter?"

  Althea stood, busying herself with the dishes in the sink. "Well, it's that
man of hers. He says the house is too small. It's just a dinky two bedroom, you see, but I've offered to sleep on the couch. I use to when the babies were tiny."

  She began cleaning more vigorously. She was uncomfortable, and I looked up, wondering if Duke was around. The guests seemed on edge when he was close. Or maybe he was close because they were on edge.

  "How's the cocoa?" Althea asked.

  "Good," I said, making a show of taking a sip.

  "How's school?"

  "Today was long. I didn't sleep well last night, and Mrs. Mason called me in first thing."

  "Oh? Was she asking questions again?"

  "There's a girl at school who's missing. She was asking about her."

  "Oh? Who?"

  "Presley Brubaker."

  "Oh. Her. You said she's gone missing?"

  I nodded, warming my hands on the mug. "No one saw anything. There's a detective in town who thinks because I didn't get along with her that maybe I had something to do with it."

  "And what does Mrs. Mason say?"

  "She asked me a lot of questions today. The detective asked her to send him some kind of report."

  Althea curled her lip, seeming disgusted. "She's the one who called the DHS on your mama before, ain't she?"

  "She was just worried."

  "Is she worried now?" Althea asked.

  "Probably. She's worried about Elliott. I am, too."

  "Lord knows you are. I'm glad you forgave him. You're happier when you're getting along. Forgiveness is good. It heals the soul."

  "I pushed him away for a while. Just like I did Minka and Owen." I paused. "I thought it would be safer for him if I did."

  She puffed out a laugh. "Minka and Owen? Been a long time since you've talked about those two. They weren't good for you."

  "But you think Elliott is?"

  "I like to see you smile, and when you talk about that boy, your whole face lights up."

  "Althea . . . Mama was outside the other night. She was in her nightgown. Do you know why?"

  She shook her head. "Your mama's been strange lately. I just sit back and watch."

  I nodded, taking another sip. "So do you talk to Mama? Has she told you why she's been so . . . different?"

  "I spoke to her at the meeting."

  "The meeting about me."

  She nodded.

  "You wouldn't let anyone hurt me, right, Althea?"

  "Don't be silly."

  "Not even Mama?"

  Althea stopped cleaning. "Your mama would never hurt you. She wouldn't let anyone hurt you, either. She's proven it over and over. Don't you disrespect her to me. Never." She fled the room as if she'd been called. She rushed up the stairs, and a door slamming echoed through the Juniper.

  I covered my eyes with my hand. I'd just offended my only ally.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Catherine

  Madison held on to my arm, waiting for the Mudcats to break from time-out. We were down to the last few seconds of the fourth quarter of the championship game, on the twenty-yard line. The bleachers were packed, and we were tied with the Kingfisher Yellowjackets, 35-35. Coach Peckham was in a deep conversation with Elliott, whose eyes were focused on his coach's every word.

  Once they clapped and jogged out onto the field, the crowd erupted.

  "They're not going for the field goal!" Mrs. Mason said, covering her mouth.

  "What does that mean?" I asked.

  Madison squeezed my arm, watching Sam bang Elliott's shoulder pad with the side of his fist. "It means they have four seconds to make this play, or we go into overtime and Kingfisher has the ball."

  I looked up at the scouts in the press box. Some were on the phone, some writing notes. Elliott stood behind Sam, made a call, and then Sam hiked him the ball. The receivers spread out, and Elliott took his time, despite the screams and pressure from the stands.

  "Oh my God! Get open!" Madison yelled at the receivers.

  Elliott took off, carrying the ball toward the end zone, and Madison and Mrs. Mason began jumping up and down on each side of me. Elliott jumped over one Yellowjacket, then a second, and seeing he was unable to enter the end zone on the right, spun around and leaped, landing with the ball just inside the line. The referees lifted their hands in the air, and the team and fans detonated.

  Madison and Mrs. Mason were screaming in my ear one second, and the next, we were running down the steps, jumping over the railing, and running onto the field with the team. Everyone was smiling and bouncing and screaming. It was a sea of happiness, and I was in the middle, trying to make my way to Elliott. He was a head above the crowd, searching faces. I lifted my hand, shooting my fingers into the air.

  He saw them and tried parting the sea to get to me.

  "Catherine!" he yelled.

  I did my best to push through, but Elliott got to me first, lifting me off my feet with one arm to plant a kiss on my mouth.

  "You did it!" I said, excited. "If they don't give you a scholarship now, they're crazy!"

  He stared at me for a moment.

  "What?" I asked, laughing.

  "I've just never seen you so happy. It's kind of amazing."

  I pressed my lips together, trying not to grin like an idiot. "I love you."

  He laughed once and then squeezed me tight, burying his face in my neck. I pressed my cheek against his wet hair and kissed his forehead. The crowd was still celebrating, keeping the local police force's hands full as they tried to keep control. The other side of the stadium was quickly scattering, and Kingfisher's buses were already started and warming up.

  "Youngblood!" Coach Peckham called.

  Elliott winked at me. "Meet you at my car." He kissed me on the cheek one last time before setting me down and pushing through the crowd to reach the rest of the team in the center of the field.

  I bounced around like a pinball until I was pushed to the outer edge of the mob. Parents and students were passing out white candles with white cardboard wax catchers. The students settled down as the candles spread.

  Mrs. Brubaker froze in front of me, a white candle in her hand. "It's . . . um . . . it's a vigil for Presley."

  "Thank you," I said, taking the candle.

  Mrs. Brubaker attempted a smile, the corners of her mouth trembling. When she failed, she started handing out candles to other students.

  "You are disgusting," Tatum said, standing a few feet away in her cheer uniform. "How can you hold that candle knowing what you know?"

  "What do I know?" I asked.

  "Where she is!" Tatum shouted.

  The people around us turned toward the noise.

  "Yeah," Brie said. "Where is she, Catherine? What did you and Elliott do to her?"

  "You can't be serious," I snapped.

  "Come on," Madison said, hooking her arm in mine. "You don't have to take this."

  "Get out!" Brie shouted, pointing toward the parking lot. "Elliott did something to Presley! He's not a hero. He's a murderer!"

  "Brie," Tatum said, trying to shush her, "it's not Elliott's fault. It was her." She took a step toward me, her eyes glossing over. "It was you."

  One of the dads held Tatum back. "Okay, girls. What's going on here?"

  Brie pointed to me. "Catherine hated Presley." She pointed to Elliott. "And he got rid of Presley for her."

  "Is this true?" a mom asked.

  "No," I insisted, feeling dozens of eyes on me.

  Murmuring spread throughout the crowd, and the cheering died down.

  Tatum's mom held her to her side. "You shouldn't be here."

  "Why not?" Madison asked. "She didn't do anything wrong."

  "They need to leave!" someone shouted. "Get them out!"

  "Get out!"

  "Leave!"

  "Stop congratulating him! He did something to her! To Presley Brubaker!"

  "Murderer!"

  "Oh my God," Madison said.

  Students were shoving Elliott, and he was shoving back.

  "Leave him alon
e!" I cried.

  "Let's go, Catherine. Catherine," Madison said, pulling me. I could see the fear in her eyes.

  The parents began to boo Elliott, too. Uncle John pushed through the crowd, and once he reached Elliott, he held up his hands, trying to defuse the situation. But soon he was pushing back dads and yelling in their faces when they got too close. Elliott stood behind him but was still getting pushed from every direction.

  "Stop!" Leigh cried from the edge of the crowd. "Stop it!"

  Kay was yelling at another mom and then shoved her down.

  The lights shined down on the mob, spotlighting the sudden change. Those still in the stands stopped to stare at the chaos on the field. It wasn't a war. Wars had sides. This was emotional retaliation.

  Elliott looked for me, motioning for me to go to the gate while he was still getting screamed at and shoved. Madison pulled on me, and I watched Elliott over my shoulder as she dragged me away. The police grabbed Elliott and pushed him and his uncle John through the crowd, shielding them from the spit and wadded rosters. Even the police were having to yell and make threats to get through. All it took was a few reminders about Presley, and in seconds, Elliott went from being a small-town hero to the unwanted villain.

  We followed the police and Elliott, stopping only when we reached the stadium gate.

  "I wouldn't come back in," one of the officers said. "That's a big crowd, and emotions are high."

  Elliott frowned but nodded.

  Kay and Leigh rushed over to where we stood with John. Kay hugged Elliott, and John hugged Leigh to his side.

  "Are you okay?" Kay asked, hugging her son.

  "Yeah," Elliott said, noticing that the collar of his jersey was ripped. "They just started attacking me."

  "Come on," Leigh said. "We should go."

  "I'm going to take Catherine home first," Elliott said.

  "I can take her," Madison offered.

  Elliott looked to me, worry in his eyes.

  "I'm okay. Go ahead. I'll see you later," I said, pushing up on the balls of my feet to kiss the corner of his mouth.

  Leigh and Kay walked with Elliott, ushering him to his car. He kept his eyes on me, not looking forward until Kay said something to him.

  Madison looked back at the crowd. The stadium lights dimmed, and hundreds of tiny glowing lights were visible. The students and parents began singing a hymn, and Madison tugged on my coat.

  "I feel bad for saying this, but it's creepy that they just tried to attack Elliott and are now singing 'Amazing Grace.'"

  "It is a little creepy. They were ready to tear him apart, and now they're calm, standing there like pod people."