All the Little Lights

  He stayed with me while I opened my locker. After I had Spanish, physics, and world history textbooks stacked in my hands, Elliott walked me to the office and kissed my cheek before trying to make it to his locker and then class before the bell. I wondered if he would get stopped on the way.

  "Good morning, Catherine," Mrs. Mason said. She was already typing away when I stepped inside her office. She noticed my silence and looked up. "Uh-oh. Is everything okay?"

  I chewed on the inside of my lip, wanting so badly to tell her about Elliott, but he would hate feeling he was hiding in her office all day.

  "It was a hectic morning. Breakfast burned. We had to start over."

  "Were you distracted?"

  "It wasn't me. It was Mama. She's . . . sad again." Spending almost four weeks in a small office with Mrs. Mason made it impossible to avoid conversation. After the first week, she was beginning to get suspicious, so I'd tell her just enough to keep her happy.

  "Did something happen, or . . . ?"

  "You know. She just gets this way sometimes. It's getting worse the closer I get to graduation."

  "Have you applied to any colleges yet? You still have time."

  I shook my head, instantly dismissing the idea.

  "You could easily get a scholarship, Catherine. I could help you."

  "We've talked about this. You know I can't leave her."

  "Why? Lots of kids go to college when their parents are business owners. You could come back with your knowledge and do something amazing with the Juniper. What about hotel management?"

  I chuckled.

  Mrs. Mason smiled. "Is that funny?"

  "It's just not possible."

  "Catherine, are you telling me you can't go to college because your mom can't take care of herself while you're gone? Does that mean you're taking care of her?"

  "Some days more than others."

  "Catherine," Mrs. Mason said, clasping her hands behind her nameplate. She leaned over, her eyes sad and desperate. "Please. Please let me help you. What is going on over there?"

  I frowned, then turned my back to her, opening my Spanish workbook.

  She sighed, and then a steady stream of clicking on her keyboard filled the silence of the small space.

  My number two pencil scratched against the notebook paper, adding a new rhythm to Mrs. Mason's tapping. Sitting in silence with her had become comfortable--safe, even. There was nothing to do here but schoolwork. I could just be.

  Just before lunch, the blinds in Mrs. Mason's office rattled. After some yelling and commotion, Mrs. Mason peeked out and then yanked on the cord.

  Coach Peckham stood just inside the office door, holding Elliott's arm with one hand and the arm of another student I didn't recognize because both of his eyes were nearly swollen shut.

  Mrs. Mason ran out, and I followed her.

  "This one," Coach Peckham said, pushing the boy forward, "started it. This one," he said, shoving Elliott forward, "finished it."

  "Who is that?" Mrs. Rosalsky asked, scurrying in with an ice pack. She helped the boy to sit, holding two cold squares against his eyes.

  "Not one of mine . . . for once," Coach Peckham said. "Owen Roe."

  I covered my mouth.

  Mrs. Rosalsky looked up. "I'm calling the nurse. I'm pretty sure his nose is broken."

  Mrs. Mason lowered her chin. "Dr. Augustine and Vice Principal Sharp are in an administration meeting. Elliott, follow me to Dr. Augustine's office, please. Catherine, back to your desk."

  I nodded, catching the shame on Elliott's face as he walked by with not a scratch on him. His left hand was swollen, and I wondered how many times those knuckles had made contact with Owen's face before someone stopped him, how much pent-up rage was behind the same punches that put holes in doors.

  I walked over to Owen, sitting next to him and helping him hold the ice pack to his left eye.

  "Hey," I said.

  "Catherine?"

  "It's me," I said, pulling my hand away when he jerked back.

  "I'm just trying to help," I said.

  "Even though your boyfriend blinded me?"

  "You're not blind. The swelling will go down." I hesitated, unsure if I wanted to know. "What happened?"

  He leaned away. "Like you care."

  "I do. I do care. I know we've . . . I know I've been distant."

  "Distant? More like nonexistent. What did we do to you, Catherine?"

  "Nothing. You didn't do anything."

  He turned his chin toward me, unable to see my expression. "You don't just leave two people in the dust--people you've been friends with for most of your life--for nothing."

  I sighed. "My dad died."

  "We know. We tried to be there for you."

  "That's not what I needed."

  "Then why not tell us? Why make Minka feel like she was worthless and make me feel like I was garbage you could just throw away? I get you were hurting. So tell us you need space."

  I nodded, looking down. "You're right. That's what I should have done."

  "You slammed the door in our faces. More than once."

  "I was awful to you, and you were just trying to be my friend. But I wasn't myself. I'm still not . . . the girl you knew. And things are far worse now than they were then."

  "What do you mean?" he asked. The hurt and anger in his voice melted away.

  I stood. "You still need to stay away from me. It's still not safe."

  He sat back, the sullen expression returning. "But Madison and Sam are invincible against that, I guess?"

  "Maddy and Sam don't want to come in," I whispered.

  "What do you mean? Something's happening in your house?"

  Two paramedics walked in, one short and soft around the middle, the other tall and lanky. They introduced themselves to Owen, and I stepped back.

  "Catherine?" Mrs. Rosalsky said, looking toward the counselor's open door.

  I knew what she wanted, so I returned to Mrs. Mason's office to study alone. The bell to release first hour rang, and then again to initiate second. Elliott was still in the principal's office, and the rest of the administration were carrying on like normal.

  Half an hour later, Elliott emerged from Dr. Augustine's office. He kept his gaze locked on the floor, an apology barely audible when he passed.

  "Hey," I said, reaching out to him with a comforting smile, but he ignored me, storming out the door. Two school security guards followed him, and I turned to Mrs. Mason. "You suspended him?"

  "Don't look at me like that," she said, pulling me into her office and closing the door. "He sent a student to the hospital. He didn't exactly give me a choice."

  "What happened?" I demanded.

  "You know I can't discuss it with you."

  "He'll just tell me after school."

  Mrs. Mason fell into her chair. "Are you sure about that?" I frowned. She sighed, sitting up. "Owen said something Elliott didn't like. Elliott punched him. A lot."

  "He wouldn't do that unprovoked."

  "Really? Because I heard about his fight with Cruz Miller at the bonfire party." She busied herself with organizing papers on her desk, clearly rattled.

  "Do you have any idea what he's gone through the past month? Ever since we were dragged in here and questioned about Presley, everyone thinks we did something to her."

  "Well, it wasn't self-defense today." Mrs. Mason stopped fussing with her papers and sighed, looking up at me with sincerity in her eyes. "When he didn't stop, he became the aggressor. Don't worry. You're safe here."

  "But he's been out there."

  She mulled over my words. "You think I should have brought him in, too? Surely no one is stupid enough to bother Elliott. He's nearly the size of an NFL player."

  "It's a good thing he is. It's like plowing through a football field coming down C Hall from the parking lot every morning, at lunch, and after school."

  "They're putting hands on you?"

  "Mrs. Mason . . . please. You can't suspend him. He could
lose any scholarship he's being considered for."

  She watched me for a moment. This was the most I'd spoken to her about my thoughts or feelings, and I could see her deciding to use it to her advantage. Her next question proved me right.

  "Tell me what's going on at home, and I'll reconsider."

  "Are you . . . are you bribing me?"

  "Yes," she said flatly. "Tell me what you and Elliott are covering up, and I'll let him come back to school tomorrow."

  My mouth dropped open. The room began to spin, and the air felt thinner. "This isn't fair. I'm not sure this is even ethical."

  "Does it matter?" she asked, sitting back. She was proud of herself. She knew she'd already won.

  "Can you even do that? Reverse his suspension?"

  "I can give him in-house suspension with counseling. That should appease Owen's parents."

  I rolled my eyes. "I told you, he could lose his scholarship."

  She shrugged. "That's what I can do. Take it or leave it."

  "In-house suspension with counseling. You're doing the counseling?"

  "If you tell me the truth about what's been happening in your home."

  I sat in my chair, hanging on to the back like it was a lifeline.

  "You can think about it," Mrs. Mason said.

  It was easier than I thought to make the decision to leave. Now that Mrs. Mason was forcing me to choose between saving Elliott or the Juniper, the answer came to me in seconds. In that moment, I was sure that I loved him, that I was worthy of his love, and that letting the Juniper go under was what would truly save Mama in the end. She might hate me until she got better, or she might hate me forever, but I knew it was the right thing to do for everyone I loved. Althea and Poppy, I knew, would understand.

  I met Mrs. Mason's gaze; the decision was easy, but the words were difficult to say aloud. I was about to go against everything I had fought to protect for over two years, every reason for pushing Elliott away--for pushing everyone away. My cage was about to blow wide open. For the first time in a very long time, I didn't know what would happen next.

  "I don't need to," I said.

  Mrs. Mason lowered her chin as if she were bracing herself for what I might say. "Catherine, are you being cared for at home?"

  I cleared my throat, my heart thumping so loud I thought Mrs. Mason could surely hear it. "No."

  Mrs. Mason clasped her hands together, waiting patiently for me to continue.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Catherine

  Madison slowed to a stop in front of the Juniper, and Sam leaned forward, looking up at the dusty windows and chipped paint.

  "Wow," Sam said, his mouth hanging open.

  "Thanks, Maddy. I know your dad doesn't want you around me, so I appreciate you giving me a ride. I hope you don't get into any trouble."

  Madison turned in her seat to show her disgust in its full glory. "It's two degrees below freezing, and Elliott isn't allowed on campus to pick you up. Of course I'm going to give you a ride home."

  I smiled. "Thank you. Mrs. Mason offered, but I saw her to-do list for this evening, and it was two pages long."

  "Want me to walk you to the door? Or inside?" Sam asked, peering out the window in awe.

  "Sam! God!" Madison scolded. "Not the time!"

  "No, thank you," I said, gathering my things.

  Madison touched my arm.

  I carried my backpack inside and went upstairs, folding my clothes and placing as many shirts, pants, socks, and underwear as I could fit in the luggage my dad had bought me years before. I'd fantasized a hundred times about using it for the first time, but never in those fantasies did leaving the Juniper for just another place in Oak Creek cross my mind.

  Different scenarios played over and over in my mind, Mama's reaction, saying goodbye, and hoping it would all be okay in the end. Still, nothing I could imagine made me regret helping Elliott. He was good, like Althea and Dad were good. Elliott had been pushed into a corner and then fought his way out, but there weren't many things he wouldn't do for those he loved. I just happened to be one of the lucky few.

  Cupboards slammed downstairs, and then someone called my name--someone young and impatient, but it wasn't Poppy.

  "Hey," I said, rounding the corner and sitting on the island.

  "You look terrible," Cousin Imogen snarled. She set a cup of tea in front of me and crossed her arms.

  I sat with my coat on at the kitchen island, holding my hands over the cup of steaming tea like it was a campfire. Imogen seemed unaffected, wearing her favorite peace sign T-shirt, her hair tucked behind her ears. She stood with her backside leaning against the counter, watching me. Nearly all the cupboards were wide open, left that way after she'd rummaged through them looking for the tea bags.

  She usually offered an olive branch in the form of tea after her dad treated me terribly, but before, it had always been a day or two after it happened. Mama had never forbidden anyone to come back before, and until that moment, I'd held out hope that she could actually make them stay away.

  Imogen glared at me. "Well? Are you going to drink the stupid tea or not?"

  A thick silence followed Imogen's question, allowing the whistling wind sneaking inside the weak parts of the Juniper to be noticed. A door slammed upstairs, and we both looked up.

  "Duke?" Imogen asked, unsettled.

  "Change in pressure. It's just the wind."

  The curtains were pulled, only allowing slivers of silver light into the dining room and kitchen. The clouds outside seemed to have moved over Oak Creek and unpacked, happy to stay for the rest of the winter. Allowed but unwelcome, just like the guests at the Juniper.

  "You never said. Why are you so sad? What happened today? Your mama was telling my dad about a girl who went missing. Did you hear anything about her today?"

  The thought of Uncle Toad being here made me angry. He wasn't supposed to be allowed back. Her failure to stand her ground was just another sign Mama's depression was getting worse. I picked at the chip in the cup in front of me.

  "No."

  "No?" Imogen asked. "You haven't heard anything about her?"

  "Just that she's still missing," I said, taking a sip. "Imogen . . . where's Mama?"

  Imogen fidgeted. "Upstairs. Why?"

  "You need to have her come down. I need to talk to her."

  Imogen snarled. "About what?"

  "I want to talk to Mama. Not you. Tell her to come."

  Imogen crossed her arms, her expression set in a stubborn smirk.

  "Fine," I said, taking another sip. "I'm leaving. Today."

  "What?" Imogen said, walking around the island. "What are you talking about?"

  "Elliott got suspended today. I told Mrs. Mason about the Juniper to keep it off his record."

  Imogen leaned down, looking at me from under her brows. She kept her voice low. "Told her what about the Juniper?"

  I stared ahead, unable to see the fear I knew was in Imogen's eyes. "That Mama's sick, and I've been taking care of things."

  "That's a lie," Imogen hissed. "Aunt Mavis takes good care of you."

  "Not for a long time," I said, picking at the mug, avoiding her eyes.

  "Take that back. Take it back!" she screamed in my ear. I winced, leaning away from her.

  "You need to get Mama," I said, keeping my voice calm. "They'll be here soon."

  "Who?" she shrieked.

  "DHS."

  Imogen's face twisted into disgust. "What's that?"

  "Department of Human Services," I said, the words absorbing into my chest and weighing me down. I'd done what I promised I would never do.

  Imogen seemed to panic and then whimpered, running upstairs, calling for Mama.

  "Mavis!" she cried. "Mavis!"

  Someone pounded on the door, and I scrambled to open it. Elliott was on the other side, finally wearing his coat, his breath puffing out in white clouds with every exhale. He looked surprised to see me, holding up a torn envelope and folded paper.


  "What did you do?" he asked.

  "What did you do?" Mama said, stomping down the stairs. She grabbed my shoulders, shaking me.

  Elliott pulled me back, standing between us. "Whoa, whoa . . . wait a minute. Let's calm down."

  "Calm down? Calm down?" Mama asked, her voice shrill.

  I closed my eyes. "She hates that."

  "How could you do this to me?" Mama asked, pushing Elliott aside. "You told that . . . that bitch counselor about us, and now what? You're going to live in some dilapidated foster home with ten other kids? With strangers? For what? For him?"

  "What?" Elliott asked, turning to me. He looked betrayed, and I could see the hurt in his eyes at the realization that she knew and he didn't. "You told Mrs. Mason?"

  "I told her enough."

  "Enough for what?" Elliott asked. He held up the envelope. "For this?"

  A black van slowed to a stop next to the curb in front of Elliott's Chrysler, a police cruiser behind it, and I broke free, running upstairs.

  Elliott looked at the van, down at the paper, and then at me. "You're leaving? Where are they taking you?"

  "I can't say right now." I grabbed two bags and my backpack, taking two steps at a time until I was at the front door. Mama grabbed my coat in her fist and held on.

  "No. You're not going."

  "Mama, you have to get better. You have to close down the Juniper--"

  "No!" she yelled.

  "You have to close it down, and everyone has to leave. Then I'll come back. I'll stay with you. But . . ." When I realized she was gawking at the van and not paying attention, I gently pulled her by the chin to face me. "Mama? I need you to listen. They're going to ask you who you'd prefer I stay with. You need to tell them Mrs. Mason. Rebecca Mason. The school counselor. You have to say it's okay that I stay with her."

  A woman and a man stepped out of the van and walked toward our house.

  "Mama? Mrs. Mason," I repeated, emphasizing my counselor's name. Mrs. Mason told me DHS would need Mama to sign paperwork okaying my move to her home. Otherwise, I would go to the DHS office and wait for placement.

  "No!" Mama said, trying to pull me inside while she attempted to close the door.

  I met her terrified gaze. "I'll be back."

  "When? W--what am I going to do? I'll be alone. What am I going to do?" Mama said, tears spilling over her cheeks.

  After a quick knock, the screen door swung open, and the man smoothed his jacket and straightened his tie. Elliott was standing behind them, unsure and worried.