All the Little Lights by Jamie McGuire

  Mr. Mason blinked and then eyed Elliott. "It's in the back." Scotty was sitting at Elliott's table. "All right, you two. This isn't musical chairs. Get back to your spots."

  Elliott sighed and then struggled to free himself of the small wooden chair and attached desk while everyone chuckled--everyone but me and the Masons.

  Mr. Mason looked up at his estranged wife, waiting for some sign of her satisfaction. She was caught off guard--for once it wasn't Mr. Mason's fault. I watched him sit a bit taller, that small victory enough to make him feel more like a man than he had in probably a long time.

  "What do you need, Becca?" he said, firm.

  "I . . . need Catherine."

  I sank low in my seat, already feeling twenty pairs of eyes on the back of my head.

  Mr. Mason scanned the room, and his gaze landed on me--as if he didn't know exactly where I sat--and then he jerked his head toward the door.

  I nodded, gathered my supplies, and followed Mrs. Mason to the office. She sat behind her desk and clasped her hands together, still a bit shaken from losing the upper hand.

  "You okay?" I asked.

  She smiled, breathing a small laugh out of her nose. "I'm supposed to be asking you that." I waited, and she conceded. "Yes, I'm okay. I guess I'm not used to being wrong, Catherine. I'm slipping."

  "Maybe you're not perfect. Maybe that's okay."

  She narrowed her eyes at me, a playful scowl on her face. "Who's the counselor here?"

  I smiled.

  "You know what I'm going to ask," she said, sitting back in her chair. "Why don't you just talk?"

  I shrugged. "Things are better."

  She sat up. "Better?"

  "Elliott."

  "Elliott?" She was clearly trying to keep the hope she was feeling a secret, and failing horribly.

  I nodded, frowning as I stared at the floor. "Sort of. I'm trying not to."

  "Why? Because you prefer to keep to yourself, or because he's pressuring you to be more than friends?"

  My nose wrinkled. "It's nothing like that. I'm just still angry."

  She bristled like my dad use to do when I'd talk about Presley. "What did he do?"

  "He use to stay with his aunt during the summers. Then he had to go home. It was the day my . . . the day he . . ."

  She nodded, and I was thankful she didn't need me to say the words. "And?"

  "He promised he'd come back, but he didn't. Then he tried when he got his license, but he got caught. Now his parents are getting a divorce, and he's here."

  "That's quite a story. So you're starting to realize that maybe it wasn't his fault? He seems like a nice guy. And you said he tried to come back?"

  I nodded, trying not to smile as I envisioned him sneaking out in the middle of the night and jumping in his rickety car, racing down the highway at forty-five miles an hour. "He tried . . . Mrs. Mason?"

  "Yes?"

  "Back when you were my age, did you go to football games?"

  She smiled at the instant memories filling her mind. "Every one of them. Mr. Mason played football."

  "Did you have a job?"

  "Yes, but they understood that I was a kid. You can't get these years back, Catherine."

  I thought about her words. High school wasn't my favorite, but I couldn't go back and do it over.

  "Have you been to a game?" she asked, snapping me back to reality. She knew the answer by the look on my face. "Never? Oh, you should go, Catherine. They're so much fun. What makes you nervous about going?"

  I hesitated, but Mrs. Mason's office had always been a safe place. "I have chores at home."

  "Can they wait? Maybe if you talk to your mom about it?"

  I shook my head, and she nodded in understanding. "Catherine, are you safe at home?"

  "Yes. She doesn't hit me. Never has."

  "Good. I believe you. If that changes . . ."

  "It won't."

  "I don't want you to get into trouble. I can't advise you to do anything against your mother's wishes. I think you should ask permission, but a night off is not unreasonable. As a minor, it's required. Anything else?" She noticed my unease. "Come on. You know you can talk to me. Do you want me to do my top ten most embarrassing moments of high school again?"

  A laugh erupted from my throat. "No. No, I won't make you do that."

  "Okay, then. Share."

  After a few seconds, I vomited the truth. "I'll have to sit by myself."

  "I'm going. Sit with me."

  I made a face, and she conceded. "All right. All right. I'm not the coolest, but I'm a person to sit next to. Lots of students sit with their parents." I eyed her, and she backpedaled. "Okay. Some of them do. For a second. Just sit with me until you're comfortable. We can get a cherry limeade on the way home, and I can drop you off."

  "That's um . . . that's very nice of you, but Elliott said he'd take me home. We're practically neighbors."

  She clapped her hands together once. "Then it's settled. First football game. Woo!"

  Her reaction might have made another student roll her eyes, but I hadn't experienced that kind of celebrating since before Dad died. I offered her an awkward smile and then glanced over my shoulder at the clock.

  "Maybe I should . . . ?"

  "Yes. We'll talk again next month if that's okay. I'm impressed with your progress, Catherine. I'm excited for you."

  "Thanks," I said, pushing in my chair.

  The bell rang, so I went straight to my locker, placing my hand on the black dial, pausing for a second to remember the combination.

  "Two, forty-four, sixteen," Elliott said behind me.

  I narrowed my eyes. "That's none of your business."

  "I'm sorry. I'll forget it. So? You coming?"

  I sighed. "Why? Why do you want me to come so badly?"

  "I just do. I want you to see us win. I want you to be there when I run off the field. I want to see you waiting by my car when I come out, my hair wet, still out of breath, high on adrenaline. I want you to be part of it."

  "Oh," I said, overwhelmed by his admission.

  "Too much?" He chuckled, amused by my reaction.

  "Okay, let's go."

  "Really?"

  "Yes, let's hurry before I change my mind." I put all my books away except one and stuffed it in my bag, slinging one strap over my shoulder as I turned.

  Elliott was holding out his hand, waiting for me to take it.

  I glanced around, searching for curious eyes.

  "Don't look at them. Look at me," he said, still extending his hand.

  I took it, and he led me down the hall, out the double doors, and across the parking lot. We put our bags in his car and continued to the football field, my hand still in his.

  Chapter Twelve

  Catherine

  Elliott received the ball from Scotty, took a few steps back, and shot the football in a perfect spiral to Connor. Connor sailed in the air, higher than I thought a human was capable of jumping, clearing the outstretched arms of two players from the other team. He clutched the ball to his chest, falling hard to the ground.

  The referees blew their whistles, lifting their hands in the air, and the crowd jumped to their feet, cheering so loudly I had to hold my hands over my ears.

  Mrs. Mason grabbed my arms, bouncing up and down like a giddy high school student. "We won! They did it!"

  The scoreboard read 44-45, and the Mudcats, sweaty and a little beat up, stood shoulder to shoulder, their arms around each other, swaying side to side while the band played our school song.

  Mrs. Mason began singing and hooked her arm around me. The rest of the crowd was doing the same, swaying and smiling.

  "Ohhh-Seeee-Ayyytch-Ehsssssss!" the crowd sang, and then everyone broke into applause.

  The Mudcats broke formation and began jogging to the locker room, helmets in hand--all but Elliott. He was looking for someone in the stands. His teammates were encouraging him to follow them off the field, but he ignored them.

  "Is he look
ing for you?" Mrs. Mason asked.

  "No," I said, shaking my head.

  "Catherine!" Elliott yelled.

  I stepped out into the stairway from the bleacher I was sitting on.

  "Catherine Calhoun!" Elliott yelled again, this time holding his free hand against the side of his mouth.

  Some people in line for the exit stairs looked up, the cheerleaders turned, and then the students in a narrow line between Elliott and me stopped cheering and chatting to look up.

  I ran down the steps, waving at him until he saw me. Coach Peckham touched Elliott's arm and tugged, but Elliott kept his feet stationary, not moving until he recognized me in the crowd and waved back.

  I imagined those behind me were wondering what Elliott saw in me that they didn't. But in the moment that Elliott's gaze met mine, none of that mattered. We might as well have been sitting on the edge of Deep Creek, picking at the ground and pretending we weren't desperate to hold hands instead of grass. And in that moment, the pain and anger I'd held on to instead disappeared.

  Elliott jogged off the field with his coach, who patted him on the backside once before they disappeared around the corner.

  The crowd was dispersing, filing down the stairways and pushing past me.

  Mrs. Mason finally made her way to me and hooked her arm around mine. "What a great game. Worth taking a night off. Elliott's taking you home?" I nodded. "You're sure?"

  "I'm sure. I'm supposed to wait by his car. My backpack's in there, so . . ."

  "Sounds like a plan. I'll see you tomorrow."

  She stopped abruptly, letting me pass her so she could turn left toward the side street that ran along the stadium. Coach Peckham met her at the corner, and they continued on together.

  I raised an eyebrow and then began navigating the maze of cars between the stadium entrance and Elliott's car. I reached his Chrysler and leaned my backside against the rusting metal just above his front driver's-side tire.

  My classmates returned to their cars, animated about the game and the inevitable party that would follow. The girls pretended they weren't impressed with the boys' ridiculous antics to get their attention. I swallowed when I saw Presley's white Mini Cooper two cars away and then heard her shrill laughter.

  She paused, Anna Sue, Brie, Tara, and Tatum just behind her.

  "Oh my God," she said, her hand to her chest. "Are you waiting for Elliott? Is he, like, your boyfriend?"

  "No," I said, embarrassed a second time by the trembling in my voice. I hated the way the slightest confrontation affected me.

  "So you're just waiting for him? Like a puppy? Oh my God!" Anna Sue said, covering her mouth with her hand.

  "We're friends," I said.

  "You don't have friends," Presley snarled.

  Elliott jogged up, still wet from his shower, and wrapped his arms around me, twirling me in a circle. I held him tight, as if letting go would let in all the hurt and darkness surrounding us.

  He leaned down and planted a kiss on my mouth, so quick I didn't realize what had happened until it was over.

  I blinked, knowing Presley and the clones were gawking at us.

  "Let's go celebrate!" Elliott said with a toothy grin.

  "Are you going to the party, Elliott?" Brie asked, nervously twirling her hair between her fingers.

  He glanced over at them, seeming to just notice they were there. "The bonfire? Nah. I'm taking my girl out."

  He knew I wouldn't argue in front of an audience, especially not Presley.

  "Oh really?" Presley snapped, finally finding her voice. She smirked at Brie before speaking again. "Kit-Cat just said you weren't her boyfriend."

  He lifted my hand to his lips and gave it a peck, winking at me. "Her name is Catherine, and . . . not yet. I'm having a good night, though. I think I just might talk her into it."

  Presley rolled her eyes. "Gross. C'mon," she said, herding her friends to her car.

  "Ready?" he asked, opening his door.

  I got behind the wheel and scooted to the middle. Elliott sat next to me, but before I could move again, he touched my knee. "Just sit here, would ya?"

  "In the middle?"

  He nodded, hope in his eyes.

  I exhaled, feeling awkward and comfortable at the same time. Elliott made me feel safe in a way I hadn't since the day he'd left, like I wasn't trying to survive alone.

  He backed out of the parking space and drove toward the lot's exit, taking off like a rocket down the road to the stop sign, and then again down Main Street. Other members of the team honked at us in excess as they passed, some of their passengers hanging out the window to wave or lift their shirts or other nonsense.

  We passed Walmart, where there was a concentration of vehicles parked and high schoolers standing outside in the parking lot, yelling, dancing, and whatever else to stand out. When they recognized Elliott's Chrysler, they yelled and honked, trying to get him to pull over.

  "You can take me home and go back," I offered.

  He shook his head slowly. "No way."

  "I should get home, though."

  "No problem. We'll go through the drive-through, and you'll be home in ten. Deal?"

  The Chrysler worked hard to reach forty miles per hour on the street that led to Braum's. Elliott pulled into the drive-through, ordered two cones and two cherry limeades, and then pulled forward.

  "Thank you," I said. "I'll pay you back."

  "No, you won't. My treat."

  "Thanks for the ride home, too. And inviting me to the game. It was fun to watch."

  "Fun to watch me?"

  "That was fun, too," I said, my cheeks flushing.

  When we received our cones, Elliott lifted his to toast. "To the Mudcats."

  "And their quarterback," I said, touching my ice cream gently to his.

  Elliott beamed, most of the ice cream top disappearing in his mouth. He kept his cherry limeade between his thighs while he drove me home, using one hand to steer and the other to hold his ice cream.

  He talked about the different football plays, why they worked, why they didn't, the trash talk, and as he pulled next to the curb in front of my house, he sighed with contentment. "I'm gonna miss football."

  "You won't play in college?"

  He shook his head. "Nah. I'd need a scholarship, and I'm not that good."

  "You said you're considered one of the best in the state."

  He thought about that. "Yeah . . ."

  "So you're good, Elliott. A scholarship is possible. Give yourself some credit."

  He shrugged, blinking. "Wow. I hadn't let myself believe it, I guess. Maybe I can go to college."

  "You can."

  "You think so?"

  I nodded once. "I do."

  "Mom and Aunt Leigh want me to go. I don't know. I'm sort of tired of school. I have things I want to do. Places I want to see."

  "You could take a gap year to travel. That would be fun. Except my dad use to say that most people who take a gap year never end up enrolling in college. And that might mess with any scholarships."

  He turned in his seat, his face just inches from mine. The seats were scratchy and smelled musty, mixing with Elliott's sweat and freshly applied deodorant. He seemed nervous, making me nervous.

  "I'm good for you," he said finally. "I know . . . I know you might not trust me yet, but--"

  "Elliott," I blurted out. I sighed. "I lost the two people I cared about most in the same day. He died, and I was alone. With her . . . and you just left me here to drown. It's not about trust." I pressed my lips together. "You broke my heart. Even if we could find our way back to the way it use to be . . . that girl you knew . . . she's gone."

  He shook his head, his eyes glossing over. "You have to know I wouldn't leave like that by choice. Mom threatened to never let me come back again. She saw how I felt about you. She knew there was nowhere else I'd rather be, and she was right."

  My eyebrows pulled together. "Why? Why do you like me so much? You have all those friends--most of
whom don't like me, by the way. You don't need me."

  He gazed at me for several long seconds, seeming in awe. "I fell in love with you that summer, Catherine. I've loved you ever since."

  It took me several seconds to respond. "I'm not that girl anymore, Elliott."

  "Yeah, you are. I can still see her."

  "That was a long time ago."

  He shrugged, unapologetic. "You never get over your first love."

  I struggled for words, finding none.

  His eyebrows pulled together, desperation in his eyes. "Will you give me another chance? Catherine . . . please," he pleaded. "I promise I'll never leave you like that again. I swear on my life. I'm not fifteen anymore. I make my own choices now, and I hope to God you choose to forgive me. I don't know what I'll do if you don't."

  I looked over my shoulder at the Juniper. The windows were dark. The house was sleeping. "I believe you," I said, looking at him. Before his smile grew wider, I inserted a quick disclaimer. "But Mama's been worse since Dad died. I have to help her run the bed and breakfast. I barely have time for myself."

  He smiled. "I'll take what I can get."

  I mirrored his expression, but then it fell away. "You can't come in, and you can't ask questions."

  His eyebrows furrowed. "Why?"

  "That's a question. I like you, and I'd like to try. But I can't talk about Mama, and you can't come inside."

  "Catherine," he said, sliding his fingers between mine, "does she hurt you? Does anyone who stays there hurt you?"

  I shook my head. "No. She's just . . . a very private person."

  "Will you tell me? If that changes?" he asked, squeezing my hand.

  I nodded. "Yes."

  He steadied himself and then cupped my cheeks, leaning in and closing his eyes.

  I wasn't sure what to do, so I closed my eyes, too. His lips touched mine, soft and full. He kissed me once and pulled away, smiling before leaning in again, this time letting his mouth part. I tried to mirror what he did, both panicking and melting against him. He held me while his tongue slipped inside and touched mine, wet and warm. Once the dance inside our mouths found a rhythm, I wrapped my arms around his neck and leaned closer, begging him to hold me tighter. I would walk into the Juniper soon, and I wanted the safety I felt with Elliott to encompass me for as long as I could have it.

  Just when my lungs screamed for air, Elliott pulled away, touching his forehead to mine. "Finally," he whispered, the word barely audible. His next words weren't much louder. "I'll be on the porch swing at nine. I'll bring some huckleberry bread for breakfast."