All the Little Lights
Page 58

When I didn’t answer, Tess came to her own conclusion. “Was he mean to you?”
“Elliott? No, he would rather cut off his arm than upset me. He won’t even go to parties without me. He stood up to his coach for me. He loves me, Tess. Sometimes I think he loves me more than anything.”
Her cheeks flushed red. “What did the coach do?”
“Nothing,” I said with a sigh. “He didn’t do anything. It’s complicated.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Those girls. The ones who give you a hard time. Did they bother you? It was Presley again, wasn’t it? Is that what Althea was talking about? I heard her telling your mama they were bothering you. Mavis said they came by before.” With each sentence, Tess became more upset.
“Tatum likes Elliott, so Presley is being more hateful than usual, that’s all.”
“Well, at least when you dump him, they’ll leave you alone.”
“I’m not dumping him . . . and not likely.”
“You don’t think they’ll leave you alone?” Tess asked.
I shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know why they would. They’ve been bothering me for years, and they enjoy it. Presley especially. They bashed out the headlights of Madison’s car, trying to strand us in Yukon.” Tess frowned while she took another sip of her hot chocolate. “But it’s okay. They’ll all be leaving for college in a few months.”
“That reminds me,” Tess said, sliding a stack of letters toward me. “Althea said to make sure you saw these.”
I thumbed through them. They were all from different colleges in different states. There was a 99.99 percent chance I couldn’t afford any of them. Some envelopes were just surveys. Others were brochures from the schools. The campuses were all beautiful, shot in the summer, when they were covered in plush green grass and sunshine. My heart sank. Those places were so far out of my reach, they might as well have been on the moon.
I wondered if Elliott would be recruited by scouts during playoffs, which college he would end up choosing, and how far away he would go, if he would be one of the college freshmen gathered together on one of those lawns, and which girl would be cheering for him in the stands. My eyes filled with tears, and I pushed them away.
“The quicker you cut him loose, the easier it will be on you both.”
I looked over at Tess. “You have to go. I have a lot of homework, and then I have chores.”
Tess nodded and slid off the stool to leave.
I opened my geometry textbook, pulling out the folded notebook paper still inside. I had only finished half the assignment in class, my mind swirling with how much longer I could ignore that Elliott was leaving. I’d let him get too close, and I’d put him in danger. Now he was a pariah at school. When it was time, I’d have to let him go.
Page after page, problem after problem, I finished each assignment as the sun set and night set in. The Juniper grew noisier at night. The walls creaked, water whooshed through the pipes, and the refrigerator hummed. In winter, the wind would blow so hard at times the front door would struggle to stay closed.
The refrigerator clicked off, and the humming stopped. For once, it was too quiet. The back door opened and then closed, and footsteps seemed to walk in circles.
“Mama?” I called. She didn’t answer. “The heater isn’t working quite right. Want me to call someone?”
Duke came around the corner, sweaty and huffing, his tie loose and hanging askew. I tensed, waiting for an outburst.
“Duke. I . . . didn’t realize anyone was here. I’m sorry, what can I do for you?”
“I’ll take care of the heater. You stay out of the basement from now on. I hear you have a bad habit of getting locked down there.”
“Like you didn’t know?” I asked.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he snarled.
“Nothing,” I grumbled, putting my finished homework away. He was referring to the time I was stuck down there for three hours. I’d gone down to check the water heater, and someone shut the door on me. I had a suspicion it was Duke, but when Mama finally answered my calls for help, she said Duke hadn’t checked in.
The basement door slammed, and Duke’s heavy boots stomped down the rickety steps, stopping only when he reached the bottom. He was moving things around, making a racket. I was glad I’d finished my homework. The banging and screeching of chair legs being pulled across concrete would have made concentration impossible.
I readied my backpack for the next day, placed it by the door, then climbed the stairs, exhaustion building with each step. My heavy feet caught on the matted, dirty carpet, forcing me to hold on to the grungy wooden railing to keep myself from tripping. The house had aged twenty years in the two years since Dad had been gone. I only knew how to do upkeep like light the pilot light and check for leaks in the plumbing. The paint was peeling, the pipes were leaking, the lamps would blink, and the house was drafty. Mama wouldn’t let me do even small updates. She didn’t want anything to change, so we just let it rot.
Once in my room, I peeled off my clothes, listening to the pipes rattle and whistle before the water sprayed through the showerhead.
Freshly scrubbed and shampooed, I stood in my robe in front of the mirror, wiping away the hundreds of tiny water droplets with my palm. The girl in the mirror was different than the one who’d stood in front of the mirror with Elliott just a few days before. The dark circles had returned, and my eyes were sad and tired. Even knowing how it would end, I still looked forward to seeing him at school every day. It was the only thing I looked forward to, and I was going to let him go for reasons I didn’t completely understand.
My comb slid through my wet hair. I wondered what my dad would think about how long my hair had grown, if he’d have approved of Elliott, and how different my life would be if Dad had lived. The music box on my dresser began to play one chime at a time, and I walked into my bedroom, gazing at the pink cube. It was closed and I hadn’t wound it in days, but since the day after Dad’s funeral, I’d pretended the misfiring of the pin drum that created the slow, haunting tune was Dad’s way of talking to me.
I carried the music box to my window, winding the tiny gold crank and then opening the lid, watching my misshapen ballerina twirl to the comforting tune.
I sat on the small bench seat beneath the window, already feeling the cold air seeping through the cracks. The Fentons’ maple tree on the far side of their lot was obscuring a full view of the night sky, but I could still see hundreds of twinkling stars between the branches.
The streetlamps had been neglected and were slowly going out one at a time, but the millions of stars above would always be there: mysterious, silent witnesses, just like the guests of the Juniper.
A handful of gravel rocks bounced off the glass, and I looked two stories down to see Elliott standing in the dark.
I pushed up the window with a smile, winter breathing in my face. “I didn’t think you were coming.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because practice has been over for hours?”
He looked ashamed. “Sorry, I got tied up. I thought . . . I think I should come up again,” he called up as quietly as he could. “That I should stay.”
“Elliott . . . ,” I sighed. One night was a risk. Two was making a decision.
Icy wind blew Elliott’s hair forward. After just one night of having him in my room, I was desperate to be surrounded by that hair, his arms, and the safety I felt just being close to him. Another gust blew in through the window, and I wrapped my robe tighter around me. “It’s freezing. You should go home.”