All the Little Lights
Page 67

“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 alone!” 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.”
“Let’s go.”
“You sure you don’t want to wait for Sam?” I asked.
“I’ll text him. We’ll meet up later.”
I walked with her to her 4Runner, the brand-new headlights erasing the evidence of what Presley and the clones had done. Madison pulled out of the parking lot and drove toward the Juniper.
“This town has gone nuts,” she said, her eyes wide. “Seconds before, they were cheering for him. I’m glad the cops got him out of there. It could have been a lot worse.”