All the Little Lights
Page 69

I left her alone in the kitchen to search the pantry. The shelves were nearly bare except for a box of Cheerios, instant rice, some sauces, a few cans of vegetables, and, yes! Bagels!
I returned to the kitchen with the bag of bagels in hand, but my celebration was short-lived. The grocery list I’d made was still stuck to the refrigerator with a magnet. I was going to have to go shopping after school, and I wasn’t sure how much money we had in the bank account.
Poppy was huddled on the stool, her knees to her chest.
The cream cheese opened with a pop, and once the bagels sprang up, I handed the first one to Poppy. She was humming to herself—the same song my music box played.
She inspected it for a few seconds before stuffing it in her mouth. The cream cheese melted around her lips, leaving a pink, sticky residue. I turned to toast my bagel. “Is it just you and your dad? Will he want breakfast?” I asked.
She shook her head. “He’s gone.”
I added cream cheese to my bagel and took a bite, watching Poppy annihilate hers in record time. “Did you eat dinner last night?”
“I think so.”
“What noises?”
“Huh?” she asked, her mouth full.
“You said you didn’t sleep because of noises. I didn’t hear anything.”
“It was beneath,” she said.
I finished my food, and the drawer next to the sink squeaked when I pulled it open to retrieve a dishrag. I held it under the faucet, then wiped the mess from Poppy’s face. She let me do it as she’d done dozens of times before.
“Beneath what? Your bed?”
She grimaced, twisting at her nightgown.
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll double-check your bed tonight.”
She nodded again, leaning her head against my chest. I hugged her to me and then popped into the hall to rummage through the chest for coloring books and crayons.
“Look, Poppy,” I said, holding up the book and small box.
“You just missed her,” Althea said, cleaning up the breakfast dishes. “That girl is a world-class sneak.”
The straps of my bag dug into my shoulders when I slid my arms through. “Good morning.”
“Morning, baby. Is Elliott picking you up today?”
“He is,” I said, pulling my hair back into a low ponytail. “I think he is. I shouldn’t assume.”
An engine idled outside, and a car door closed. I peeked out of the dining room window, smiling as Elliott jogged to the front porch. He stopped just short of knocking on the door.
“Tell Mama I said bye,” I said, waving to Althea.
She seemed tired and uncharacteristically morose. “I will, baby. Have a good day at school.”
Elliott didn’t smile when he saw me. Instead, he gestured to the police cruiser parked down the street.
“Who’s that?” I asked, walking to the edge of the porch.
“There’s one outside Aunt Leigh’s, too.”
“They’re . . . watching us? Why?”
“Uncle John says we must be suspects.”
I glanced back at the house and then followed Elliott to his car. The heater had made it toasty inside the Chrysler, but I was still shivering. “Did they see you leave my house this morning?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I made sure they didn’t.”
“I don’t understand,” I said as Elliott pulled his Chrysler away from the Juniper. “Why are they watching us instead of looking for who took Presley?”
“I think they think that’s what they’re doing. Mrs. Brubaker called my aunt last night, begging. She said if I knew anything about Presley to please say something.”
“But you don’t know anything.”
Elliott shook his head. His hair was pulled up into a bun, giving a rare look at his full face. His defined jawline had a dusting of stubble, his eyes still tired from a long night.
I stared out the window at the fog settling just above the dead wheat and soybean fields, wondering where Presley was, if she’d run away or if she’d been taken. The rumor was that there was no sign of a struggle, but that didn’t stop the police from investigating Elliott and me.
“What if they say it’s you?” I asked. “What if they charge you?”
“They can’t. I didn’t do it.”
“Innocent people are charged with crimes every day.”
Elliott parked the Chrysler in its usual spot and turned off the engine, but he didn’t move. His shoulders were sagging, the most deflated I’d seen him since we became friends again.
“When you were being questioned at the station, did you tell them you spent the night?” I asked.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want them to say anything to your mom.”
I nodded. That would definitely put a halt to my restful nights.
“What time did you leave?” I asked.
He squirmed in his seat. “I fell asleep and didn’t wake up until sunrise. I climbed down just after dawn.”
“You should tell them.”
“No.”
“Damn it, Elliott!”
He looked down, chuckling. “I’m not going to get arrested.”
We walked into the school together under the glares of other students. Elliott stood at my locker while I dropped off my backpack and gathered my supplies for first hour.
Madison and Sam stopped by, their matching hair part of a wall between me and the rest of the students.
“Hey,” Sam said, “did you get cuffed and everything?”
Madison elbowed him. “Sam! God!”
“What?” he asked, rubbing his ribs.
“Are you guys okay?” Madison asked, hugging me.
Elliott nodded. “We’re fine. The cops will find her, and they’ll find out what happened soon enough.”
“You hope,” Sam said.
Madison rolled her eyes. “They will.” She looked at me. “Don’t put up with anyone’s shit today. I will cut a bitch.”
One side of my mouth curled up, and Sam pulled Madison away to their next class.
Elliott walked me down the hall and then kissed my cheek outside my Spanish II class. “You sure you’re okay?”
I nodded. “Why?”
He shrugged. “Just have a weird feeling.”
“I’ll be fine.”
He kissed my cheek again quickly before jogging down the hall and disappearing around the corner, hurrying to get to his class on the other side of the building.
I held my textbook close to my chest as I walked to my seat, my every step watched by the other students. Even Señora Tipton warily watched me take a seat. She patted her short, salt-and-pepper perm with her hand, welcomed the class in Spanish, and then asked us to turn our workbooks to page 374.
Just after Señora announced the assignment and the room grew quiet as everyone focused on their work, my stomach began to cramp. I pressed my fingertips against the pain. It was low, just inside my hip bones. Great. My period was the last thing I needed.
Hesitant to draw attention to myself, I quietly walked to Señora’s desk and leaned down. “I need to go to my locker.”
“Why?” she asked, loud enough for everyone to hear.
I cringed. “It’s personal.”
Recognition lit her eyes, and she waved me away. I took the orange laminated rectangle that read HALL PASS in block letters. When I rounded the corner, I saw Anna Sue and Tatum standing at my locker, working feverishly.