"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."
I shook my head. "It's like they forgot to blame him until the candles came out."
"Poor Elliott," Madison said. "His teammates just stood there and let it happen when he won that game for them. He won for the whole town. I just feel so awful for him."
Her pity made my heart sink. Elliott didn't deserve any of this. He was just having the best moment of his life, and in an instant, it changed. In Yukon, he was a star. They grieved when he left. Now because of me, he was stuck in a place where most people thought he was guilty of murder, and worse, they thought he was getting away with it.
"Me too."
"I feel bad for you, too, Catherine. He's not the only one taking heat for this. And I know you didn't do it. I just wish they'd find her or find who did it." Madison parked in the Juniper's driveway.
Madison hugged me, and I thanked her for the ride, following the black iron fence that protected the neighborhood from the Juniper to the gate. The 4Runner backed out into the street and headed back toward the school.
I pushed through and made my way into the house, pausing for a moment in the foyer to listen for a few seconds before climbing the stairs to the second floor. The hinges of my bedroom door whined when I opened it, and I leaned back against the old wood, looking up. Tears threatened to fill my eyes, but I blinked them back.
The music box on my dresser plinked out a few notes, and I walked over to it, opening the lid and greeting the ballerina inside. I twisted the crank and listened to the sweet song, letting the anger and fear melt away. Elliott would be here soon, away from the angry mob, away from the flickering candles, and one day he would be away from Oak Creek, safe from the accusing eyes of everyone we knew.
Rocks tapped against my window, and I lowered the music box, walking over and lifting the window.
Elliott climbed in, with a black-and-gray duffel bag hanging from a long strap across his chest. He stood and pulled his hoodie off, his hair pulled back into a low braid, his cheeks still flushed from the game.
"I went to Aunt Leigh's to pick up a few things and then came straight here. Is it okay if I take a shower?" he asked, keeping his voice low.
"Yeah, of course," I whispered, pointing across the room.
He nodded once, offering a nervous smile before taking his duffel into the bathroom and closing the door. A few seconds later, the pipes began to whine. I looked up, wondering who could hear.
The music box still played, the dancer twirling. Elliott didn't mention it, and I wondered how upset he was about the game. A part of me worried that at some point, he'd stop believing that loving me was worth it.
Less than ten minutes later, Elliott opened the door wearing a fresh T-shirt and red basketball shorts, holding something small in his hands. He padded to my bed in his bare feet and leaned over, tying leather strands to the head of my bed, letting the small hoop with a woven web inside hang over my pillow.
"It's a dream catcher. My mom made this one for me when I was little. I thought you could use it." He slid under the covers, shivering. "Is it always this cold in here?"
I stared at the beautiful shapes inside the circle, unable to look away. "Mama's been keeping the thermostat lower to help with bills. She turns it up when we have new guests. You've had that since you were little?"
"New guests?"
"Other than our regulars."
Elliott watched me for a moment and then lifted the covers, patting the space next to him. "Since I was a baby. It was in my crib."
I tightened my robe. "Maybe we should, um . . ." I walked over to the foot of the bed, gripping the iron rails.
Elliott hopped up, moved my dresser against the door, and then helped me move my full-size bed against it. The panic that overwhelmed me with every sound was crippling. I'd stop and have to summon every bit of courage within me to continue.
Once we finished, I waited for a door to creak, a board to complain, anything that would signal movement outside my bedroom door. Nothing.
"Okay?" he asked.
I crawled under the covers next to Elliott. The sheets were cold for less than a minute, reacting to Elliott's body heat. Having him here was like adding an electric blanket, and I kicked off my fuzzy socks, wondering if my fleece pants and long-sleeved thermal shirt would get too hot in the middle of the night.
I lay on my stomach, holding my pillow and facing Elliott. He reached over, gently pulling my chin until my lips were against his. We'd kissed dozens of times before, but this time his hand slid down my thigh and he hooked my knee at his hip. I melted against him, a warm sensation forming in my chest and spreading to the rest of my body.
"Elliott," I whispered, pulling away, "thank you for doing this. But--"
"I know why I'm here," he said, tucking his hands under the pillow. "Sorry, you can sleep. I won't let anything bad happen to you. I promise."
"You can't promise that. Just like tonight. Bad things happen whether we want them to or not."
"I don't care about that."
"How? How can you not? What they did was awful."
"You've spent two years fending for yourself inside the Juniper and at school. I can handle a few more months of school." He hesitated. "Catherine . . . what was it like? After your dad died?"
I sighed. "Lonely. Minka and Owen tried to come over a lot at first, but I'd just turn them away. Eventually I stopped answering the door, and they stopped trying. They got angry. That made it a little easier. It was hard to ignore them when they were sad."
"Why did you stop letting them in?"
"I couldn't let anyone in."
"I know I'm not supposed to ask why--"
"Then please don't."
Elliott smiled. He reached over, sliding his fingers between mine.
"Elliott?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you ever think not loving me would be easier?"
"Never. Not once." He settled back against the headboard and pulled me against him, resting his chin on top of my head. "That's something I can promise."
"Catherine!" Poppy called from downstairs.
"Coming!" I yelled, pulling a brush through my hair a few times before hurrying down the steps. Monday mornings were always hectic, but especially when Poppy was at the Juniper.
I smiled when I saw her sitting in the kitchen alone. She looked unhappy, and it didn't take long to see why.
"No breakfast this morning?" I asked, looking around. Other than a tray with remnants of a ham sandwich and grape stems, there were no eggs, no sausage, not even toast.
Poppy shook her head, her curls frizzy and tangled. "I'm hungry."
I frowned. It was the first time Mama had missed breakfast since we'd opened.
"How did you sleep?" I asked, already knowing the answer. The thin skin beneath Poppy's eyes was purple.
"There were noises."
"What kind of noises?" I pulled out a pan from the cabinet beneath the stove and then opened the refrigerator. "No bacon. No eggs . . ." I frowned. Mama hadn't been shopping, either. "What about a bagel?"
Poppy nodded.
"Butter or cream cheese?"
She shrugged.
"We have strawberry cream cheese," I said, taking it out of the bottom drawer. "I bet you'll like that."
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 Senora 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 Senora 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 Senora'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.
A scratching sound--metal on metal--cut through the air. Anna Sue stopped moving, and Tatum turned around.
"Where is she?" Anna Sue asked, rage in her eyes. She took a step toward me, holding the paring knife. "I know you know!"
I took a step back, glancing over Anna Sue's artwork, a word cut into the paint of my locker from the top corner to the bottom.
CONFESS
Tatum took the knife from her, holding it up to my face, backing me against the line of lockers.
"Is she alive?" Tatum whispered. "Did that savage tell you where he put her, or did he just kill her? Is she buried somewhere? Tell us!"
The fluorescent lights above glinted off the tip of the knife, just inches from my eye.
"I don't know where she is," I breathed. "Elliott doesn't know where she is. He was at my house all night. It couldn't have been him."
Anna Sue yelled in my face. "Everyone knows it was him! We just want her back! We just want her safe! Tell us where she is!"
"I'm warning you. Get away from
me," I seethed.
"Is that a threat?" Tatum asked, touching the tip of the sharp metal to my cheek.
I closed my eyes and screamed, lashing out with my fists. Tatum fell back, the knife clanging to the ground. I kicked it away and pushed Tatum against one of the large windows across from my locker, feeling my knuckles make contact with the bones in her face but feeling no pain. I could have kept swinging for the rest of the day.
Anna Sue grabbed my hair and pulled me backward. We both lost our balance and tumbled to the tile floor. I climbed on top of her, landing punches against her forearms that were covering her face.
"I said," I yelled, tightening my fist, "leave me alone! I've never done anything to you! You've bullied me almost my entire life! No more! Do you understand me? No! More!" I hit Anna Sue after every other word, my anger seeping from every pore.
She tried to throw a punch of her own, but I used that opportunity to shove my fist into her unprotected face.
"Stop! Stop this now!"
By the time someone pulled me away, my chest was heaving, my muscles shaking from adrenaline and exhaustion. I kicked and thrashed to get at Anna Sue again. From the corner of my eye, I spotted Tatum flattened against the wall, terrified.
"I said stop!" Mr. Mason yelled. He maintained his grip around my middle.
My arms fell to my sides, my knees gave out, and a sob I'd been waiting to cry since I was seven bubbled up and overflowed.
Mrs. Mason turned the corner, surprised to see her husband holding me and Anna Sue on the ground with a bloody lip.
"What the hell happened?" She saw the markings on my locker and then her eyes zeroed in on the knife lying on the floor. She scrambled to pick it up. "Whose is this? Anna Sue, did you use this to write on Catherine's locker?"
Anna Sue sat up with a frown, wiping her bloody lip with the back of her hand.
"Answer me!" Mrs. Mason yelled. When Anna Sue refused to comply, the counselor looked to Tatum. "Tell me. What happened?"
"We know they're being investigated! We want to know what they did with Presley!" Tatum cried.
Mr. Mason let me go, peering over his glasses at me. "You attacked these girls for scratching up your locker? Catherine, that's not like you. What happened?"
Anna Sue and Tatum glowered at me. I looked down for a moment, noticing my bloody knuckles. They looked just like Elliott's the first time we met. My gaze met Mrs. Mason's.
"Anna Sue used the knife to scratch the letters into my locker, and I caught them. They asked me where Presley was, then Tatum took the knife and held it to my face. She backed me against the lockers."