I nodded and then began to doodle on my notepad, trying not to think about the line of sweat forming on his shirt where his man boobs sat flat like thick, twin pancakes on his beer gut.
Mr. Mason took a breath and then held it. He was about to ask me a question, probably something like how was I doing or if everything was okay at home. But he knew better. Everything was fine or good or okay. It had been fine or good or okay in his class the year before, too. He seemed to remember to ask me on Fridays. By Christmas break, he'd stopped.
After half the students had returned, Mr. Mason looked at me over his glasses. "Okay, Catherine?"
Not wanting to protest in front of everyone, I nodded and stood, concentrating on the green and white tiles as I walked. Giggling and chatter grew louder, then several pairs of shoes came into view.
I stopped at the end of the water fountain line, and the clones giggled.
"It was nice of you to stay at the back of the line," Presley said.
"I'm not drinking after her," her friend Anna Sue muttered.
I dug my thumbnail into my arm.
Presley shot a smirk to her friend and then addressed me. "How's the bed and breakfast, Cathy? It looked closed the last time I drove by."
I sighed. "Catherine."
"Excuse me?" Presley said, pretending to be offended that I even responded.
I looked up at her. "My name is Catherine."
"Oh," Presley mocked. "Kit-Cat's feeling feisty."
"She's decided to walk among the peasants," Minka muttered.
I gritted my teeth, letting go of my arm to ball my hand into a fist.
"I heard it's haunted," Tatum said, the excitement of drama sparking in her eyes. She raked her bleached tresses out of her eyes.
"Yes," I snapped back. "And we drink the blood of virgins. So you're all safe," I said, turning for the classroom.
I rushed for the safety of Mr. Mason's presence, sliding into my desk. He didn't notice, even though no one was distracting him. No one was talking or moving. It was almost too hot to breathe.
Scotty returned, wiping drops of water off his chin with the back of his hand. The gesture reminded me of Poppy, and I wondered if she would be at the Juniper when I got home, how much help Mama would need, and if anyone new had checked in while I was gone.
"Can I help you?" Mr. Mason asked.
I looked up from my notepad. Elliott Youngblood stood with a gigantic boat of a sneaker partially inside the threshold of the doorway, one hand holding a small, white paper, a faded red backpack strap in the other. More students returned, pushing Elliott forward a step as they shouldered past him, like he was an inanimate object in their way. No apologies, no acknowledgment that they had brushed their sweaty skin against him without so much as an excuse me.
"Is that for me?" Mr. Mason asked, nodding to the paper in Elliott's hand.
Elliott walked forward, the top of his head barely clearing the small paper Saturn hanging from the ceiling.
I imagined ways to hate him. People who were too tall or too short or too anything usually had exaggerated feelings of inferiority, and Elliott had likely become sensitive and insecure--impossible to be around.
Elliott's bulky arm reached out to give Mr. Mason the paper. His nose wrinkled on one side when he sniffed. I was mad at his nose and his muscles, and that he looked so different and so much taller and older. Mostly I hated him for leaving me alone to find out Dad had died. I had given him my entire summer--my last summer with Dad--and I'd needed him, and he'd just left me there.
Mr. Mason squinted his eyes as he read the note, then placed it with the haphazardly stacked papers on his desktop.
"Welcome, Mr. Youngblood." Mr. Mason looked up at Elliott. "Do you come to us from the White Eagle?"
Elliott lifted one eyebrow in shock at such an ignorant statement. "No?"
Mr. Mason pointed to an empty seat in the back, and Elliott walked quietly down my aisle. A few snickers floated in the air, and I glanced back, seeing Elliott trying to fit his endless legs under the confines of the desk. My height was on the short side. It hadn't occurred to me that the desks were best suited for children. Elliott was a man, a giant, and he wasn't going to fit in a one-size-fits-all anything.
The metal hinges creaked as Elliott adjusted again, and more giggles erupted.
"All right, all right," Mr. Mason said, standing. When he raised his arms to gesture for the class to settle down, his dark sweat stains became visible, and the students laughed even more.
The school counselor walked in and scanned heads until she stopped on Elliott. Looking wholly disappointed, she sighed. "We've discussed this, Milo. Elliott is going to need a table and a chair. I thought you had one in here."
Mr. Mason frowned, unhappy with a second disruption.
"I'm okay," Elliott said. His voice was deep and smooth, embarrassment dripping off each word.
"Mrs. Mason." Mr. Mason said her name with the disdain of a soon-to-be ex-husband. "We have it under control."
The concerned look on her face vanished, and she shot him an irritated look. The rumor was that the Masons had decided on a trial separation the previous spring, but it was going significantly better for Mrs. Mason than it was for mister.
Mrs. Mason had lost fortyish pounds, grown out and highlighted her brunette hair, and wore more makeup. Her skin was brighter, and the wrinkles around her eyes were gone. She was full of happiness, and it had begun to seep out of her skin and eyes and pour out all over the floor, practically leaving a trail of rose-scented rainbows everywhere she walked. Mrs. Mason was better without her husband. Without his wife, Mr. Mason wasn't much at all.
Mr. Mason held up his hands, palms out. "It's in the storage closet. I'll drag it back out."
"It's really not a big deal," Elliott said.
"Trust me, son," Mr. Mason murmured, "if Mrs. Mason decides something, you best do it."
"That's right," Mrs. Mason said, her patience at an end. "So get it done." Even when she was cross, happiness still twinkled in her eyes. Her heels clicked against the tile as she left the classroom and clomped down the hallway.
We lived in a town of one thousand, and even two years after Dad had been laid off, not many jobs were available. The Masons had no choice but to continue working together, unless one of them moved. This year seemed like a standoff.
Waiting to hear who was moving would be an interesting twist to our usual school year. I liked both the Masons, but it seemed like one of them would be leaving Oak Creek soon.
Mr. Mason closed his eyes and rubbed his temples with his thumb and middle finger. The classroom was quiet. Even kids knew not to test a man facing the end of his marriage.
"All right, all right," Mr. Mason said, looking up. "Scotty, take my keys and get that table and chair that I had you stow in the storage room the first day of school. Take Elliott and a couple of desks with you."
Scotty walked over to Mr. Mason's desk, picked up his keys, and then signaled for Elliott to follow.
"It's just down the hall," Scotty said, waiting for Elliott to find a way out of his desk.
The laughter had melted away like our deodorant. The door opened, and a small breeze was sucked into the room, prompting those sitting next to the door to let out a small, involuntary sigh of relief.
Mr. Mason let his hands fall to his desk, rustling the paper beneath. "They've got to cancel school. We're all going to get heatstroke. You kids can't concentrate like this. I can't concentrate like this."
"Mrs. McKinstry let us have our English class under that big oak between the school and the auditorium building," Elliott said. His long, dark waves were reacting to the heat, humidity, and sweat, looking stringy and dull. He took a rubber band and pulled it back into a half ponytail, making it look like a bun, with most of his hair sticking out the bottom.
"That's not a bad idea. Although," Mr. Mason said, thinking out loud, "it's probably hotter outside than it is inside by now."
"At least there's a breeze
outside," Scotty said, huffing and dripping sweat as he helped Elliott carry in the table.
Elliott held the chair with his free hand, along with his red backpack. I hadn't noticed him carry it out, and I noticed everything.
I looked at the vent above Mr. Mason's head. The white strings were lying limp. The air-conditioning had finally met its demise.
"Oh my God, Mr. Mason," Minka whined, leaning over her desk. "I'm dying."
Mr. Mason saw me looking up and did the same, standing when he realized what I already knew. The vents weren't blowing. The air conditioner was broken, and Mr. Mason's classroom was on the sunny side of the school. "Okay, everyone out. It's only going to get hotter in here. Out, out, out!" he yelled after several seconds of students looking around in confusion.
We gathered our things and followed Mr. Mason into the hallway. He instructed us to sit at the long rectangular tables in the commons area while he found Principal Augustine.
"I'll be back," Mr. Mason said. "Either they're letting school out, or we're having class at the ice cream parlor down the street."
Everyone cheered but me. I was busy glaring at Elliott Youngblood. He sat in a chair next to me, at the empty table I'd chosen.
"Your highness," Elliott said.
"Don't call me that," I said quietly, glancing around to see if anyone had heard. The last thing I needed was for them to have something new to make fun of me for.
He leaned closer. "What are the rest of your classes? Maybe we have more together."
"We don't."
"How do you know?" he asked.
"Wishful thinking."
The school secretary, Mrs. Rosalsky, came over the PA system. "Attention all students, please stand by for an announcement from Dr. Augustine."
Some shuffling could be heard, and then Dr. Augustine's voice came over, in her chipper, thirteen-year-old tone. "Good afternoon, students. As you may have noticed, the air-conditioning unit has been on the fritz today, and we've officially called a time of death. Afternoon classes have been canceled, as have tomorrow's. Hopefully we'll have the issue corrected by Friday. The school's automated system will call to notify your parents when classes will resume via the phone number we have on file. Buses will run early. For any nondriving students, please have your parents or a guardian pick you up, as we are under a heat advisory today. Enjoy your vacation!"
Everyone around me stood and cheered, and seconds later, the halls filled with excited, jumping teenagers.
I looked down at the doodle on my notepad. A 3-D cube and the alphabet in a bold font were surrounded by thick vines.
"That's not bad," Elliott said. "Do you take an art class?"
I slid my things toward me and pushed my chair back as I stood. After just a few steps toward my locker, Elliott called my name.
"How are you getting home?" he asked.
After several seconds of hesitation, I answered, "I walk."
"All the way across town? The heat index has been triple digits."
"What's your point?" I asked, turning to face him.
He shrugged. "I have a car. It's an ancient piece of crap 1980-model Chrysler, but the AC will freeze you out if it's set on high. I thought maybe we could stop at Braum's and get a cherry limeade, and then I'd take you home."
The fantasy of a cherry limeade and air-conditioning made my muscles relax. Braum's was now the town's only sit-down restaurant, and a ride in Elliott's car, out of the sun, all the way to my house sounded like heaven, but when he parked at my house, he'd expect to come in, and if he came in, he would see.
"Since when do you have a car?"
He shrugged. "Since my sixteenth birthday."
"No." I turned on my heel and headed for my locker. He'd had a car for almost two years. There was no question now. He'd broken his promise.
I'd had homework every day for the past two weeks--since the first day of school. Leaving the high school without my backpack or books made me run over a mental checklist obsessively. I felt a momentary bout of panic every fifth step or so. I crossed Main Street and turned left toward South Avenue, a road on the edge of town that passed all the way through to the west side, straight to Juniper Street.
By the time I reached the corner of Main and South, my mind bounced from wishing for a hat, water, and sunscreen, to cussing at myself for turning down Elliott's offer.
The sun beat down on my hair and shoulders. After five minutes of walking, droplets of sweat began to drip down my neck and the side of my face. My throat felt like I'd swallowed sand. I walked into Mr. Newby's yard to stand beneath their shade trees for a few minutes, debating whether to stand in their sprinkler before carrying on.
A boxy, russet-colored sedan parked next to the curb, and the driver leaned over, bobbing up and down as he rolled down the manual window. Elliott's head popped up. "Does a cold drink and air-conditioning sound good yet?"
I left the shade and continued walking without responding. Persistent people were persistent with all things they wanted. At this moment, Elliott wanted to give me a ride home. Later he might want to come inside the Juniper or hang out again.
The poop-mobile drove slowly next to me. Elliott didn't say another word, even though the window remained down, letting his precious air-conditioning escape. I walked along the curb in the grass, silently grateful for the short burst of cold air coming from the Chrysler's passenger side.
After three more blocks and seeing me wipe sweat from my brow for the tenth time, Elliott tried again. "Okay, we don't have to get a drink. I'll just take you home."
I kept walking, even though my feet were hot, and my head felt like it was sizzling. With no clouds to break up the sun's rays, exposure was particularly brutal.
"Catherine! Please let me drive you home. I won't talk to you. I'll drop you off and drive away."
I stopped, squinting under the bright light from above. The whole world seemed to be sun-bleached, the only movement the heat waves dancing over the asphalt.
"No talking?" I asked, holding my hand against my forehead to shield my eyes long enough to see his face. His eyes would tell me even if he didn't.
"If that's what you want. If that's what will get you out of the sun. It's dangerous, Catherine. You still have three miles to go."
I thought for a moment. He was right. I had no business walking that far in triple-digit heat. And what good would I be to Mama if I was sun sick? "Not a word?" I asked.
"I swear."
I made a face. "You don't keep your promises."
"I'm back, aren't I?" When I frowned, Elliott held out his hand, waving me in. "Please, Catherine. Let me take you home."
He pushed the gear into park and then leaned over again, his bicep tensing nicely as he reached for the handle and pushed open the passenger door.
I slid into the chocolate velour seat, closing the door and cranking up the window. I sat back, letting the cold air blow against my skin.
"Thank you," I said, closing my eyes.
True to his word, Elliott didn't respond as he pulled away from the curb.
I looked over at him, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, his fingers fidgeting on the steering wheel. He was nervous. I wanted to tell him I wouldn't bite, that I might still hate him for leaving and making me miss him for two years, but there were far more important things in the world to be afraid of than me.
Chapter Eight
Catherine
Baby, baby, baby," Althea said, pulling me into her arms. She guided me to a kitchen stool, rushing to the sink and wetting a rag with cool water.
I smiled, resting my chin on the heel of my hand. Althea didn't stay with us very often, but she fussed over me, and she couldn't have chosen a better time to check in.
She folded the rag and pressed it against my forehead, holding it steady. "It's so hot I can't even wear my wig. What were you thinkin', child?"
"That I had to get home," I said, closing my eyes. The house was still stuffy and warm, but at least the sun wasn't bear
ing down on me. "Do you think Mama would let us turn on the air conditioner?"
Althea sighed, wiped her hands on her apron, and perched her hands on her hips. "I thought it already was. Let me check." Her skirt swished against her thick thighs as she sauntered across the room. She leaned in, squinting at the thermostat. She shook her head. "It's set on sixty. Room temperature is eighty-nine." She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "My, my, my. Your mama gonna have to call someone."
"I can do it," I said, beginning to stand.
"Baby girl, sit yourself down! The parts of you that ain't red are stark white," Althea said, rushing over to me.
She forced me into a chair and then rummaged through the cabinets until she found a clean glass. She filled it with ice from the freezer and then grabbed a pitcher of sweet tea. "You just sit and drink this. Your mama will be home soon, and she can call the fool who works for heating and air."
I smiled at Althea. She was one of my favorite guests. Just thinking about dealing with Poppy and her father made me tired.
"So," she began, leaning on her elbows, "how was school?"
"The same," I said. "Well, almost the same. There's a new boy at school. He gave me a ride home today."
"Oh?" Althea said, intrigued. She had flour smeared on her face. She'd been making something again. She was the only guest who helped Mama at the Juniper, but that was because Althea couldn't sit still. She would bake or clean while humming the same happy tune, some old church hymn I vaguely recognized. Her hair was pinned back in a low bun, with one dark strand hanging loose in the front.
She was fanning herself with a paper plate, sweat glistening on her chest and forehead.
"It's Elliott," I said, hoping she would recognize the name. She didn't.
"Who's that? I'm sorry, baby. I've been so wrapped up with work and my bible concordance that I've barely been able to pay attention."
"I met him two summers ago. He was my friend."
"Was your friend, or is your friend?" She raised an eyebrow. "Because you need a friend, child. You need ten friends. You spend too much time workin'. Lord knows too much for a little girl."
"Was," I said, picking at the granite.
"Uh-oh," Althea said. "What happened?"
"He left and didn't say goodbye. And he broke a promise."
"What promise?" she asked, her tone defensive.