All the Little Lights
Page 22
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?”
“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?”
