I became very aware of the echo of my heartbeat in my ears.
You don’t like me, Beck had said all those years ago in the garden, voice hard.No one does.
Lydia watched me closer, and I suddenly regretted saying anything. I’d walked my rook out onto a square that her pawn could capture. “That day in the garden.” Her voice lowered, her lips curling. “My mom wouldn’t tell me much about it, but she said she found you two.”
Time cranked backwards, like the wind-up of a music box, before the memory hit me in full force. The dark garden. The stars in the sky. Beck’s hand on mine, light, then tight. Then different hands on my arms, drawing me away.
It’d been Mrs. Johnson who’d found the garden burning, who’d found us in it. Who’d gripped my arm hard enough that it’d bruised.I thought you were better than your sister.
I’d always wondered how much Mrs. Johnson had told her daughter. I’d always wondered if she’d told Lydia the truth.
But apparently not. “Was it scary?”
I swallowed against my dry throat. “Scary?”
“Watching Beck have a full-on mental breakdown?” Lydia rested her chin in her upturned palm, eyes gleaming. “My mom said the garden was totally destroyed. The flowerbeds, the bushes. That he looked like a maniac, all covered in dirt. And you were there for it all, weren’t you? He, like, held you hostage, right?”
“Held me hostage? This isn’t some TV show.” I stared into her pretty blue eyes, spelling the word over and over in my head until it no longer made sense.M-A-N-I-A-C. “And besides. If you thought Beck was truly dangerous, you wouldn’t be sitting in his lap.”
“Sometimes playing with fire is fun, don’t you think?” She smirked a little at that, a true, mocking smile.
She knew. Maybe not everything, but she knew more about the fire than anyone else did.Thatwas her threat. She knew who had really lit the match.
“Circling back to the issue.” Lydia stood, smoothing her hands down her jeans. “I’m politely asking you to let Carter down easy.”
Of course nothing could ever be simple. I couldn’t just befriend Carter-slash-Mr. ASMR, have him introduce me to Dr. Pembleton, and be one of the first freshmen to get on his mentorship list. Of course Lydia would have to get in the way here, too. “If you’ve got such solid connections with the Pembletons, there shouldn’t be anything to worry about.”
Her smile was more of a sneer, but she said nothing else.
Jamie’s book club wrapped up ten minutes later, and after I collected my homework—and threw the hot drink in the trash outside the computer lab without having a sip—we left Alderton-Du Ponte.
By the time we got home, it was a little before nine, which meant there wasn’t too long left until Mom usually took our phones. Not that I really wanted to be on it anyway. So, instead of scrolling through social media, I just took a shower, soaking long enough that I was sure a layer of my skin had dissolved offin the heat.
D-I-S-S-O-L-V-E-D.My mind formed each letter, constructing it like an ink printer. When I was little, my parents had been obsessed with setting Destelle up for success, which meant Jamie and I had barely registered. He hadn’t minded. He’d been happy on his own. I hadn’t been. And then I’d discovered a way to impress them by spelling.
Mom had lit up when I’d rattled off words likeneutrosophyandintersubstitutability, so I’d chased that. I’d snuck into Dad’s office, pull books off his shelves, hunt for bigger, stranger words—anything that might earn me another bit of their attention.
Because getting Mom and Dad to notice me, when my older sister took up all the space in the room, had felt like a jolt straight to the chest. Like something I could’ve lived off of.
Now, after seven years of Destelle being off on the west coast, spelling was more habitual. Not a desperate grab for attention; more of a calming comfort.C-O-M-F-O-R-T.
I squeezed a towel through my hair as I walked into my bedroom, tapping my phone on my nightstand to check the time. There was a text waiting for me, though, and my stomach dropped to the tips of my toes.
Beck
Hey, it’s Carter. I got your number from one of the kind ladies at the club. I can’t believe I didn’t ask for it before we parted ways for the evening last night. I had a lovely time, though. When can I see you again? :)
I was frozen solid, staring at the screen even after it went dark again. My breath stalled in my lungs, heart jumping into a sprint. And then denial crept in. There was no way I’d just read what I had. I must’ve seen the name wrong.
I hesitantly tapped the screen again, once more reading Beck’s name. And then his text.
Heat rushed through me. I snatched my phone up from the nightstand, unlocked it, and immediately pressed the call button. It rang once, twice, three times—I was convinced he probably wouldn’t even pick up—and then the ringing stopped. There was only silence.
“What are we?” I demanded when I realized he was waiting for me to talk first. My legs shook so badly that I all but fell to sit on my bed. “Five?”
Beck still hesitated, and when he spoke, he pitched his voice higher. “W-Whatever do you mean?—”
“Cut the crap, Beckham.”
