Because my parents were smiling at people they complained about at home, and they were holding hands when they’d barely spoken to each other in weeks, and Destelle was supposed to be here, and she wasn’t.
My sister had promised.Promised. Every time I’d called or texted her, she’d promised she’d be here for the last event of the summer, and for myfirst day of high school. Jamie and I started on Monday—at a brand-new school entirely—and she’d sworn she’d be here to drive us for our first day.
And yesterday afternoon, when her flight was supposed to be getting in, she had sent a text message.
Destelle
Hey Nellie. This really big music theatre asked Untapped Potential to fill in for one of their canceled acts tomorrow night. I won’t be able to make it home this weekend, but I can see if I can come out sometime next week to see how school’s going! :)
She put the smiley face as if it were a bandage holding everything together, and not a mocking and cruel knife that dug in deeper.
She’d promised. She’d always promised. Her promises, I realized now, meant absolutelynothing.
I hated it all. I hated the girls with their mothers, because they were all so snotty and mean to Jamie for just wanting a quiet place to read. I hated the pinchy heels Mom forced me to wear, and I hated the old lady perfume she’d sprayed onto my neck, and I hated the fact that Dad only laughed lately when we were inside Alderton-Du Ponte. It wasn’t his real laugh, but that one always came out when Destelle came home.
In that moment, I hated Destelle the most.
And I hated that Beckham Jennings, the only person I actually liked here, had chosentonightnot to show.
I stumbled into the serenity garden, breathing hard. In that moment, I hated this place too, even though it’d always been a place of peace. Outdoor lights were wrapped around the base of the grand tree in the middle of the rosebush-lined enclosure, with flowers blooming around the perimeter. The sun had fully set, and the space normally would’ve been beautiful, but I hated it, too.H-A-T-E. It consumed me.
Probably because this was the one place I’d been hoping Beck would be hiding out, and the garden was empty.
I kicked my stupid heels off, not caring about scuffing the white fabric of the sides as they scraped along the cobblestones. It wasn’t enough, though. It hadn’t eased the mounting pressure inside me.
So, after bending down and picking them up, I launched one heel into the air. It sailed past the tree and disappeared into a rosebush. With a grunt, I threw the other shoe next. This one cracked against the bark of the tree, shattering one of the bulbs wrapped around the trunk. It was as loud as a gunshot, the force snapping the protruding heel perfectly off.
It still wasn’t enough. I gasped for air, drowning while all the other fish in the ballroom continued to breathe. I all but fell in front of the flower bed, where a small floral display adorned the rosebushes. The lavender flowers were blooming and ugly in the moonlight, and I grabbed fistfuls of stems, yanking without mercy. Petals fluttered to the dirt. I tore into it, tore it all apart, until nothing was left but ribbons.
Stupid flowers in a stupid garden at a stupid country club filled with stupid people.S-T-U-P-I-D.
I looked wildly around the garden, trying to find something else to let my anger out on next, when I saw it. The outdoor chessboard. The lacquer of it shone in the outdoor lights, and I felt myself pulled over to it, as if I was no longer in control. My mind was hazy and frantic, and my throat was raw from how hard I breathed, and I couldn’t stop.
Except when I got my hands underneath the chessboard andpulled, nothing happened. The board was bolted to the ground, unmovable. I tried again, and again, until my arms burned and the fire in my veins went out. I let out a little cry as I sank into one of the metal chairs in front of the table, the rage disappearing as an overwhelming sadness took its place.
H-O-P-E-L-E-S-S, I spelled out in my head, looking down at my dirty hands and crusted nails. A tear dropped onto my palm, and I squeezed my eyes shut.L-O-N-E-L-Y.
And then something soft brushed my fingers. I jumped, opening my eyes to find a pair of bright green ones looking back.
Beck crouched in front of me, a pale handkerchief in his fingers as he blotted it against my dirty nails. I swallowed hard. “Where—where did you?—”
“I was behind the tree.” He’d dropped my white heels next to my bare feet. They were both scuffed. The one missing a heel was beyond saving. “This sailing through the bush nearly gave me a heart attack. I can’t help you with the broken one, though.”
I stared at him as he continued to rub at the dirt on my skin. His light brown hair looked darker in the dim light. It was short, just like always, because his mom hated when it got in his eyes. He was wearing dress pants but was missing a jacket, with just his white shirt untucked and unbuttoned at the collar.
Rebellious. It made my heart flutter. “Why do you have one of these?” I asked, wiggling a finger against the handkerchief.
“My dad makes me carry one. Says it makes me a man.” Beck scoffed, the way he always did when he talked about his parents. “I think he’s full of it.”
“Jamie doesn’t carry a handkerchief.”
“No, Jamie carries a book. I believe my father calls someone like thatnerdy.”
A shocked laugh burst from me, and Beck’s lips instantly curved, as if that’d been his goal. He still held my hand in his, and I practically hummed at the connection. Rarely did we ever touch beyond a brush here and there. Now, he wasn’t letting go.
I looked at him closer, at his red-rimmed eyes that were focused on my fingers. “Were you crying?” I asked, not believing it even as I asked it. Beck never cried.
His features screwed up. “No.” Beck continued passing the cloth down my hands, rougher now, as if his action could chase away my prying question. “You were, though. Why are you so sad?”
