Saddidn’t feel like the right word.Explosivewas better. “Destelle sucks.”
Beck nodded slowly.
“And so do my parents. And so does everyone else in the stupid ballroom.” I eyed him closer. “And so do you.”
“Me? Why do I suck?”
Because you weren’t inside. Because I thought you didn’t come. I bit the inside of my cheek, though, swallowing the words. “Because you’re out here hiding without me.”
“I was just looking at the stars.”
“You’re always looking at the stars.”Why don’t you ever look at me?
“And yet, you couldn’t find me.” Beck folded the handkerchief and tucked it into his pocket, but he didn’t let go of my hand yet. Instead, he cast a glance around the garden, and as he turned his head, I saw it. A streak on his cheek. A tear track. Hehadbeen crying. “I think it’s bad karma to destroy a serenity garden, Nell-Bell.”
It wasn’t destroyed—but it also wasn’tenough. The flowers were all ripped out, and my heel was broken, but everything else was untouched. Still perfect.
I stared at the track on his cheek as it almost glowed in the moonlight. “Do you ever just feel like… you want to explode?”
“Sounds messy.”
I scowled. “All the times your parents hurt your feelings, and you never feel like exploding?”
Beck studied my expression, and it felt too much like Jamie, staring at me to try and read my mind. He’d talked about his parents here and there, never really givingspecifics. Only just that they weren’t nice to him. Now, with the tear track drying on his cheek, I wondered how many times this had happened before, him crying by himself and I didn’t know it.
“I’ve never wanted to explode,” Beck admitted slowly. “But I have wanted to disappear.”
I didn’t want to disappear. I wanted to create a scene that forced my parents to look at me. That forced Destelle to come home and stay home.
Beck pulled something small out of his pocket, and he held up a thin silver box. “Here,” he said, and then flicked the lid open, and after sparking the wheel, a flame spouted out. “Explode.”
I gave a horrified gasp. “You have alighter?”
“My aunt gave it to me.”
“Why?”
“So she’d stop smoking.” Beck flicked the lid shut, dousing the flame. “I think she has a second one, though. She still smells like cigarettes.” Then he dumped it in my palm.
It was heavier than I expected. The lid took more pressure to open than Beck made it seem, and the wheel was coarse on my thumb as I flicked it. A little flame burst to life, and without thinking, I blew it out.
Beck smiled. “Fire is dangerous,” he said, and stood. “But lighting a petal or two wouldn’t hurt.” And then he walked to the ruined flowerbed.
Back then, I didn’t realize how narrow the window of time was to turn back before it was too late.
I flicked the lid open.
Stillwithin the window of time.
I lit one of the crumpled flowers on fire first, holding the stem while bringing the lighter to the petals. They withered and turned to ash quickly, and Beck crouched beside me as we both silently watched the flame spread. My heartbeat picked up as the fire swallowed the whole flower, licking its way down the stem.
Beck took it from my fingers and stamped it in the dirt, effectively putting it out. “Feel better?” he asked, his green eyes almost glowing in the moonlight.
My heart still pounded as I looked at him; this time, for a different reason. “Sorta.”
“Want to do another?” He plucked up another fallen flower, this time holding it out so I could set the lighter to it.
I just watched him for another moment. “Does this make you feel better? Lighting things on fire?”
