I sat by myself with my hands in my lap, the pulse of the music making the ballroom feel more like a nightclub. The sun had set a while ago, so the glass ceilings only showed darkness. I peered up at them, unable to see any stars.
I was just looking at the stars.
You’re always looking at the stars.
Ever since Beck had gotten back to town, the memory of the garden would not leave me alone.Stop, I wanted to say.Stop showing up when you’re not supposed to. Stop making me look for you when I shouldn’t even be thinking about you. Stop filling my head.
I shoved to my feet, unable to sit still any longer. I decided I’d follow after Jamie and Daisy, or wait for Carter in the entryway, or pace the halls, because sitting and letting Beck take root in my head was the last thing I should ever be doing.
I stepped out of the path of a stumbling Mrs. Johnson, who had two plastic cups in her hands. She took sips from both. I wondered, distantly, if any of them would feel embarrassed at the next event—most likely not. They’d have to remember this evening to feel embarrassed.
The music still pulsed into the hallway, but the further I got, the more the sound became something similar to a heartbeat. By the time I reached Alderton-Du Ponte’s entryway, Flo Rida was almost drowned out entirely.
Which was a good thing, because when I turned the corner, I found Carter and Lydia standing underneath the entryway’s chandelier, their voices low.
I reeled back around the corner, pressing my spine to the wall. Immediately, I doubted what I’d seen. Surely Carter’s head wasn’t as close to Lydia’s as it looked. Surely they weren’t having some sort of rushed, secret exchange. Surely not.
Pulling off the wall, I inched back to the corner,peeking around it.
But, sure enough, they were there. Huddled in the middle of the lobby as if they had nothing to hide. Their hushed voices, though, hinted otherwise. From here, I couldn’t see Carter’s expression—only Lydia’s. Her eyes were wide, tracing his face, filled with something like confusion.
I was a terrible lip reader, but Iwasreally good at reading the room. The atmosphere between them was nothing short of tense, like Carter was rushing to get words out before someone stumbled upon them.
Someone like me.
Instead of going toward them, I turned away. My body buzzed with the lack of confrontation, almost in tandem with the song blaring over the speakers in the ballroom. There were too many things going on that I didn’t understand. It felt like a chess game, except instead of a player, I was a pawn, being slid around in time with a strategy I wasn’t privy to.
Why would Carter tell me that I was the perfect thing he needed, and then be likethatwith Lydia? Had they shown up together?
When I rounded the corner to the ballroom’s entrance, only then did I stop in my tracks. There, just outside the door, stood Beck and Mrs. Johnson. And she was yelling.
She still held both drinks in her hands, though they weren’t as full as they’d been a moment ago when I’d seen her with them. She gestured at Beck wildly with them, face red. Most of her voice was swallowed up by the music, and anyone inside the ballroom wouldn’t have beenable to really notice anything was going on unless they looked.
But no one did. No one looked over to see Beck’s stiff shoulders, nor the hollow look on his face.
“I will not have you creeping around my daughter the way you creeped around the Brighton girl all those years ago,” Mrs. Johnson growled at him. “Not when so much is within her reach. Stay away from my daughter, or so help me, God, I willruin you.”
“Someone beat you to the punch with that threat, Mrs. Johnson,” Beck replied coolly, sliding his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans. His voice was lazy as always, but his rigid posture gave him away.H-O-L-L-O-W. “You’ll have to be more original.”
“Boys like you shouldn’t be in a place like this.”
“Like me?”
“Trouble. A—A waste of space. I spoke with your mother the other day. Told her to come wrangle her son. You know what she told me?” Her features twisted up into a sneer, but the evil expression was dulled a bit by her slurring. “That she doesn’t have a son.”
It was only a second. Less than a second. A blink-and-you-miss-it second. Beck’s neutral face crumpled on itself, as if Mrs. Johnson had dealt him a physical blow. He rocked back on his heels, absorbing the weight of the strike, the words sinking in.
My body, still craving confrontation, started forward.R-A-G-E.A simple word. A simple feeling.
Mrs. Johnson swayed from the alcohol souring her veins. She looked like she was struggling to remainupright. “Crawl back to whatever hole you slithered out of, yousnake.” And she lifted one of the drinks in her hand.
“Mrs. Johnson!” I shouted, voice cracking like a whip in the hallway. Beck started to turn toward me, but Mrs. Johnson was too focused on her brainless task.
I stepped between her and Beck at the exact second she flung the contents of her cup forward, drenching me in the face.
For a moment, I stood stock-still, eyes closed and sputtering vodka off my lips. The cup hadn’t been that full, but the liquid dripped off my chin down my neck.
“E-Eleanor?” Mrs. Johnson sounded bewildered, far different than she’d sounded cursing Beck a moment ago. “Is that—are you—what are you doing?”
