I took the pie dish from her. The burnt smell was worse up close. “Um. Thanks.”
Lydia slid her hands into the back pockets of her dark denim jeans, eyeing me from head to toe. I wondered if she noticed the swimsuit straps peeking out from underneath my T-shirt collar. “Going somewhere?”
“Carter invited me out on the yacht with his family.”
Her eyes flared, as if her suspicions had been confirmed. “Well, be sure to have a slice of pie before you go!”
Oh, now I absolutelywasn’thaving any pie.
“I can’t believe we got to Ms. Jennings’s party last nightrightas you were leaving,” Lydia went on in a light voice. “When I got there with the Pembletons, we were so bummed!”
It was almost funny to see her trying to match me bar for bar.WhenI got there with the Pembletons. “Someone’s mother drank more than she should’ve and accidentally dumped her drink on me.”
“I also heard someone dumped her drink onher.”
Stupid, Eleanor, I thought to myself.Why did you do that?
“Dr. Pembleton was mortified when he got into the ballroom,” Lydia powered on. “Said it looked like some college party, not the refined gathering he’d expected of Alderton-Du Ponte.”
I wasn’t sure why she was telling that to me—it hadn’t beenmy motherwho’d been teetering around with two drinks in her hands. I had no reason to worry, unless?—
“And I saw something interesting.” Her smug tone wasthe only warning I had. “I saw Beck leave the overflow coat closet, and then you, a couple minutes after.”
The front porch grew cold. Lydia couldn’t shield her smirk quickly enough, even though she tried, and I caught a flash of it before she schooled her features into something constipated-looking. “The overflow coat closet?” I repeated slowly. “Why would I be in there withBeck?”
My voice was flat. My features were neutral. As long as she didn’t look at the way the pie trembled in my hands, it’d be fine.
“I know, right?” She pulled her phone from her back pocket. “I thought the same thing.”
Lydia turned her screen to me, showing a paused video of me leaving the closet. I was in the process of turning away from the camera, about to head down the hall back to find Daisy, and I hadn’t seen where she’d been camping with her camera.
My mind whirled fast. She couldn’t have seen Beck drag me into the closet. If she had, it wouldn’t have been Carter poking his head in, buther. She would’ve dragged him in, made sure Carter had gone further into the closet, and found where Beck was pressing me to him. But she’d known enough to wait for me to come out.
Understanding dawned.
Beck.
There’d been a window of time after Beck left the closet and before I went to find Daisy. But would he really have gone to find Lydia and told her everything? After helping me hide, he would so easily rat me out?
I lifted my eyes back to hers. “Lydia.” I let her namelinger in the air. “Do you realize how childish you’re acting?”
She blinked, probably shocked I wasn’t more desperate. “Me?”
“Blackmail? All so I’ll stop talking to a boy you want?” I tilted my head, fingers squeaking against the glass pie dish from how hard I gripped it. “Are we twelve?”
“I-It’s not just because?—”
“I don’t know what game you and Beck are playing,” I went on in the same tone. “But tricks like this? Photos, videos, threats—Carter won’t side with you because of them. I mean, going as far as to send Beck on our date is a little unhinged, Lydia. Imagine if Carter found out aboutthat. I’m surprised you managed to convince Beck to do it.”
Her eyes flashed. “Beck hates you. He’ll do whatever I need if it means getting revenge.”
R-E-V-E-N-G-E. The words spelled themselves slowly in my mind, wrapping like wisps of smoke. My necklace, loose at my throat, felt heavy.Like I said. I could remember the shaken look in his eyes.Glutton for punishment. “He hates me for somethinghedid?”
“I know you’re the one who lit the garden on fire.” Some triumph came back into her expression. “I could tell the Pembletonsthat. I don’t think they’d want to associate themselves with someone so crazy.”
Beck had told her. They were closer than I thought. Or maybe it’d been her mother that’d let it slip. Either way, the corner she was backing me into felt tighter. “You know, I’d be more worried about your mom’s drinking problem?—”
Without warning, Lydia stepped closer on the porch, so much so that she nearly stepped into the edge of the pie pan. “Is this a joke to you?”
