M-I-S-G-U-I-D-E-D.
R-I-D-I-C-U-L-O-U-S.
I-M-P-E-R-F-E-C-T.
“Jamie, call Carter for your sister,” Dad said, still not looking away from me. “Tell him she won’t be joining him today.”
“I-N-T-E-G-R-I-T-Y,” I spelled for him, trembling. “You know so much about it. What did you say to Beck all those years ago, then?”
Dad’s pinched scowl froze, eyes blinking into the same expression he’d worn the other day when Beck had come over.I still remember the little speech you gave me before everything that happened.
Dad had found the chink in my armor, and I’d found his. We both struck without thinking twice.
I smacked at my cheek to wipe off a tear, furious with myself for letting it fall. Furious with Dad for waking up just long enough to make me the bad guy. Furious with Jamie, who just stood there with the stupid phone in his hand, as if he still expected me to reach outand pick it up. Furious with Destelle for remembering we existed.
F-U-R-I-O-U-S.
I’d only wanted to explode like this once before.
I took my phone out of my back pocket and dropped it onto the dining room table. Then, without a word, I turned on my heel. “Nell,” Jamie said, fingertips brushing my arm. I knocked him off. “Hey. Nellie. Nell!”
“Eleanor Brighton, we are not finished!” Dad called after me, but his voice was no closer. He was still in the kitchen. It didn’t bother him enough to follow.
I couldn’t stand the idea of just stalking upstairs to sulk in my room, so instead, blindly, I shoved my feet into a random pair of shoes and hauled the front door open. Jamie’s voice was still anxious and high as he called my name. I ignored him. I ignored both of them.
And I slammed the front door shut behind me.
CHAPTER 16
Biscayne Park didn’t have much going for it in terms of places to sulk.
I didn’t even have my phone to call Daisy, not that I really wanted to. She’d tell me to go back home, or call Jamie, or tell me how I was wrong for talking back to Dad like that. Which I knew. But I didn’t want to hear it. So I continued stumbling along the cracked sidewalks in the mid-May sun.
With tears clouding my vision in the entryway, I’d shoved my feet into Jamie’s shoes, not mine. I hadn’t realized until two blocks from my house when I’d nearly face-planted into the sidewalk, but I refused to swallow my pride and go back. Instead, I’d slid my feet as far forward into the toe of the shoe as I could and kept walking.
Walking, and walking, and walking.
I felt ugly, and it wasn’t because of my horrible choice in footwear. It felt like someone had caked mud all over my face and put me on a stage, where a spotlightshone down on every flaw. Being perfect was a full-time job, and just like I’d done four years ago, I’d slipped up. I’d let my emotions get the better of me. I’d given full vent to my anger—and Ineverdid that. I’d learned better.
I blamed Beckham Jennings. Before he waltzed back into my life, everything had been as it was supposed to be. Calm, uneventful,perfect. Now, flipping drinks onto people and yelling at my dad. It was like someone else was stuffed inside my body, acting without permission.
After what felt like hours of just shuffling along the sidewalk and growing insanely thirsty in the late May sun, I found a bench near a gas station and sat down. I kicked Jamie’s shoes off, looking down at where a blister had begun to form on my bare foot. It’d been hours since I left home. The sun was getting lower in the sky, which was still a shimmering blue. I wondered if Dad had called Mom home from Ms. Jennings’s and told her everything. Would they come out looking for me soon? Had they already? Would they just assume I’d come home eventually?
I’d have a long way to walk back. I’d left Biscayne Park, and I was pretty sure I was technically in Addison now. I didn’t even know what time it was, nor how long I’d been walking. Hours. Three? Four? The Alderton-Du Ponte Country Club was probably a ten-minute walk from here, but outside the city limits, which meant there’d be no sidewalks.
The only move was to go into the gas station, ask to use the phone, and call my parents. Or Jamie. I didn’t knowDaisy’s number by heart, or else I’d call her. I was thirsty enough—and tired enough—to let her scold me now.
Five more minutes, I told myself.I’ll give myself five more minutes of pride.
I watched cars pull in and out of the gas station, tracking the people who climbed out, what they carried back with them—lottery tickets, sodas, candy, nothing that mattered. It reminded me, further, of the night four years ago, where everyone had been laughing and dancing and not realizing how close I’d teetered to the edge of snapping.
U-S-E-L-E-S-S.That word echoed in my mind again.
It was better than the others that had followed me out of the house. Worse ones. Words that implied failure. Weakness. Proof that I wasn’t who I was supposed to be.
I-M-P-E-R-F-E-C-T.
A red car pulled into the lot, gliding up beside a pump before the engine cut out. I frowned at the glossy paint, a flicker of recognition sparking a second before the driver’s door opened.
