I stared at him for so long that Beck glanced up, quickly, and then away, as if he were too afraid to linger, and I’d read his expression. “Well, that came out all maudlin, didn’t it? How embarrassing.” His voice was light, lazy, the way he normally spoke. “Spell it for me, Nell-Bell.”
“M-A-U-D-L-I-N.” Spelling the word aloud, though,didn’t chase away the strange feeling that’d surfaced at his words. “Beck?—”
“Spell perspicacious.”
I curled my fingers in the rough grain of the table. The thin, dried layer of mud over the backs of my knuckles cracked. “P-E-R-S-P-I-C-A-C-I-O-U-S.”
“Oh, you knew that one? Didn’t try to call my bluff?”
His flippant voice and the darkness around us reminded me too much of a different time. “When was the last time you talked to your dad?”
All ounce of his remaining humor vanished. “What?”
“You said you haven’t talked to your mom in a while… But if you’ve been living with your dad, then?—”
“Why are you being so nosy?” He gave me an almost disgusted look. “It’s no fun, Nellie.”
Beck looked too much like he had when he was little. Brown hair. Secretive eyes. “You asked me about my dad. Can’t I ask you about yours?”
“I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”
“Contrary to popular belief, life isn’t all about whatyouwant.”
“Why doyou care?” His voice echoed around us, causing the crickets to momentarily fall quiet. “Like Saturday with Mrs. Johnson. Why do you keep doing this?”
“‘This’?”
“Butting in. Defending me. Prying. I thought you wanted me to leave you alone, anyway. That you didn’t want to see me, and that I should’ve stayed out in California, because no one wants me here.”
I’d thrown out those harsh words out of desperation, too terrified of how diligently he tried to sway me. Beck hadn’t been able to see that. He’d only been able to feel the hurt of them. “I didn’t mean it like that,” I started, but he didn’t let me finish.
“Oh, you didn’t mean it.” Beck turned as he spoke the emphatic words, as if relaying them to the bugs. “How’d you mean it, then, Nell-Bell? Because I can’t think of another interpretation. Spell it.”
I actually had to bite back the letters. Instead, I just stared at him, the two of us locked in a competition of who would give in first. A stalemate.Fun. It’s an easy word to spell. Why is it so hard for life to feel it?The words sounded so… hollow. I thought of every other time Beck had thrownboredomout as an excuse, except his voice had never been so flat before. His gaze had never been so dull.
Beck broke first, turning away from me like he couldn’t manage looking at me any longer. Like he didn’t want me to see any more than what I already saw. “I haven’t spoken to my dad since the fall,” he said finally, answering me begrudgingly, as if he didn’t want to but couldn’t help it. “When he paid my tuition for four years and then blocked my number.”
I blinked, blood running cold. “Heblockedyou?”
His mother hadn’t talked to him in four years and his father threw money at him before cutting contact. It reminded me of what Ms. Jennings had said about being more of a mother than other people around here.
Beck rolled his eyes. “Sure. Act horrified, even though you, yourself, didn’t want me around here either. HereI thought you’d feel guilty over everything that happened, but clearly, you’ve barely thought about it twice.”
I pressed my lips together, thinking back to Lydia on my front porch. “Is that why you agreed to work with Lydia? To get your revenge on me?”
Beck huffed out another non-laugh. “That’s what you think?”
“That’s what she said. She said you hated me.”
“Maybe I do hate you.” The flatness of his expression was gone now, replaced with something stonier. “Maybe I hate how perfect your life is while mine fell apart.”
His words hit like a punch to the chest.Perfect. It was a curse on his lips, and for the first time, I wanted to protest it. “You have no idea how much I’ve thought about it. How bad I felt about it.” I leaned forward in almost a panic, the picnic table cutting into my stomach. Dread made my stomach churn. “How many nights I’ve stayed up, thinking about you. You have no idea how bad I’ve felt over what happened.”
“I bet you did feel bad.” Beck didn’t back down, staring back. “Because perfect Eleanor made her first mistake. She lit the serenity garden on fire and kissed the bad boy, and then decided he wasn’t worth the trouble.”
That’s not true, I wanted to say, and the thought barely finished forming before it caved in on itself. In the only way that mattered, it was true. I’d chosen to rip the flowers up. To light that rosebud on fire. And I’d let Mrs. Johnson point the finger at Beck when I’d known I’d been to blame. I’d been too desperate to be the perfect daughter, to be a good girl who never didanything wrong. Their disappointment had been too terrifying.
It might’ve been a knee-jerk reaction, but I’d used him as a shield, as a pawn I’d sacrificed so as not to lose my king.
