CHAPTER 2
I’d met Beckham Jennings for the first time when I was eight years old, and I’d fallen in love at first sight.
In lovethe way children could be in love, doodling names together inside a carved heart and spying with their hands smothering their giggles. Beckham had been a year and a half older than me, tall even as a kid, and handsome. He’d gone to a different school, so I’d only been able to see him at Alderton-Du Ponte fundraisers and events, where our parents brought us and promptly forgot about our existence.
But it wasn’t just his prettiness that I’d liked. When he’d smile—and it wouldn’t be often—it’d cause a strange feeling to stir in my stomach, and I didn’t realize until middle school that those werebutterflies. The first and only boy to give them to me like a gift.
The crush had lasted years. I’d looked forward to every Alderton-Du Ponte party. I’d steal Mom’s earrings andwear them in hopes Beck would see them and think I was pretty.
It’d been a perfect sort of one-sided crush—until it wasn’t.
I-N-E-V-I-T-A-B-L-E.
At Alderton-Du Ponte, without the right connections, one slip-up could send you tumbling straight down the social pyramid, stripping you bare on the way down until there was nothing left but smoke and rags. And sometimes, even the right connections couldn’t save you. Sometimes, once the fire caught, there was no putting it out.
The fire had more than caught Beck four years ago—it’d burned him alive.
And I’d been the one to light the flame.
“It wasnotan accident,” Daisy said for the third time, countering the lame excuse that fell off Beck’s lips. “How hard is it to apologize?”
Beck lounged against the wall with his arms loosely folded over his chest, peering sadly into his empty cup. “Nellie and I took the corner at the same time. Shouldn’t you be scolding her, too?”
Daisy and Jamie had been standing near the doorway when Beck tipped his drink over, washing our shoes. Daisy had grabbed my arm and helped me away from the ballroom’s doorway, and away from any eyes that might’ve been looking to pick up any gossip. We now stood near the bathrooms, where she’d ducked in and gotten a damp paper towel.
“I saw you dump your cup over on her.”
“I don’t see how you could’ve, given your low vantage point.”
She scoffed. “A height joke. Real clever. Who even are you, anyway?”
I gripped Jamie’s shoulder tighter, using it as leverage while Daisy worked out the juice from my shoes. Up until that moment, he’d been assessing the situation in silence. “He used to be a member here,” Jamie told her, voice quiet. “Beckham Jennings.”
Daisy froze, and I tried to remember what bits of gossip she might’ve heard about Beck. Daisy only joined as a member at Alderton-Du Ponte sophomore year, since almost all the upperclassmen at Cardale Preparatory had a membership. I’d never, ever talked about Beck, but the other girls at the club might’ve.
For one moment, I thought I’d gotten lucky, and Daisy might not remember anything about Beck after all.
But then she arched a brow. “They let arsonists back on the property now?”
A-R-S-O-N-I-S-T-S. The word was like a flame itself, lighting my stomach on fire.
“Only as long as I pinky swear not to have a lighter on me.” Beck’s eyes flicked from Daisy up to latch onto mine. “Also, arsonist is quite a boring term. I prefer pyromaniac.”
A dark sort of glee had filled his voice, mocking in a way only I would pick up on.
In my short life, I hadn’t made many decisions I’d regretted. Every move I made was calculated. Pored over until I couldn’t find a flaw with the decision. I could remember the last time I’d allowed myself to act in the heat of the moment—and it’d been four years ago.
And, looking at Beck, it felt like I’d been transported back to that very moment.
You have to like me at least a little, I’d told him once upon a time.Because I like you a lot.
“It’s all right,” I said, impressed with the strength in my voice. It didn’t sound like my world was toppling sideways—only felt like it. “I should’ve looked where I was going. It wasn’t… his fault.” I couldn’t force my tongue to form the shape of his name, despite my mind’s eagerness at spelling it.
Daisy looked up at me, and the worry in her eyes was not for my now orange-scented toes. I wondered if she could see through me.
“You dyed your hair,” Jamie said after a long beat, tone neutral. His eyes were on Beck, just not fierce in the way Daisy’s were.
Beck reached up and tugged a hand through the strands, tousling it further. It almost looked more white than blond, and the darkness of his roots seemed to bleed into it. “Bleached it, actually. Lydia says I look like an anime character.”
