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 spotlight shone 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 I never did 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 know Daisy’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.
And Beck climbed out.
It was his aunt’s convertible, only it had the top up now.
Beck slipped his keys into his pocket before he hurriedly rounded the trunk of his car to the pump, his back to me.
The bench I sat at was probably two hundred feet or so away at the curb, so I could watch him while not being obvious about it.
It was strange, seeing him at a distance like this. He had on a red shirt today, a few shades darker than his car, and it was loose on his frame. His platinum hair was tousled crazier than normal, as if he’d been tearing his fingers through it.
My shoulders slumped forward a little, heart pounding faster. Of all the people in Fenton County. Of all the gas stations, of all the benches, of all the hours in the day. Of all the moments, it was this one, where I couldn’t possibly feel any worse.
When I’d felt like I was going to explode, now Beck had appeared twice.
He turned back toward the car and lifted the pump, his head tipped down, sunglasses hiding his eyes.
He pulled out his phone, checked something on it, then pocketed it again.
I found myself watching him without blinking as he stretched his neck one way, then the other.
Of course the universe would bring him to me now. I deserved it.
The letters in my mind were small, almost as if they’d been whispered. b-e-c-k-h-a-m j-e-n-n-i-n-g-s.
Almost as if he’d heard his name, spelled out in the white noise between us, Beck looked over, straight at me.
Beck lowered his sunglasses an inch down his nose, peering above them. My heart seized in my chest, stuttering before, full-on stopping now. Even from here, I could see Beck’s shoulders slump, as if he’d been wound tight.
Then, ever so slightly, he smiled.
A shameful sort of relief hit me then, just as it had the day he’d shown up at Senior Night. Finally, I thought.
I-N-E-V-I-T-A-B-L-E. It was a strange word that popped into my head, but it rang true as Beck began waltzing his way across the parking lot.
When he came close enough, I lifted my chin. “You can’t just leave the pump while you’re getting gas.” I was shocked by how rough my voice sounded; it’d been hours since I’d last spoken. My lips, too, felt cracked when I spoke, my mouth too dry.
“Thought that was you,” Beck said as if I hadn’t spoken. His sunglasses were back, fully covering his eyes. With the way the sun was positioned, I could see a faint trace of their curve through the lens. “You following me, Nellie? It’s quite unbecoming.”
“Oh, that’s rich, coming from you.”
Beck just smiled, and I couldn’t help but stare. It was a genuine grin, and I couldn’t even begin to imagine why. It reminded me too much of the boy in the garden.
Beck swung his keys around his finger, standing above me. “What’s up with your shoes?”
I shoved my foot back into it before he could see my blister. “None of your business.”
“Are those Jamie’s? Or are your feet really that big? I didn’t notice before—”
“I said it’s none of your business,” I repeated, voice tired. I didn’t have enough fire left within me to properly pick a fight with him.
“You can yell at me if you want.” Beck reached out with his sneaker and nudged Jamie’s. “I like it when you yell at me.”
It was strange to see him actively try to get a rise out of me, but it wasn’t working. “I’m no fun today,” I told him, voice coming out small. “So, please. Just leave me alone.”
I shouldn’t have admitted a weakness. I’d left the door open for him to stroll right in and poke fun, and knowing Beck, he would. He’d take advantage of any moment to get under my skin, and here I was, practically giving him permission to pry.
Beck regarded me for a long moment, twirling his keys around his finger again. He twirled them around, then caught them. Around, then caught. He was thinking. Debating.
“Do you want to explode?” he asked.
The pressure on my chest became impossibly tight. “Or disappear.” One corner of my lips tugged up at the callback.
But Beck didn’t smile.
I suddenly wished I hadn’t said anything. “I’m fine. Just—just leave.”
I expected him to crack a joke, throw out a quip, or heck, even a “You deserve it.”
I did not expect him to just walk away.
He went all the way back to his car, and I watched with a sort of buzzing panic I didn’t understand.
Beck took the fuel handle out of the car and plugged it back into the machine.
He rounded the trunk of his car again, and without glancing back over at me, he climbed into the driver’s seat. It started up with a roaring purr.
I’d wanted him to pry, I realized. To push, to poke, to revive the stubborn flame that had blown out. And instead of swallowing my pride and asking him to stay, instead of surrendering, I’d ended up alone.
Dad’s voice was cruel in my head. I didn’t realize how big your ego had gotten.
I leaned forward against the sudden clench in my stomach, eyes filling once again.
After everything, of course he’d leave. If he couldn’t get a rise out of me, in his eyes, there was no point in conversation.
I hated myself for being hurt. I hated Beck for even appearing in the first place, and I hated Destelle for calling, and I hated Dad for pointing out my flaws, and I hated—
“Hop in.”
I jerked up to find Beck had circled around to park at the curb in front of my bench, the passenger window rolled down. The cab of his car was shadowy, so I couldn’t see through his sunglasses like I could a minute ago.
I blinked against the rush of tears. “I-It’s fine, I—”
“Did you hear a question mark at the end of that sentence?” One dark brow arched over the rim of his sunglasses. “Because I didn’t.”
The stubbornness stirred in my chest like a cat waking from a nap. “You can’t order me around.”
“Watch me.” Beck leaned across the console and popped the passenger door open, shoving it wide. “Get in, Nell.”
I-N-E-V-I-T-A-B-L-E. It was a word, I knew, that would always be synonymous with Beckham Jennings.
My legs ached as I stood from the bench, feet shuffling in Jamie’s shoes, carrying me to his car.
I reached up and swiped at a tear that’d slid down my cheek, wiping it away before I fell into the passenger seat. I-N-E-V-I-T-A-B-L-E.
Beck put the car into gear the second I closed my door, reaching for the dial on the radio. “What are we feeling?” he asked me, pressing the forward arrow on his playlist. “Screamo? Indie? Taylor Swift?”