“If we had been made aware of Valentine’s last name, we’d never have come. But you both insisted on first names only,” Ella’s dad seethes, and while he still hasn’t mentioned the kiss, the way he stares at me with disgust makes me feel like he announced it on loudspeaker.
“I apologize, sir,” I say, because honestly, I couldn’t be more annoyed at us, either.
“It’s not your fault,” Ella’s mom chimes in. “We weren’t on the guest list. It was a last-minute add-on type of thing.”
But Ella’s dad isn’t having it. “It most certainly is their—”
Ella’s mom touches her husband’s arm, and he grumbles but stops midaccusation.
I glance toward the water. “I’ll tell Ella you’re looking for her,” I say, cutting the conversation off, anxious to get back to Ella and Tiny.
“Please do,” Ella’s mom says. “I’ll gather our things.”
The instant she finishes speaking, I speed walk toward the dock, feeling like we might actually slip out of this mess. But as I approach Tiny and Ella, I know something’s off. Their body language is stiff and Tiny’s expression is strained.
“When you said Prem and Piper had no kids, the error didn’t occur to me right away. But then I saw you all together—it was hard not to notice your resemblance to your mom,” Ella says, and I stumble over my own foot. “So what I want to know is, why are you and Jonah both lying about who you are?”
Jonah. The realization hits me hard, like a wave that tumbles you in the ocean, scraping your back and legs against the sand before releasing you, gasping for breath.
Ella shifts her eyes to me, full of disappointment.
And suddenly all our mistakes come into crisp focus. If we hadn’t gone to that art store. If Daisy hadn’t been there. If we had spoken to Ella’s parents more. If they hadn’t snagged a last-minute invite. If. If. If.
“The thing is—” Tiny starts on what I imagine is an attempt to twist the narrative.
“August,” I say, cutting her off, knowing our hand is played and we lost. “My name is August.”
Tiny gulps.
“August?” Ella’s upset kicks up a notch. “So you lied about your name not once but twice? And about living in my town, about . . . my god, is everything you said a lie?”
I stare at her, trying to find a way to tell it to her straight. But everything sounds like crap: “We’re kinda what you’d call relationship detectives.” “And it’s actually a good thing your parents hired us.” “You see, your boyfriend is cheating on you.”
Tiny looks at me like, You need to say something. Now.
I open my mouth, but I get cut off.
“Ella, honey, I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to leave,” Ella’s mom says, as she and Ella’s dad approach us.
“We just got here,” Ella objects, her annoyance seeping into her tone.
“I have a work situation that’s time sensitive,” her father explains.
“You guys go,” Ella says, keeping her eyes on me. “I’ll call a car.”
“No,” Ella’s mom replies.
Now Ella looks at her parents, frowning. “Please, I just need a minute.” The upset in her voice stakes me through the heart, and her parents shift their focus to me, as though I might explain what’s going on.
Ella notices. “Hang on a second. What am I missing here? Why are you looking at Hold—August that way?”
“We aren’t looking at August in any way,” Ella’s mom compensates, and I cringe.
Ella holds out her hands. “Wait, everybody stop,” she says like she’s trying to make sense of us. “Why didn’t you react when I said his real name?”
But it isn’t Ella’s parents who answer—it’s me again. “They hired us.”
No one moves, the bomb of my words going off and all of us frozen in place.
Ella’s voice is disbelieving. “What do you mean, they—”
“To break up your relationship with Justin,” Tiny continues, and I’m grateful. It would sound much worse coming from me. Tiny’s tone is measured and her chin high, like she’s come to terms with what she has to do even though she doesn’t like it.
“What?!?” Ella says, this time with force. “What are you even . . . That’s not possible. Mom?” Her eyes are pleading.
Ella’s mom blanches. Ella’s dad reddens.
“Justin’s cheating on you,” Tiny continues, taking control. And now the whole Becker family looks at her with matching expressions of shock. I know Tiny has to say it, that if she doesn’t, this massive screwup could effectively push Ella further into Justin’s arms. “I’m sorry. You weren’t supposed to find out like this.”
“Find out like this? Find out like—” Ella stammers, gesturing at all of us. “How dare you. I cannot believe . . .” She shakes her head, her tone lodged firmly between fury and tears. “Screw all of you!” She pushes past me and storms away.
I follow. “Ella, wait,” I say, but she doesn’t slow down. “Ella, please. Let me—”
“Get away from me!” she spits.
“Please let me explain—”
“Explain?” she yells, turning to face me in the middle of the dance floor. “What are you going to explain, August?” She makes my name sound like a curse. “That everything you’ve ever said to me is a big fat lie? That you’re a manipulative asshole who I never should have trusted?”
“It’s more complicated—”
But she’s not done. “Complicated like you and Valentine pretending to be my friends? Complicated like making me trust you when you were lying through your teeth? I told you about my grandmother . . . I . . . No, just no. Whatever you have to say, I do not want to hear it!” She forcefully brushes her cheek, where a tear has overflowed.
The crowd around us stares.
“I know you feel betrayed,” I say, desperately trying to find a foothold in this quicksand-ish conversation. “I swear I never meant to hurt you. I was trying to help—”
She laughs angrily. “Help? Whatever you say Justin did, you’ve done so much worse. And don’t even get me started on our conversation today. I can’t believe I was going to—” She shakes her head. “I never ever want to see you again.”
There it is. The irreparable hurt in her eyes. The finality of her words. The painful out-of-breath feeling of watching her walk away. The wall I built around my feelings years ago presses firmly against my ribs, cracking and threatening to drown me like a bursting dam.
There’s no air. None.
I don’t remember walking away.
I don’t remember if Ella’s parents said anything.
I don’t remember Tiny.
I don’t remember my mom following me to the steps or calling after me as I went up them. She’s mad. Or upset maybe. Again, I don’t know.
All I know is that I’m in my room, locking the door. Locking the window. Locking the world out.