Page 41 of Fire
“What?”
“HOW DO YOU—” I stop myself and save my voice, because this is never going to work. Partially because Elena’s eyes are still glued on Zander, and she’s only giving me half her attention. I pull out my phone and open the notes app. She watches with a curious smile as I begin typing.
How do you know? What do you know?
I hand the phone over to her and wait as she quickly reads, responds, and hands it back to me.
Zander told me. Hendrix told him.
My eyes fly up to hers. He is the one who told me to keep it quiet. What the hell?
She motions with her hand to keep reading. Oh, right.
But, to be fair, Hendrix can’t keep a secret or tell a lie to save his life. And once Presley figured out you two went to school together, it sort of all came out.
I start typing again.
Why does Hendrix and me going to college together matter?
I have to tap her on the arm to get her attention. She’s already fallen back under the spell of her husband’s sultry voice. I had no idea until tonight that Zander did backup vocals for the band. But then again, Manic had somewhat fallen off my radar over the last couple of years.
I inwardly sigh. I could say that about a lot of things, actually.
Something brushes against my arm, and I jump. I look up to see Elena holding out my phone and laughing. I guess she isn’t the only one lost in the music.
“Sorry,” I say, taking the phone back.
I skim through the old messages until I reach the new stuff she’s written.
He told Pres about a woman from college that he hooked up with at a party. Hendrix is no saint, but he doesn’t get around THAT much. There was only one person it could be.
I focus entirely too much on the fact that Hendrix is not sleeping with a new girl every night. I force myself not to ask her for details, like just how often is he getting around? Every other night? Weekly?
God, Zara. Shut up.
I type out a normal question, one that doesn’t include Hendrix’s sex life, or at least his sex life with anyone else.
So you, Presley, and Zander know. Does anyone else know?
The expression on her face as she reads it makes my eyes widen. She looks up at me, lips pressed together, and shakes herhead. But it’s not the kind of head shake that makes me think she’s saying,No, Zara. Absolutely nothing to worry about. Your secret is safe.
No, she’s frantically shaking her head back and forth like,please, don’t make me say it.
I fold my arms firmly across my chest and nod toward the phone.
She lets out an exasperated sigh, and I see her mouth the word, “Fine.” A strand of her dark-brown hair falls in front of her face as she leans over the phone, and she absently pushes it away. She begins typing, and after what feels like an eternity, she finally—reluctantly—hands the phone back.
My eyes widen. She’s penned a new novel right here inside my phone. It’s that long.
Okay, so don’t freak out.
That’s never a good start.
But this may have all come out during a family dinner.
The Creeds are known for having these huge family dinners. Totally informal and…
I skip ahead.
