Page 81 of Fireworks Flame
He gives me a grateful smile. “Oh, I’ve seen most of them in here before. We’re tight.”
“Tightsounds like a bit of an oversell,” Deiss says dryly.
“What if he kept it covert and stuck to the people he’s served before?” I say. “He could stick to the back half of the basement to limit exposure.”
“That’s stupid,” Simone says sharply. “Everyone would catch on anyway.”
Deiss and I turn toward her, matching expressions of surprise on our faces. Simone is the last person either of us would expect to be concerned about Deiss’s business at this particular moment.
“Don’t do it,” Simone insists. The intensity of her words doesn’t match the casualness of the conversation. “You’ll get in trouble.”
Deiss’s eyes flick toward me again, and I shrug covertly.
“Do you know something?” Deiss asks Simone. But his words are drowned out by the shrieks of four tweens who press into our little circle.
They bounce and squeal, rushing Deiss so that he backs into one of the record bins.
“It’s really you!” the tallest girl cries, grabbing his arm. She swings her hair around, grinning triumphantly. “We found Brendan Davis!”
CHAPTER 25
My heart stops. Truly, it quits functioning. There’s nothing for one endless second, and then it begins to pound again, thumping so hard the sound of it fills my ears.I’m the only one he told.Deiss’s secret is out, and I’m the only one he shared it with. It can’t be my fault, though. I’ve only told Simone, and she doesn’t know a bunch of young girls. She always says anyone under the age of twenty-one is worthless to her.
They’re declaring their love for Deiss as he leans languidly against the record bin. His face is blank, save for a polite smile. If it weren’t for the way he keeps reaching up to rub the back of his head, I’d think he’s taking this, like everything else I’ve ever seen him encounter, in stride. The tic gives him away, though. That small show of vulnerability makes me want to forcibly push everyone out the door and deadbolt it behind them.
“What the hell is going on?” Phoebe glares at the girl, who’s lifted her phone a foot in front of Deiss’s face and begunvideoing his discomfort. With a flick of her wrist, Phoebe knocks the phone to the ground without touching the kid.
The girl looks at Phoebe in disbelief.
“Boundaries,” Phoebe says. “Learn them.”
“Do they think Deiss is famous?” Mac’s question is either rhetorical or broadly directed. Without waiting for an answer, he loudly says, “I’mthe model.”
The tall tween scoffs at his claim. “He’s Noah Riley.”
“First, you said he was Brandon,” Mac says, crossing his arms over his chest like he’s fully prepared to debate with this child.
“Bren-dan.” She shakes her head like she’s never encountered someone so uneducated as this oversized pretty boy. Behind her, the other two have flanked Deiss and have begun taking selfies. People around us are beginning to stare. “He plays Noah Riley inFamily Fun, which, by the way, I’ve seen every episode.Four times.I could totally quote most of them by heart. So, I’m, like, his biggest fan.”
My mind races as Mac tries to explain to the girl that she’s got the wrong guy. Between Lucas and Deiss and aliases and characters, names are flying, but I can’t focus on any of them. I need to know that this isn’t happening because of me. It has to have been his performance last week at the concert. The video must have gone viral. Somehow, someone recognized him from it.
“That’s my picture,” Phoebe exclaims, breaking me out of my spiral of panic. She grabs the phone the girl is showing Mac and bends her head over it.
I slip through the growing crowd and peer over her shoulder. My stomach sinks at the sight of the photo she’s just enlarged. It’s not hers. It’s mine. I sent it to her with the shots Itook of her dancing on stage. It’s one where I zoomed in on Deiss’s face.
“What is that?” My voice cracks, and I have to repeat myself to be heard. “What’s that picture attached to?”
“A whole article about Deiss.” Phoebe clicks off the photo, and I see the words that spell the end of everything.Brendan Davis, the headline reads,Where is he now?
Together, we read it, my stomach curdling more with every sentence. The author has gone salacious, twisting everything in Deiss’s life to appear seedy. They claim he’s never had a real relationship, as if he’s some kind of sociopath and the eleven years he’s spent with the four of us means nothing. According to them, he’s a serial bed-hopper who changes identities like other men change their shirts.
They dedicate an entire paragraph to the store. In their version, it’s merely a front for his underground raves where he sells drugs and booze to make up for the millions he’s lost. The entire article is trash, but there’s enough truth in it that they must have had an insider. It’s the only way they could know about me, the roommate they claim Deiss has been forced to get to help cover his rent.
“I don’t understand,” Phoebe says, pulling out her phone and comparing the pictures side by side. “They’re identical. Did you post this somewhere?”
“No.” I glare at Simone. “A better question is who had access to your texts.”
Despite my accusation, I don’t fully believe it until I see the flush of guilt on her face. How could I? She’sSimone.
