Page 46 of Ordinary Secrets

I guess I won’t be able to see her this weekend...“What do you guys usually do?”

“Sometimes we go out to eat. For sure we’ll play board games, and I’ll bake something with Grammy.”

“Did you play a lot of board games growing up?”

“Mm-hmm. You?”

“Not really.” By that, I mean none at all. The idea of Victor breaking out Candy Land with me is unimaginable.

“If you didn’t watch TV and you didn’t play board games, how did you spend your childhood?”

If I tell her how I spent my childhood, she won’t believe me. Hell,Iwouldn’t believe me.

She’ll think I’m joking if I tell her I grew up under a mountain in a secret compound. She’ll think I’m insane if I tell her that a few weeks after I moved in, I discovered that burning down trees with the fire that comes out of my hands made me feel better.

At the age of eight, I spent most of my after-school hours trying to make money to buy myself new clothes and shoes.

At nine, I was put into training with the new ZIRDA agents to learn how to fight properly. Victor allowed me to learn in hopesthat it would help me control my gifts better. Either that or he got off on seeing me get beat up. Whichever it was, it didn’t change that whenever I got too upset, my powers would get out of hand. My room used to light up in flames almost once a week, and things would fly all over the place.

How I spent my time as a kid isn’t something I want to share with Arella.

“I went for a lot of walks,” I say, thinking about all the times I hiked the forest for a good tree to burn. It’s the truth, just not the specific truth. “And I worked out a lot.”

“Were you a chubby kid?”

“No, but I enjoyed exercising.”If getting beat up by people twice my age counts as exercising...

Victor didn’t tell the adults I trained with to go easy on me. They were told to fight hard, and they did. The worst part is that along with my own pain, I could feel theirs too. It made me twice as weak.

It wasn’t until I hit puberty and finally learned how to block other people’s physical emotions from mirroring onto me that I began winning fights. Otherwise, I was basically used as a punching bag.

Arella and I loop around the sidewalk to head back toward my house. Before we arrive there, I need to ask her out again. I just don’t know how.

“I checked out your blog last night,” I say.

Her eyes widen. “You did?”

“Yeah. You make cakes look like works of art displayed in a museum.”

“Wow. I didn’t think you’d actually look at it.”

With any other girl, I wouldn’t have. But this is Arella, and I need to learn everything about her. I hoped that going through her website would give me some insight on who she is. All I got out of it was a craving for baked goods.

“Do you make money on your site?” I ask.

“Some. Not enough to live off of. It’s based on ad clicks and how high the traffic is.”

“That’s how my band makes money on YouTube, too. Ad partners and brand deals. The more clicks and views, the bigger the paycheck.”

Arella steps over a large crack in the sidewalk. “You must make a ton of money on YouTube if you’re able to split it between the band, hire a crew, and still have enough to afford a four-bedroom house in Brentwood on your own.”

“Most of the band’s income comes from tickets to our live shows, meet and greets, and merch. Also, I didn’t buy my house with the band’s earnings. I bought my housebecauseof the band, remember? We needed a place to play, so I provided it.”

“Then, I’m curious... How are you able to afford your house? And afford to travel internationally? And start a foundation?”

The only people I’ve ever told about my inheritance are Liz and Jess. Whenever people ask, I usually tell them I have a lot of investments and leave it there. While that’s true, the money I invested with came from my inheritance. I don’t like telling people exactly where my money comes from. It usually leads to them asking how my parents died. I hate having to retell the fake story, so the less I have to talk about it, the better.

Maybe because Arella understands what it’s like to be parentless, I can tell her that I lost mine too—without all the meaninglessI’m sorrys and pity looks. She probably knows how useless those are.

---