Page 14 of Ordinary Secrets (Secrets Trilogy #1)

14

TREY

Monday

It doesn’t take me long to finish filming my solo scenes. While the rest of the band films their scenes outside the Soul House, I head inside, backstage. I’ve just started messing around on a loop station when Liz strolls in and stops at my side.

She has tense energy. “Hey, T-Bear.”

I press my foot against the loop pedal to stop the beat. “What?”

She feigns innocence. “What, what?”

“You’re all nervous and shit.”

Liz knows how much I hate playing mind games, so she gets straight to the point. “She seems sweet.”

“Who?” I ask, even though I know exactly who.

After Arella and I returned to my backyard party, I refused to leave her side. I felt Liz’s glare on me the entire time. Every time I made Arella laugh, Liz didn’t miss it. Anyone who noticed that probably thought Liz was jealous, but I know better.

She doesn’t approve of me flirting with Ordi women, which I’ll admit I tend to do sometimes just to get them into bed with me. She probably thinks that’s all I’m trying to do with Arella, when that’s not the case at all. Would Liz approve of me befriending Arella if I told her that this woman could be the key to saving innocent lives from the Royals’ violence? I’m not sure.

Liz calls me out on my bullshit. “You know who I’m talking about. Ari. You seem really into her.”

“Sure.” I try to sound nonchalant. The last thing I need is for Liz to lecture me about women again.

“How into her are you?”

With a long sigh, I set my guitar down. “Are you about to reprimand me? ’Cause if so, we should go sit on the couch. It’s comfier.”

Liz heads there, and I follow her.

“You know what I’m about to say,” she says, plopping onto the cushions.

I do the same. “What? That I shouldn’t be fucking around with Ordi women?”

“Yes!” She gives me a duh face. “You’re the only Zordi I know who actually finds Ordinaries attractive. They’re meant to be our friends, not our partners. Plus, it’s breaking the second most important Zordi law.”

That second law was only established to enforce the first one. Since we aren’t allowed to reveal anything from the Zordi world to an Ordinary, we’re not allowed to engage in sexual or romantic relationships with them, either. Getting too close to them means there’s a higher chance of exposure. Exposure means a scrub for the Ordi and z-prison for the Zordi. Depending on how bad the exposure is, sometimes it means death.

There aren’t a lot of Zordis who like sex with Ordis. Most people think it’s bizarre. Like as strange as it is to chew on glass or to purposely burn your own hair off. To me, sex with Ordinaries feels just as good. Better, actually, because it’s risk- free. Zordis can’t catch Ordinary illnesses, and they can’t catch ours either, meaning we can’t transfer STDs. And since we can’t reproduce with them, why not take advantage of the pregnancy-free sex?

“You’re lucky you’ve never been caught doing it with an Ordi,” Liz says as she leans back against the couch.

“The only way for me to get caught is for another Zordi to report me,” I say. “Since you’re the only one I see regularly, I think I’m fine.”

“Either way, Ari’s sweet and innocent, and that’s dangerous for a guy like you.”

My face screws together. “A guy like me?”

“You know I think you’re a great man.” She chuckles lightly and cocks her head to the side. “Complicated, but still great.”

“Why do I feel another but coming?”

“But... as soon as a girl starts to have real feelings for you, you always drop them like they’re lethal.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“Hey,” I say with a finger up, “the last Zordi I dated used me to make her ex-fiancé jealous.”

“What about the girl before that? The really busty Black one.” Liz puts on her thinking face. “Kelly?”

“Keelah.”

“Yeah. What happened to her?”

“She cheated on me, got pregnant, and tried to tell me I was the father.”

Liz’s jaw drops. “Were you?”

“Hell no. She’s an Ordinary and a gold digger. She demanded money from me until I asked her to take a DNA test. I even offered to pay for it. Haven’t heard from her since.”

That woman ran straight back to the guy she cheated on me with. I can only assume they’re still together. At the time, I was pissed, but I wasn’t too broken up about it. We’d only been sleeping together for a month.

“Rodrigo and I have been together for almost a year now,” Liz says. “We met on Glimmer, that dating app for Zordis. Maybe you should try that. With your face, I’m sure you’ll land a date in a snap. Even for our kind, you’re one of the better-looking ones.”

Zordis naturally have big eyes, clear skin, straight teeth, and healthy bodies. Because of that, we’re seen as more desirable by Ordinaries. By Zordi standards, I think I’m average, but Liz always tells me otherwise.

“Thanks for the advice, Mom. I’ll try that dating app sometime.”

She backhands my chest, scolding me. “Look, I understand that you have a wall up against our kind because with your gift, it makes it hard for you to know if you truly like someone or if you’re just mirroring their feelings. You stick to Ordis because it’s easier. Legally and biologically, it won’t work. There’s no real commitment and no harm when you fuck it up. Because when you do fuck it up, which you will because you’re a man, instead of taking responsibility for it, you can easily brush it off because, no matter what, that relationship wasn’t bound to work anyway. However, that doesn’t mean you should cut Zordi women off forever. Eventually, you’ll get tired of this and want to find your soul mate.”

What is this? Call-Trey-out-on-his-shit day? I’ve never thought about any of that as reasons why I steer clear of Zordi women, but when Liz puts it that way...

“Come on, Liz. You don’t really believe in that soul mate bullshit, do you?”

“Of course I do!” She gapes at me like I’m insane for not believing it.

Besides our differences in bodily functions, another thing that makes Zordis unique from Ordis is that we have strong connections with our soul mates—or so people say. Apparently, there are ways to know when someone is your soul mate. Tons of books have been written about it. It’s even taught in Zordi school, but it’s all nonsense.

My belief is that when people claim to have found their soul mate, it’s just a ploy to either steal someone else’s girl or to justify adultery. Aunt Jodi used the soul mate excuse to rationalize leaving Victor out of the blue, turning him into the petulant asshole he is today. So yeah, soul mates are dumb.

“Please, Trey. Could you just leave Ari alone and give someone legal a chance?”

I toss my arms into the air, letting them fall back into my lap. “It’s not like I haven’t given Zordis a shot. All the ones I’ve been with have only wanted me for money.”

“Well, you’re not gonna find someone who wants you for you while fishing in the ocean of Ordinaries.”

After work, I head straight to Arella’s apartment to pick her up for our date. We’re only halfway into it when I decide we need to get out of the public. Two ladies recognized me while we were go-karting. A group of guys bombarded me at the bowling alley. Another girl recognized me when I was about to beat Arella at air hockey. I lost concentration, then the game. I’m supposed to be spending time with her and building a connection—not making her wait around for me to finish taking pictures with strangers.

“Do you mind if we cook dinner instead of going out?” I ask as we head back to my car.

“I thought you said you wanted to get Mexican?” Arella says.

“I did . . . until we kept getting interrupted.”

“Do you normally get recognized everywhere you go?”

“Typically, but put me in a crowd with those over thirty-five, and I guarantee you I’m a nobody.” After we climb into my car and buckle ourselves in, I say, “How ’bout we make tacos at your place? That way I won’t have to drive you back.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

Perfect! I’ll finally get to see the inside of her apartment.

At the grocery store, nobody recognizes me. We’re able to get in and out within five minutes.

As I pull up to Arella’s apartment complex, she gazes intently out the window.

“Whatcha lookin’ for?” I ask, putting the car into park.

Her back snaps straight. “Nothing.”

Bull. She does this every time she comes home, and I don’t know why. I exit the car and skim my eyes across the parking lot. Nothing looks out of the norm, so I follow her inside.

Arella’s little apartment smells like a bakery—sugar, bread, and frosting. There’s stuff everywhere. Assorted trinkets litter the tops of her tables. Framed floral artwork covers the walls. All that can possibly be purple is purple. Violet curtains. Lavender pillows. Lilac throw blankets. Even her lampshades are purple.

She kicks her sandals off by the door, and I do the same with my shoes.

“Would you like something to drink?” she asks as she heads into her postage stamp of a kitchen.

I trail her. “How ’bout some coffee?”

“It’s almost seven.”

“And?” Caffeine doesn’t affect Zordis the way it does Ordis. Our bodies absorb and filter the caffeine way too fast for it to give us any energy. It’s the same reason why Zordis can’t take Ordinary medicines and drugs. Our bodies need stronger remedies. I still like the taste of Ordinary coffee though.

“Sorry,” Arella says. “I don’t drink coffee, so I don’t have any. I could make you some tea?”

“Tea sounds great.”

From the cabinet, Arella pulls down a mug, fills it with water from the fridge, then sticks it into the microwave. Since I don’t wanna be the one to tell her that’s not how you make tea, I keep my mouth shut. Next, she grabs a large pan from under the stove and starts heating it up with some oil.

“What can I help with?” I ask as I slip out of my jacket and drape it over the back of a worn dining chair.

“You can just set the table while I do all the cooking.” She points at a drawer. “Place mats are here. Silverware is right above it.”

The tiny thing she calls a table looks like it belongs in an office with a printer on it—a small printer. Her apartment couldn’t handle anything bigger anyway. I decorate the table with plum-colored place mats, then set down some napkins and silverware.

Since I can’t be of more help, I casually saunter the two steps it takes to get to her living room. Off an end table, I pick up a framed photo of Arella standing next to an old couple. The man is tall and lean, with salt-and-pepper hair. The woman has wavy hair like Arella’s, except it’s shoulder-length with silver streaks.

“Are these your grandparents?”

Arella peeks her head out of the kitchen as I hold up the frame. “Yeah. That’s them.”

I set the frame down, then pick up another one. It features a kid version of Arella behind a cake with a 7 candle on top. Something drags the corners of my mouth down.

That was the last age I had a birthday cake. It’s also the last age I celebrated a holiday, or had a family dinner of any kind—up until I met Liz.

She makes it a point to celebrate every holiday with me, which is good for her, too, considering her family has basically deserted her. For my birthday, she always gives me two gifts: one for that year and a second to make up for a past year. She does the same for Christmas. For Thanksgiving, she cooks me a huge meal with at least six sides, even though it’s always just us. What did I ever do to deserve Liz?

The rest of the photos in Arella’s living room all tell me the same thing: She lived a good childhood with two people who love her. There are pictures of her as a kid on rides at the fair, petting animals at the zoo, and getting piggyback rides from her grandpa at a playground. I’ve never gone to a fair or a zoo. Maybe my parents took me before they died, but I don’t remember. It woulda been nice to be able to do stuff like that...

With a heavy heart, I plant myself onto the chair holding my jacket. The wood creaks under my weight. “How did your weekend go with your grandparents?”

Arella sets a steaming mug in front of me with a tea bag already in it. After I thank her, she goes back to the stove. “It was wonderful. Grammy and I baked some cookies, and we ate them while we played Scrabble.”

“You any good at Scrabble?”

“I’m decent. Grammy is the best though. I swear she makes up words, but when I check them online, they’re legal. Like, do you even know what a Q-A-T is?”

“Not a goddamn clue.”

“Exactly. It’s a legal word though.”

While Arella cooks the taco meat, I focus on her emotions—or lack thereof. I concentrate as hard as I can, but nothing comes. I’m still sensing all the people from the surrounding apartments.

After a few deep breaths, I try again. This time, I close my eyes and imagine myself touching her heart. I do that for a few seconds before a sharp pain pinches my temples, then a headache eases into me. It’s the same type of headache I get whenever I don’t consciously dial back my Empath power all the time and I’m sensing too many people at once.

“You’re quiet today,” Arella says as she cuts up some lettuce.

“Just thinkin’.” I take my first sip of the warm tea. Mmm. Earl Grey.

“About?”

The last thing I’m gonna tell her is the truth. Oh, I was just thinkin’ about how, for some mysterious reason, I can sense everyone’s emotions but yours. She would question the fact that I have the ability to sense emotions more than the fact that I can sense everyone but her.

“I was just wonderin’ if you think your grandparents would like me or not.”

Arella throws her head back, laughing so hard, she has to set the knife down on the counter.

“What’s so funny?”

She continues to giggle. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but they wouldn’t like you. They wouldn’t like anyone who shows interest in me. They’re super-protective. When I told them I wanted to move to LA, they fought me on it for months.”

“Why are they so protective?”

“I’m their only grandkid. It’s expected.” With a wooden spoon, Arella stirs around the taco meat. “Since my mom passed away so young, they treated me like their own child instead of a grandbaby.”

Here’s my chance! Make it sound unintentional. “What was your mom’s name?”

“Bella.”

“And your dad?”

“Aries.”

I make a mental note to dig up everything I can on Bella and Aries Rance tonight. “What did they do for a living?”

“Dad was an accountant. Mom was his secretary.”

“Sounds kinky.” I wiggle my eyebrows, and it makes Arella chuckle.

“It’s exactly what you think it is. Grammy said they hit it off during the job interview. Apparently, my dad only hired my mom because he wanted to date her.”

“And you said they passed away in a car accident?”

“Yeah. They were driving home on a rainy night in September of ’95. It was dark, and they went right over a cliff.”

A rainy night? In September of ’95? My heart stills, and my back straightens like a rod. No way in hell. It’d be too much of a coincidence.

But I have to ask... “What day was it in September?”

She pauses to think. “Um, I’m not sure.”

I’m barely breathing as more words spew from my lips. “Where was the cliff?”

“Don’t know.” Arella shrugs nonchalantly as she goes back to stirring. I can’t tell if she actually doesn’t know or if she’s trying to hide information. Seriously, what a time to not be able to sense someone! If I could sense her, maybe I could tell if she’s lying or not. But what reason would she have to lie?

I try to keep my voice from shaking. “Do you remember where you lived when you were that age?”

She shakes her head. “I was three. I barely remember what I ate yesterday.”

Since she doesn’t seem to have the answers I’m looking for, I stop asking questions.

Eventually, dinner is ready. I’m quiet as we consume our meal, because my brain is too busy thinking up an excuse to leave.

When we finally finish the tacos, I say, “Hey, I just got a text from Liz. She needs me for somethin’. You mind if I head out?”

If she’s disappointed about me leaving, she doesn’t show it. I hate having to rely on someone’s facial expressions to know how they feel.

“Don’t worry about the dishes,” she says as I’m about to pick up my plate. “I’ll get it.”

I’m halfway home when I realize I forgot to make plans with Arella to see her again. I’ll have to text her tomorrow. Right now, my mind’s a mess. The only thing I can think about is going home to research Arella’s parents. I almost stop on the side of the road to do it. I don’t though, because I know if whatever information I find jumbles my mind even more, I won’t be able to get home safely.

I run into my house so fast that I trip over some shoes I apparently left lying in the middle of the entrance. In my bedroom, I wave a hand at my burner laptop. It flies toward me at full speed, and I catch it in midair. With it propped open on my mattress, I type, Bella and Aries Rance.

What comes up is a bunch of romance novels. Definitely not what I’m looking for.

I try searching for each of her parents’ names on their own and find nothing useful. On a whim, I type, Isabella Rance. A lady from the 1200s shows up for that. Not Arella’s mother.

Finally, I try deaths in September 1995.

It’s too broad. What comes up is a bunch of dead famous people.

So I try again: deaths in September 1995 California.

I gasp when my parents’ names pop up first. I don’t know why I’m surprised. I already knew it was the same month. I click the first link and read it.

The article doesn’t state anything I didn’t already know about the tampered story. It highlights some details about a few propane tanks exploding, causing the immediate death of a thirty-three-year-old couple. There’s only one line about me, the “seven-year-old son of the deceased,” and I’m labeled as “the lucky survivor.”

The article doesn’t mention the body parts that were found that didn’t belong to my parents. It says nothing about the intruders’ car that was still parked in the driveway when the cops came, and nothing about how that car mysteriously disappeared after the cops left. The article is so fabricated that if someone read it to me with different names, I wouldn’t even know it’s my family’s story.

The Royals have people everywhere. I wouldn’t be surprised if all the cops that came that night were Royals. I wouldn’t be surprised if this article’s author was a Royal either. If not that, the Royals probably threatened the writer into telling these lies to cover up their crimes.

Back in the search bar, I try being even more specific: deaths in September 1995 California down a cliff.

The first article is about Arella’s parents. At least, I think it’s Arella’s parents. The article states that a couple was driving when the rain and darkness made them lose control of their car and they went right over the cliff.

A few things are fishy about the article.

First, the couple’s names are Stanley and Robyn Calder, not Aries and Bella Rance. Second, they weren’t the only ones who died in the car that night. Apparently, their three-year-old daughter, Hannah, died with them. Third, this happened in Three Rivers, near the same mountain that Shadow Ridge is hidden under, and it happened on the exact same night my parents died.

Coincidence? I think not.

I came to the Internet for answers, and all I’ve got are more questions. Why would Arella lie about her parents’ names? Or did someone lie to her about her parents’ names? If that’s the case, who and why? It’s possible that the article printed false names to cover something up. If so, that begs the question: Who was trying to cover up what?

Next, why would the article state that the couple’s daughter died with them? Arella—or should I say Hannah ?—is very much alive. I’m certain this article is about her parents, because I spend the next hour scouring the Internet, and there isn’t any other report of a couple driving off a cliff to their death in September of 1995.

It’s too much of a coincidence that Arella’s parents died on the same night that mine did in the same town. There’s a connection here, and I’m determined to find it.