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Lita gazes down at her outfit, in search of a good place to stow it. But her red velvet dress with the faux white fur trim around the sleeves and hem is so tight, short, and pocket-free, it doesn’t allow room for anything more.
“Oh, I know—I’ll put it in my boot!” She grabs onto my shoulder for balance, leaning forward as she wedges it deep into the shaft of her shiny, black, knee-high stilettos. Enveloping me into another one of her infamous perfumey hugs, she says, “I love it. Truly. I was just giving you grief. Guess I’m a little shocked at how easily you’re fitting into the way things are done around here.” She pulls away, runs her palms down the front of her dress. “And now, I leave you with Xotichl. She’s the only one I truly trust to look after you and make sure you stay put. And if either of you happen to find Dace, make sure you grab hold of him and make him stay too. Secret Santa is an exact science, you know? Everyone must be present and accounted for or it doesn’t work.” She leaves us with that, storming toward the stage where Auden’s band Epitaph plays. Waiting impatiently for them to finish their set so she can take their place.
“Dace isn’t here?” I face Xotichl, trying to keep the worry from my voice, but it’s no use—she sees right through it.
“He’s around. I felt his presence earlier. But you better not go looking for him. Lita’s kind of scary when she’s in party dictator mode. And now that she’s made you my responsibility, you need to stay put.” Xotichl laughs. “Bet you didn’t realize you held the fate of the entire gift exchange in your hands?” She cocks her head to the side. “Or—did you?”
I laugh when she says it, though the truth is, it’s not entirely sincere, and Xotichl, true to form, is quick to catch on to even a hint of falseness.
“There’s something different about you.” She reaches toward me, places her hand over mine.
“I’m wearing makeup—lots and lots of makeup—courtesy of Jennika,” I tell her. “Oh, and I also let her curl my hair. And while I kind of like it, it’s also kind of weird to see myself this way.” I toss my hair over my shoulder, hoping I’ll soon forget about it, stop messing with it. I’ve got way more important things to focus on than the sparkly, new, holiday party look my mom foisted on me.
“I’m sure you look amazing,” Xotichl says. “But that’s not what I meant.”
Oh. I look at her, wondering just what her blindsight is telling her.
“Part of you is stronger.” She lifts her hand from my mine, allowing it to hover as she assesses my energy. “And yet, part of you is not.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you saw me earlier today. Paloma taught me to manipulate the elements. If it’s up to me, you’ll have your white Christmas and then some…” My voice drifts along with my gaze, claimed by the girl just a few tables away.
The new girl.
The one with the wild hair and exotic good looks.
She’s talking with Jacy and Crickett and a handful of boys whose names I keep forgetting.
“Daire—” Xotichl squeezes my fingers. Trying to stop me from staring, stop me from asking the question we both know is coming.
But I can’t stop either of those things.
“Who is she?” I ask, knowing there’s no need to explain who I’m talking about.
Noting the way Xotichl’s voice grows soft and resigned when she says, “Her name’s Phyre. Phyre Youngblood. Pronounced like fire—but spelled with a P H Y.”
Phyre.
Pronounced like fire.
The very element I bonded with—learned to control. And yet, Phyre the person leaves me feeling completely outclassed.
“How do you know her? How come all of you seem to know her?”
I’m still staring, unable to look anywhere else. Watching as she laughs in a way that sends a cascade of curls bouncing over her shoulders, exposing a long, graceful curve of neck. Her movements so fluid, so elegant, so endlessly watchable—the boys can’t help but stare with unbridled longing, while Jacy and Crickett look on with unabashed envy.
She presses a hand to her mouth, hushing herself, as the boy standing before her—Brendan? Bryce? whatever—all I know for sure is that the sheer sight of her causes him to inch just a little bit closer, as though warming himself in her glow.
But the second she turns toward me, catching me staring, I tear my gaze away. Feeling awkward, stupid, and clumsy—wondering if I should maybe add the word jealous to the quickly growing list of my faults.
“She used to live here,” Xotichl says, pulling me back to my original question. “Then her mom disappeared and her siblings, Ashe and Ember, went to live with their aunt, while Phyre moved away with her dad. But now, apparently, they’re back. Or at least that’s the nutshell version.”
“Yeah? And what’s the other version—the one you’re keeping from me?”
I study her closely, knowing she’s only trying to be a good friend and protect me from things like “wrong ideas” or “hurt feelings,” but it’s too late for that. My mind is already spinning with ideas—both wrong and hurtful—and only the truth can set me straight.
The fact is, I saw the way Phyre looked at Dace.
I also saw the way he could barely bring himself to return the gaze.
