Chapter Eleven

17.1K 964 86
                                    

Inside, the limo is cool and softly lit. I slide across the leather seat until I'm sitting opposite Felix.

There's a cold, fluttery feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Felix places the guitar case on the floor between us. He stretches back, crossing his long legs out in front of him at the ankle.

I notice he's wearing the same outfit (a dark top, black jeans and navy blue converse sneakers) he was wearing in one of Lyall's Instagram updates from earlier in the day.

It's all just so surreal.

I look down at my own outfit and realise we're wearing practically the same thing. I didn't change after school, so I'm still in my jeans, converse and a red hoodie.

I'd give anything to be wearing a pretty dress right now. Or some killer lipstick or even just eyeliner. I can see Jamie's logic in wearing makeup 24/7 now.

But there's no way when I was rushing to get dressed this morning I could have known I'd be going to the concert, escorted by none other than Felix Lockhart.

The limo takes off with a slight jolt. I look down at my hands, trying desperately to think of something to say.

He's gazing out the window as if I'm not even here.

I'm shaking.

After a few minutes of silence, I manage to ask him the big question.

"Why are you doing this?"

He looks puzzled for a moment, then looks out the window again.

"You mean, why am I taking you to the concert with me?" He asks.

"Yes." Is all I can manage.

"To be honest, I don't really know."

After that, there's just silence for ages. He's completely ignoring me. He doesn't even look my way. Maybe I said something stupid. Or maybe it was because I made such a fool of myself before getting into the car. All that staring and blushing.

He must regret asking me to come along. A charitable deed misfiring.

I want to curl up and die right about now.

After what feels like an hour (but it's probably more like a few minutes) he breaks the silence.

"Natural-coloured hair, no visible tattoos or piercings, total lack of edge or style. You don't look like a rock band groupie," he says, eyeing me suspiciously.

I feel my face flush.

"I'm not," I say.

"So what do you like about Fable then?"

Before I can answer, he raises his hand, and talks over me.

"Actually, I don't care," he says. "What I do want to know, is where'd you learn to play like that?"

The sudden question startles me.

"Play?"

"The guitar." His face is still turned away, but I see the corner of his mouth twist, like he's suppressing a laugh.

I don't think it's actually possible to feel any more embarrassed than I do right now.

"My grandmother taught me. " I can feel my heart racing. I need to calm down. Breathe. "She was in a band in the sixties."

"She sounds interesting."

"Yeah, she was," I say without thinking.

Felix turns to face me. He raises his eyebrow as if expecting me to continue.

FABLEWhere stories live. Discover now