Felix Ever After(39)

My second question: How the hell could Declan fall for someone he’s never even met? Because one thing’s for sure: I’m not Lucky, so Declan doesn’t have a crush on me. I mean, yes, I know that Lucky had to come from somewhere, and I did text genuine shit sometimes, but if Declan ever found out that I’m Lucky, I’m pretty sure . . .

I have no idea what he would do.

He already hates me—he admitted exactly that last night—so not much would really change. Maybe he’d go back to the dean, say that me kicking his chair wasn’t an accident after all, go through those long months of disciplinary hearings to make sure I’m expelled and have no chance at Brown.

I guess how Declan would react doesn’t really matter, because I know one thing for sure now: I have no reason to respond to him.

The whole point was to get close to Declan—to figure out a secret of his, to hurt him like he hurt me. But now that I know for a fact that he wasn’t behind the gallery, and that he isn’t sending those messages, I don’t have any purpose to continue this plot for revenge.

No reason to keep messing with him. No reason to keep talking to him.

The problem? I kind of want to.

By the time I get to St. Cat’s, there’re only a few minutes until the bell is supposed to ring. I drag my feet as I walk, and nod at Leah and Hazel as they pass by. Everyone stands around in their groups, talking and laughing and sharing their phones to look at videos and texts. My heart—I can’t help it, I really can’t—starts to beat harder the second I see Declan. He’s alone under the shade of a tree. I remember what he’d told me: that he doesn’t have any friends here, not really, not even James and Marc. He’s got dark circles under his eyes—probably from staying up late, like I did—and he keeps glancing at the phone in his hand as if he’s waiting for something.

It hits me. He just confessed his feelings to Lucky, and he’s waiting for Lucky to say something. Anything.

He must be freaking the fuck out right now. I mean, I would be, if I told a guy I liked him, and he didn’t respond.

Crap. I almost feel bad.

Okay, no—I do feel bad.

I walk past Declan, staring hard at my Converses. I’m having a hard time breathing. I half expect Declan to look up, to smile and acknowledge me—but why would he? He doesn’t know that I’m the person he spent all night talking to.

I cross the parking lot to the school’s entrance. Ezra’s leaning against the brick wall near the doors with Leah and Hazel, who’ve made it here before me, along with James and Marisol. Mari smokes next to the No Smoking within 25 Feet sign, as usual. Austin is there, too. Ezra told me that he and Austin have been texting, but it’s still weird to see someone new hanging out with him. There’s something a little uglier, too, buried in my chest. Jealousy, I guess, for Ezra and his new maybe-boyfriend.

As I get closer, Ezra waves me over. I feel awkward. I don’t want to admit to Ezra that he was right: Declan didn’t put up the gallery after all. I also know I shouldn’t tell him about Declan’s text. I think I might be falling for you. Ezra would just shrug, say that he doesn’t care—and I don’t know, maybe he really wouldn’t—but I think something like that has to sting. The guy you once loved, telling your best friend he’s got a crush on them?

Christ, what a fucking mess.

When I join the group, Austin looks from Ezra, to me, and back to Ezra. It’s not like I’ve never spoken with Austin before—but, suddenly, I have absolutely no idea what to say to him.

“Felix, true or false,” Leah says. “Aliens exist.”

“True,” I say. Hazel and James roll their eyes.

“Two against five,” Leah says with a grin.

“Of course you guys believe in aliens,” James says with a tone of fucking losers as he checks his phone.

“Come on,” Leah says. “How can aliens not exist? Do you really think we’re the only ones in this entire universe?”

“I’ll believe it when there’s proof,” Hazel says.

“We literally have videos of orbs hanging in the sky and pilots saying they’ve been chased by nonhuman spacecraft. What more proof do you need?”

“An actual alien.”

Austin smiles at me while Leah argues with Hazel. Now that I know he’s Ezra’s new maybe-special friend, I pay a little more attention to him than I would have before. He kind of reminds me of a golden retriever, with his floppy blond hair and blue eyes. The first time I saw him in acrylics class, I kind of immediately hated the guy. He’s the sort of person the world adores, just based on the way he looks, a little like the way people obsess over men like Chris Hemsworth and Chris Evans and Chris Pine and all the other famous Chrises, plus Ryan Gosling, claiming that they’re liberal and that they aren’t racist and that they’re feminists, but not really thinking about why they’re so obsessed with white men, and why they don’t love any people of color the same way. I love that I have brown skin. I love that I’m queer, and that I’m trans. But sometimes, I can’t help but think how much easier my life would be if I was someone like Austin.

“How’s your portfolio going?” Austin asks me. “I’m hitting a wall. I have no idea what I want to do. I’ve just been painting the same landscapes.”