Felix Ever After(42)

When I ask Leah if I can talk to her, she seems a little surprised. I guess I can’t blame her. We’re not exactly friends, even though we’ve hung out before. Leah’s always been nice to me, the kind of person who seems to be constantly smiling and eternally optimistic, which doesn’t sit well with my dark, Slytherin soul. I know I’ve been a bit standoffish to her. I kind of regret that now.

“What’s wrong?” she asks as Ezra and I follow her into the photography classroom. There’re black curtains leading to the darkroom, and there are clotheslines hanging around the walls with black-and-white photography clipped to the string. The room’s empty. Everyone’s at lunch.

“Nothing’s wrong,” I say. “Well, I mean, something’s wrong, but it’s nothing that you did—well, I mean, I hope it’s nothing that you did . . .”

Leah raises a single eyebrow. Ezra makes a Get to the point, Felix face.

“You know that gallery?” I say. “The one—I mean, the one that was of me.”

Leah’s face pales. She stands taller and nods.

“Ezra and I . . . well, I guess mostly me . . . I was thinking that it might’ve been a photography student. I mean, I guess anyone could hack into my phone to get to my Instagram account, but they figured out how to blow up my pictures, and knew how to frame and label everything, and—I don’t know, I just thought . . .”

I feel pretty stupid right now, but Leah isn’t laughing. “God, it was so horrible,” she says. “I know I’ve said it before, but—I don’t know, I’m just really sorry that happened to you.”

I bite the corner of my lip. It annoyed me whenever people told me how sorry they were, but right now, I can feel that Leah’s being genuine. “Thanks.”

“Do you think someone in the photography class might’ve done it?” Ezra asks. “I know you’re not in photography this summer, but usually . . .”

Leah takes a breath, blinking, seeming to consider it. “I hope not. Everyone’s usually pretty cool. But I guess you never know, right?”

It isn’t exactly helpful, but what did I think? That she’d say, Actually, yes, there’s this one particular transphobe . . .

“So you think the person hacked your phone?” she says.

“I have no idea how else they would’ve gotten my pictures.”

“They could’ve just hacked your Instagram,” she says. “There’re a bunch of apps for that. It’s a lot easier than you think.”

Ezra and I exchange looks. Leah looks a little embarrassed. “Not that I’d ever hack an Instagram account. I’m more of a cracker.” She notices our confusion. “Cracking is another form of what people know as hacking. But hacking is illegal. That’s what people do when they want to steal money, or spread viruses, that sort of thing. Cracking is just for fun. It’s like a giant puzzle. It’s actually pretty easy.” She pauses and makes an expression like she’s thinking of telling us something I probably don’t want to know. She lowers her voice. “I like to crack into computers and cell phones to leave positive affirmations where people can easily find them.”

I’m not totally sure how to respond. Ezra stares at her blankly.

“That’s—uh—cool,” I say.

She shrugs and looks like she’s trying to bite back a smile. “It’s not a big deal. A lot more people crack into phones than you’d think.”

There isn’t really anything else to say after a classmate says that they crack into other people’s phones for fun. Ezra asks Leah where she’s going for lunch, and she says she’ll probably go to White Castle, like usual. As we’re walking to the door, the idea strikes me. It’s a ridiculous idea, really fucking stupid, but I also don’t really have any other way to figure out who could be behind the gallery, who is sending me those Instagram messages. . . .

“Hey, Leah,” I say, slowing to a stop. She and Ezra turn around to look at me. “Do you think it’d be possible to—I don’t know, crack into other student’s phones to see who might’ve put up the gallery?”

She doesn’t hesitate. “Hack.”

“What?”

“If I’m hacking into phones for personal information, then it isn’t cracking. It’s hacking.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“And yes,” she adds. “It’s possible. There’re a bunch of programs these days.”

Ezra looks hesitant. This is definitely in get-kicked-out-of-school territory, not to mention pretty illegal. But Leah seems to consider it.

“It’s kind of a good idea, actually,” she says. “It’d be easy to see traces of hacking cookies on someone else’s phone—if they’d downloaded hacking programs, or if they even still have those pictures saved in their gallery. . . .”

I hesitate. “The person’s also been sending me Instagram messages.”

“That’s even better,” she says. “I can definitely look at their Instagram message history.”

I scratch my head. “I can’t—I mean, I don’t really have any money. . . .”

“Oh, no,” Leah says, and looks almost offended, “I wouldn’t take your money. I’m happy to do what I can to help and take this fucking asshole down.” She smirks. “I’ve always wanted to be a badass vigilante.”