Felix Ever After(52)

“We should probably start making those changes with ourselves first, don’t you think?” I ask. The sarcasm is pretty thick, I have to admit. Marisol scrunches up her face and exchanges a look with Leah.

“What kind of fucking question is that?” She slides her sunglasses back on and gets comfortable in the sand again. “Start with ourselves,” Marisol repeats. “Are you trying to say something?”

“I don’t know,” I say. Yes.

Ezra’s frowning at me, but he doesn’t say anything, not like he normally would. Austin glances between the two of us. Leah leans into me a little. “Felix, you okay?”

“Yeah.”

I’m not okay. I’m pissed. I don’t know—maybe it was Declan’s messages, to just do whatever the fuck I want to do, or maybe arguing with that fucking troll sparked something in me, but now all of the old anger I’ve had toward Marisol is bubbling to the surface. I told myself I’d just ignore it, but I’m not sure ignoring her bullshit is helping anyone. It’s definitely not helping me. I’d wanted to convince her that she was wrong about me—that I was worthy of her respect and love, after she’d rejected me—but I can see that the way she’s treated me has been beyond fucked-up. No one deserves that.

“Well?” Marisol says with this annoyed tone, like she couldn’t give a crap about what I’m going to say.

I clench my jaw. Ezra, Austin, and Leah are all watching me, waiting. Maybe this is a conversation I should’ve just had with Marisol first, without this audience. I feel myself deflating.

“It’s nothing. Forget it.”

Marisol snorts. “Typical Felix. So melodramatic.”

I get up, brushing off the grains that’re stuck to the backs of my legs, and start walking, feet sinking in the gray sand, sneakers in my hands. I don’t even know where I’m going. Back to the train? I climb over the railing, onto the wooden boardwalk, and it’s not long before I hear heavy footsteps behind me.

“What the hell was that?” Ezra says beneath his breath, walking next to me.

I’m surprised he even bothered to follow me. “Nothing.”

“Obviously not nothing. You’ve been acting weird as shit lately, Felix.” A jab, clearly, at me for still texting with Declan.

I stop walking, rubbing a hand over my curls. “Marisol never told you why we stopped dating, right?”

Ezra shrugs, frowning. “She just said it didn’t work.”

I open my mouth, fighting to force the words out, and I realize—this is the power Marisol’s got over me. She’s a fucking bully. “She told me I’m a misogynist for transitioning.”

Ezra stares at me blankly for a second, then another. “What?”

“She said I’m misogynistic for choosing not to be a girl anymore.”

“Wait—what?”

He doesn’t even stay for me to repeat myself. He jumps right back over the railing, heading for Marisol and the others. Fuck—I knew Ez would be pissed if I said something, but that doesn’t mean I want him to confront Marisol about it, and definitely not now. I jump over the railing also, calling after him, stumbling in the sand, but Ezra gets back to the others first.

“Marisol, what the fuck?” he yells. The others spin around, eyes wide. Marisol slides her sunglasses off.

She looks between the two of us with an expression of bewilderment.

“You told Felix he’s a misogynist?”

Marisol glances my way, and I can tell, right then and there—I can tell she’d never expected me to tell Ezra. She knew the kind of control she had over me. Knew that I’d stay quiet, ashamed, embarrassed, afraid that what she’d told me was the truth.

She glances Ezra’s way again. “Well—I mean, it’s kind of true, right?”

Leah looks surprised. “No one chooses to be transgender,” she says slowly.

“I know, but—”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Ezra says. This is a whole other level of anger. I can tell, looking at him now, that their friendship is done. There’s no coming back from what she said to me. I feel guilty. Like it’s my fault, getting Ezra this pissed at Marisol. But no—no, I remind myself, I didn’t force Marisol to say the shit that she did.

“I’m not saying anything against Felix, or trans people,” Marisol says, “but if someone decides they don’t want to be a woman anymore, to me, that just means they inherently don’t like women—”

“So trans women don’t like men?”

“It doesn’t work the other way around,” Marisol says, her voice wavering—she knows she’s fucked up. Or maybe she sounds this way only because she was caught. “Men—they—there’s the patriarchy, and if a man gives up that power to become a woman—”

“You sound like a fucking idiot right now,” Ezra says.

“I can still be a feminist and be trans,” I say. My voice is pretty small right now, but everyone goes quiet and still, turning to listen to me. My heart’s hammering against my chest, and I feel like I’m seconds from crying, but I can’t do that—not here, not now, not in front of Marisol. “I love women. I respect women. I was proud to be a girl, before I transitioned—but I realized that just isn’t who I am. Being a guy now doesn’t mean I don’t still love and respect women.”