Felix Ever After(60)

She nods. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. I know you’re right.”

We cross in front of a bunch of bars with Pride signs hanging up outside. Leah asks me if I plan on going to the march. “Ezra invited me and Austin,” she says.

I don’t know why, but my heart jolts a little at that. “Oh,” I say. “No, I don’t really like the march.”

“What?” Leah says, eyes shining with surprise. “Why not? I freaking love the march. I mean, I know there’s shitty stuff going on with corporations joining in on the parade and everything, but everyone’s so happy and it’s the biggest celebration of love and self-love and it’s the one time of the year where you can just be queer as hell—well, I guess nothing’s really stopping any of us from being queer as hell every day of the year, but you know what I mean.”

The excitement in her eyes makes me laugh a little. “You sound like Ezra.”

Her smile fades as we walk in quiet, watching as the others laugh at something Tyler’s said up ahead. “I checked out Marc’s phone,” she whispers. “I didn’t find anything except some pictures that have forever scarred me. He doesn’t even have an Instagram account.”

I should be used to the frustration, the disappointment, but it still sinks into my stomach. I wonder if I should tell Leah that a part of me suspects Hazel now, but I feel an exhaustion I wasn’t really expecting. I don’t think we’ll ever figure out who was behind the gallery, and now, I’m suddenly tired of trying. Leah could check every single person’s phone at St. Catherine’s, and I think I already know how it would end. “Thanks anyway.”

“I don’t know, I wonder if I should check out Marisol’s phone,” she tells me. “I mean, I know she said she didn’t do it, but—well, it wouldn’t be the first mistake she’s made. And even if it wasn’t her, maybe she knows who it was. Maybe she talked about it with someone in a text or something.”

I hesitate. “I don’t think we’ll ever figure out who was behind the gallery.”

Leah stops in her tracks. I turn around to look at her.

“You’re not giving up, are you?” she says. “You can’t give up. We’ve barely even started. It might take a month, a few months, an entire year—but I will find out who did this.” She pauses. “Unless that’s what scares you.”

“What?”

“Maybe you’re scared of knowing who did the gallery.” She shrugs. “I mean, I’m a little scared myself. I’ve never been great at confrontation.”

“I don’t know. I just don’t know if it’s really worth the drama.”

“Ezra is here to support you,” she says, “and I am, too. So let’s catch the asshole. Okay?”

I can’t help but smile a little, and she loops her arm around mine as we walk. The White Castle is next to a gas station. A few other students are hanging out in the parking lot with bags of snacks and sodas. Declan’s there, I see with a quick flutter of my heart, with James and Marc, just leaning against the wall of the gas station and talking. Tyler walks up to them, and he and Marc start laughing about something while James turns to follow Hazel into the White Castle. Leah grins at me as she hurries to catch up with them.

I hesitate. This probably isn’t a good idea. No—no, this definitely isn’t a good idea, not at all. But even knowing that, I walk across the parking lot, slowing down as I reach Declan. He walks away from Marc and Tyler so that he’s standing alone in the shade, phone out, scrolling through Instagram. He looks up with surprise when I stop in front of him.

He stares at me.

I stare at him.

He raises an eyebrow. “Yes . . . ?”

I don’t know what to say. Shit. God fucking damnit, I have no idea what to say.

He full-on frowns now. “What do you want?”

And it hits me—of course, only now does it hit me—that if I speak, he might just recognize my voice. Over the phone was one thing, but to have heard that voice, and see it actually coming from my mouth—something might click, and Declan could realize I’m Lucky.

But I can’t just walk away now. I open my mouth, hoping words will come out, but none do.

He’s making the okaaaaaaay expression now. He pushes away from the wall, like he’s going to leave me standing there, maybe join the others and go into the White Castle—

“Thanks,” I manage to blurt out.

He pauses. “For what?”

“For what you said earlier.” I swallow. “For saying my painting is good.”

He smirks now. “I didn’t realize you needed my validation that badly.”

“I don’t need your fucking validation,” I snap.

Declan lets out a laugh. The same laugh, I realize, that I’ve started to love hearing over the phone. “Sure you don’t, Felix.”

I take in a breath. “It was just nice of you,” I mutter.

“Right. Well, I can be nice sometimes, believe it or not.”

I scratch at my arm. “I believe it.”

He narrows his eyes a little, like he’s waiting for the insult to follow. And I get it. I really do. Usually, I’d jump at the chance to start an argument with Declan. It feels odd, now—so fucking strange—to look Declan in the face and attempt to have an ordinary conversation, without trying to figure out a way to attack him.