Felix Ever After(73)

Either way, I know I’ll need to do several more self-portraits for my applications and for the end-of-summer gallery. The thought of the portfolio used to give me anxiety, stress—but now, I’m just excited.

Focus on myself.

Midway through acrylics class, I’m washing some brushes by the paint-splattered sink when Leah appears next to me. “Hey, Felix,” she says with a smile. I know that smile. It’s the sort of smile you give someone when you have bad news. She leans against the counter and bites her lip, glancing all around to make sure no one’s close enough to overhear. “So, I checked out Marisol’s phone.”

I don’t meet her eye. I already know what she’s going to say. “Let me guess. Nothing, right?”

She lets out a sigh. “I’m sorry. I really thought there’d be something in the text messages, at least—”

“It’s okay, Leah,” I say, turning the faucet off. “Finding out whoever was behind the gallery was a long shot anyway. I really appreciate you trying to help me.”

“Wait,” she says, “wait, hold on. There’re still more people I can check out.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. I’ve been trying to focus on myself more, and—I kind of feel like it’s time to just move on.”

“Just move on?” she repeats.

I shrug. “Yeah. I’m really grateful for the help. Seriously, thank you. But—I don’t know if it’s worth it anymore.”

She’s shaking her head. “Okay. I mean, it’s your choice.” I start to leave the sink, but Leah opens her mouth, like she has something else to say. When I pause, she has trouble meeting my eye. “I’m just wondering . . . Can we still—I don’t know—talk and hang out and stuff?”

Leah looks so sincere right now that I can’t help but grin. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d really like that.”

I’ve spent all of acrylics class pointedly not looking at either Ezra or Declan, barely speaking to anyone, only working on my paintings—so I’m shocked when Declan marches right up to me a few minutes before the lunch bell.

“Can we talk?”

We end up out in the hall. My hands are covered with streaks of color, and some got onto my shorts also. I don’t know why this embarrasses me. I hide my hands behind my back, staring at the wood-paneled floor. Declan crosses his arms and leans against the wall.

My nerves are on fire. I glance up at Declan a couple of times, but he still doesn’t speak—just stares right at me. Maybe this is his punishment for me, knowing that it’ll drive me insane, just standing there without saying a word.

“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice cracking. I clear my throat and try again. “I’m so, so sorry, Declan.”

He finally blinks. He pushes away from the wall, but keeps his arms crossed. “I’m so fucking pissed at you.”

“I know.”

“You lied to me.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Did you just want me to look stupid?” he asks. “Is that what you wanted?”

“No. Christ.”

“Why did you do it?” he asks. “Not that bullshit with the gallery,” he cuts in, before I can say anything. “Even after you knew I had nothing to do with that. Talking about—all the personal shit we talked about. Letting me tell you that I . . .” He closes his eyes for a split second, lowers his voice. “Letting me tell you that I love you. What was the point of any of that?”

I bite my lip. “I liked talking to you,” I tell him. “I still do. I miss you. I miss hearing your voice. . . .”

“I don’t know if I can believe you. What if you’re still fucking with me now?”

“I’m not.”

He’s frowning, watching me closely. “And Ezra?”

His name puts a shock through me. “Ezra?” I echo.

“He’s in love with you,” he tells me. “I told you that. The person you kissed—was it him?”

I force myself to nod. “Yeah, it was him.”

He takes longer to speak this time. “Do you have feelings for him, too?”

I hesitate. I can’t lie to Declan again. I don’t know how I feel about Ezra for sure, but as much as I’ve missed Declan, I’ve missed Ezra even more. There’s so much I’ve wanted to tell him, and even now, the memory of that kiss rages through me. “It doesn’t matter,” I tell him, “Ezra wants nothing to do with me, so . . .”

Declan takes in a deep breath. “Do you want to get lunch with me?”

I glance up, and he’s watching me again—but there’s a glint of something I’d never really expected to see on his face. Something other than hatred and condescension. There’s warmth. Maybe even some longing.

“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “Yeah, I’d love that.”

I feel self-conscious when the lunch bell rings and everyone ambles outside. Declan and I walk together, out of the building and across the parking lot. I don’t know if it’s in my head, but I feel like we’re getting a lot of double takes—yeah, definitely a double take when James and Marc look at us from their spot against the brick wall—and really, I couldn’t blame anyone for staring. Everyone knows that Declan and I hate each other . . . or that we’re supposed to, anyway. We fight every chance we get. So why’re we now walking side by side as though we’re friends, even if it’s in total and complete awkward silence? It’s only when I catch Ezra’s eye as he stands under the shade of a tree, talking to Leah, that I really fucking wish we’d thought this through.