Felix Ever After(88)
The lobby is crowded with echoing voices and laughter. I stand right outside in a dark hallway with Ezra, who seems to always know exactly what I need. He doesn’t fill the silence with “You’ll do great” and “Everything will be fine.” He smiles whenever I nervously meet his eye, and when I pull him in for a hug, he wraps his arms around me tightly, holding me close so I can breathe into his chest. It blows my mind to think that I could’ve been hugging Ezra like this all along.
Jill opens the door and pops her head out into the hallway. “It’s time. Are you ready?”
I let out a shaky, nervous breath and nod. Ezra kisses my cheek, and I take his hand so that he’ll follow me out into the lobby. It’s so packed that I can barely see the paintings on the walls, but I catch glimpses of them. The strength in my eyes, even when it looks like I’m lost under water. The power in my stare as I watch the viewer, my skin on fire. The crown of flowers on my head as I smile, knowing for a fact that I’m worthy of love and respect.
Dean Fletcher calls for everyone’s attention. “Quiet down,” she says, clapping her hands together, and the students fall to whispers until there’s silence. “At the end of every summer program, we hold a gallery featuring a chosen student’s work. This gallery is particularly special. For the first time in St. Catherine’s history, the judges decided unanimously that this was the project they would move forward with. I’m proud of the growth of this young artist, and I know that he has a bright future.
“Felix?” she says.
Ezra squeezes my hand, and I step forward with a deep breath.
“Uh,” I say, my voice cracking. Everyone, maybe all one hundred of the St. Cat’s students, stares at me blankly.
Leah is in the front, camera in her hands and clicking away as she snaps a picture of me every other second. Marisol stands in the back, arms crossed, muttering something to Hazel. Once upon a time, seeing her might’ve made me anxious—but now, I only wonder why I’d been so desperate for her attention, for her approval.
I had a speech practiced and ready to go, but for a moment my mind blanks—but when I look at Ezra, he gives me a smile and nods, and the words come back.
“So, a lot of you know that at the beginning of the summer, there was a—uh—gallery of me. It wasn’t with my permission. It showed a bunch of my old photos. Pictures I didn’t want anyone seeing. It really hurt, and for a while, I was kind of obsessed with figuring out who it was, and . . . I don’t know, making them pay for hurting me so much. I wanted to make them pay for what they’d done.”
I look across the crowd, and I lose my breath when I see Declan, standing against the far wall and watching. I keep going. “But then I started these paintings. I wasn’t really expecting to do them, to be honest. Someone suggested that I try, which I’m really thankful for . . .” Jill nods her head with a small smile. “And it was more helpful than I expected. More . . . empowering, to put up these paintings I created, of who I know I am, instead of what someone else sees me as. I am Felix. No one else gets to define who I am. Only me.
“I was hurt this summer, hurt more than I thought I ever could be. It could’ve been easy to say I was hurt because I’m trans, because someone singled me out for my identity, but there’s something weird about that—something off, about suggesting that my identity is the thing that brought me any sort of pain. It’s the opposite. Being trans brings me love. It brings me happiness. It gives me power.” Ezra’s biting his lip as he grins at me. I shrug a little. “It makes me feel like I’m a god. I wouldn’t change myself for anything.”
Everyone’s still staring. I think Jill might have some tears in her eyes, but I’m not totally sure. I hesitate, awkward in the silence. “That’s it, I guess.”
Claps explode, a lot louder than I was expecting. I try to walk back to Ezra as calmly as I can, even though my legs are shaking. Before I even reach him, people start rushing up to me, saying I’m brave and that my paintings are amazing and all that, which does feel good, I’m not going to lie—but I didn’t do this for anyone but myself. When I finally reach Ezra, he wraps his arms around me and buries his head in my neck.
“You’re so fucking cool,” he says, laughing a little. And I’m honestly not sure things could ever get any better than this.
Leah joins me and Ezra in the park to have a picnic. Pot brownies may or may not be involved. She snaps photos of us as we lie back in the grass, laughing as we get drunk on Pabst in the heat, reggaeton blasting from a nearby party, smoke from the grill stinging my eyes.
“You guys are so great,” Leah says. She’s a loving drunk. “I’m so lucky that you’re my friends. I really love you guys.”
“I love you, too,” Ezra says, grabbing her in a tight hug.
I think that this mushy lovefest would’ve made me want to die with discomfort a few months ago, but now, happiness seeps through me. There isn’t anything wrong with love. There isn’t anything embarrassing about love. “You’re freaking amazing, Leah,” I tell her. I think of the day she stood up to Austin, of how she helped me and Ezra during Pride. Ez and I begin an attack, tickling her and wrestling her and me lying on top of her stomach while she screams and laughs. An older couple who sits on a bench close by smiles at us.