The Felix Chronicles: Freshmen

by R. T. Lowe

  “I just needed to clear my head.”

  “Right,” Lucas said softly. He sniffed. Then he sniffed again. “Hey—is that smoke?”

  Shit! Felix thought, alarmed. I must smell like I was rolling around in a bonfire. He hadn’t planned for Lucas waking up; he hadn’t even considered it. And it didn’t occur to him that the scent of the old library—currently smoke—would hitch a ride on his clothes and travel back with him. After fleeing the Old Campus—he literally ran, fearing the winter-like chill might make the St. Rose Ghost lonely for warm-blooded teenage boys—his only concern was making it to the dorm without the Protectors killing him. He didn’t think they would come after him on campus, but he had no basis to support that theory. It was just an assumption. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe they didn’t play by any rules.

  “I swear I can smell something.” Lucas sounded calm, like he was just making an observation. That was good, because Felix didn’t need him panicking and jumping out of bed. If he did that and ambled over to Felix’s side, he stood a better than even chance of figuring out that his clothes were the source.

  “It’s gotta be from outside,” Felix replied, thinking it would be disingenuous to deny that the room smelled like smoke. “Someone’s got a fire going, I guess.”

  “I hope it’s not Allison’s room.”

  “No shit.”

  “You think you’re gonna have that nightmare again?” Lucas asked. “Like last night?”

  “I don’t know.” As exhausted as Felix was, he was afraid to close his eyes. The prospect of being burned alive was deeply depressing.

  “It’d be cool if you’d give me a heads-up. I could like mentally prepare myself for what’s coming.”

  “Sorry,” Felix said. “I feel, you know I… I wish I didn’t have them. Sorry.”

  “I’m just busting your balls, dude.”

  “Oh.”

  The room went silent again.

  “Hey,” Lucas said suddenly. “You know um… if you wanna talk about something, well, I’m a pretty decent listener. For a dude, I mean. I won’t listen for like an hour or anything. I’m not a chick. But if you keep it short, I’ll probably stay awake.”

  Gray moonlight probed through cracks in the drawn blinds. A strip of light slashed horizontally across Felix’s knees. He lifted up his right hand and watched it playing across his fingertips. What would Lucas say if he shot fire from his hand? What would he say if he raised the wastebasket off the floor and crumpled it? Or exploded it? He could tell Lucas some things—show him some things—that would blow his mind. A part of him wanted to. Keeping secrets, especially colossal ones like his, was physically draining. But he knew he couldn’t tell him. No good could come of it.

  Felix changed the subject. “So what’s up with Caitlin?”

  “Caitlin?” Lucas coughed. “Nothing. Why?”

  “I don’t know. You guys like, you know, kissed or whatever.”

  “Yeah, so?” Lucas said defensively, then paused. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’m her kinda guy. And you know, Caitlin’s like, a really good girl. She’s not like other, you know, she’s a cool chick. She deserves someone… better than me.”

  Felix didn’t know what to say to that.

  “Thanks for helping out with that midget stalker asshole.” This time Lucas changed the subject. “I hope that little shit didn’t hurt you too bad.”

  Felix laughed. “I think I’ll survive.”

  “’Night, dude,” Lucas said. “Sweet dreams.”

  “Sure.”

  Chapter 45

  The Ghost in the Picture

  Felix stood in front of the Caffeine Hut, the aroma of brewing coffee drifting out through little cracks and fissures around the door. Harper wanted to meet him. She’d sent him a text during his Economics class: I want to see you. Hut in 15? He was already late, yet he didn’t go in. He was trying to sketch out a plan in his head, but he couldn’t tamp down the nervousness inching up his throat. Harper hadn’t made eye contact with him in three weeks so he thought he should have a plan. A script. Something to fall back on if she was in a mood, or if awkward silences overwhelmed him. But planning and scripting were best left for times when you weren’t falling apart like the stitching on the Prada knockoff wallet his mom had brought back with her from her trip to New York City two summers ago.

  Final exams were looming and Felix’s nerves were fraying like an old rope. A maddeningly persistent anxiousness was gripping him, making him jumpy and tired at the same time. The latter was mainly due to the nightmares that woke him up almost every night. And on those rare nights when he didn’t have the burning-to-death-in-agonizing-pain dream, he still couldn’t sleep because of the fear and the dreaded expectation that he would wake up screaming. So with everything else going on in his life—including the recent discovery that a 2,000-year-old secret society had targeted him for assasination—he found it a little ironic that he worried about tests as much as ever.

  But in a strange way, it made perfect sense: The crazier his life became, the tighter he held on to the things from his old life. Worrying about exams like everyone else meant he could be just like everyone else. It was the same reason losing a football game bothered him so much he threw up in a toilet. Football and exams were trivial, even irrelevant, when compared to The Warning. He knew that. But caring about football games and stressing over tests made him feel normal—and he liked feeling normal. He wasn’t ready to give that up.

  Felix found Harper sitting in a purple lounge chair in a back corner next to a roaring fire. She waved at him. He swallowed back his nerves and made his way through the yard sale furniture. There were lots of harried-looking students in full-blown finals mode poring over notes, staring at computer screens, tapping on keyboards. Late morning sunlight from the arched windows filled the room; everything looked a few shades lighter than it did after nightfall, when he usually came in for coffee.

  “Hey,” she said brightly. She was holding a mug in each hand. “I already got you a cup. I hope it’s not cold.”

  Good sign. She wasn’t in a surly mood. This wasn’t a setup. She didn’t arrange this to berate him or to pick a fight. Felix shrugged out of his jacket and sat down in a sun-faded blue and orange club chair with overstuffed armrests and a high back. The chair was placed at an angle to Harper’s so that they weren’t directly facing each other.

  “Thanks.” She handed him the mug. He sniffed the steam out of habit. There was none. He took a sip. It was tepid. He acted like it wasn’t. “It’s good.”

  “Espresso roast,” she said, rolling a long strand of hair between her fingers. “I know you like the strong stuff.”

  He took another sip and stared at a log crackling in the fireplace. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her. He could see her long legs out of the corner of one eye. Sheathed in denim. Black boots. Her shirt was dark and a jacket was draped over the back of her chair. The awkwardness was mutual. She shifted in her chair, drinking from her mug. For a while, they both let the occasional cracks of burning wood mingling with the soft hum of conversations from the other tables fill the void.

  “Best seat in the house, huh?” Felix said. It was better than commenting on the unseasonably warm weather.

  “I love looking at the fire,” Harper said, nodding at it. “There’s just something about the way the flames dance. I hope that doesn’t make me a pyro.”

  “Yeah, it’s nice.” He kept his eyes on the fire.

  “So… um… have you seen Lucas?” Harper said, clearly searching for something to talk about. “He has my English notes. I let him borrow them but I need ‘em back.”

  “Not since last night.” Felix fidgeted with his mug. “He didn’t come back to the room. Didn’t he leave Woodrow’s before us?”

  “Yeah. He said his dyslexia was kicking in and he couldn’t study anymore.” Harper smiled impishly. “You think he met someone special?”

  Felix laughed. “Did you text him?”

  “Twice.”
She checked the phone on her lap. “No word back.”

  “Shit! That reminds me.” Felix glanced at his watch. “I got a text from my Biology TA yesterday. I totally forgot. I’m supposed to meet her in ten minutes. I’m dying in that class. Sorry.”

  “That’s okay. I guess it’s that time of year. We’re all getting slammed. Caitlin and Allison are supposed to be here at eleven, anyway. We might go to Woodrow’s Room later, but I don’t know. It’s still a little creepy if you ask me. Allison’s okay with it, but if you guys aren’t there, I think I hear noises sometimes.”

  “That’s just the dead Indians scalping kids. Nothing to worry about.”

  Harper laughed. It was a nice laugh. Full. Genuine. And a little flirty.

  He meant to steal a quick glance at her, but once his eyes flitted to her face they locked on tight. He stared. She was beautiful. Disarmingly beautiful. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  “I know I’m a bitch,” Harper said shyly. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I’m sorry. My sister tells me that all the time. I used to fight with her about it and tell her she was too nice for her own good. But she’s right. And sometimes, I just don’t realize when I’m acting that way.”

  “About…?”

  “You know.” She sipped her coffee. “That movie thing was just so idiotic. You didn’t feel like watching a movie and I reacted like you poisoned my dog.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not okay. And I know you and Allison are just friends. But I saw you guys, you know… and… I… I don’t know.” She stared down at her hands, looking embarrassed.

  “We’re tight,” Felix told her. “We go way back.”

  “I know.” The edges of Harper’s mouth dipped lower, but she quickly recovered. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little envious of how well she knows you. And don’t get me wrong. I love her. I think she’s great. But is she a little… intense? Maybe it’s different with you, but sometimes she seems like she’s—and I know this isn’t a bad thing—but she seems so driven. And I wonder if it’s because she’s a foster kid and feels like she has something to prove.”

  “That’s just how she is. Maybe I’m used to it.”

  “Anyway.” Harper looked at the fire and her face tensed. “I know it’s got nothing to do with a movie or Allison.” She turned to him, chewing on her lip. “I know about your… your parents. We all do. Allison told us.”

  “Oh.” It always startled Felix whenever anyone brought up his parents, although he knew that was stupid. It was like finding himself surprised every time he caught some random guy staring at Harper, just like the rangy-looking kid in the plaid chair by the window pretending to read an organic chemistry textbook. “Yeah, well, I guess, um, I figured she did. No one ever asked about them and I could tell you were all avoiding it.”

  Harper nodded. “You know that night when you and Lucas opened the Betas’ chapter room? Well, when you were getting a beer, Allison told us. Then she said she hadn’t seen you smile in like months, and if anyone said anything and ruined your mood, she’d sneak into our rooms and slit our fucking throats.”

  “Seriously?” Felix said, his head jerking back against the chair.

  “No joke. Exact words. ‘I’ll slit your fucking throats.’”

  Felix laughed. “Maybe she is a little intense.”

  Harper waded right back in. “I can’t imagine what it’d be like to lose your mom and dad. I’m sure there’s times when you just want to be by yourself. Or be with people you know—and trust. I’m sorry about how I’ve been lately. I just wanted you to know that.”

  “It’s okay. Really.” He balanced the mug on his thigh, the coffee churning sourly in his gut.

  She smiled nervously. He knew she wasn’t going to drop this. Her smile was perfect. Her body was perfect. Her eyes were bluer than any blue he could imagine. She was the hottest girl he’d ever known. But he still didn’t want to talk about his parents.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked gently.

  He didn’t. But what choice did he have? He watched two girls carrying coffees and a saucer stacked with brownies and biscotti over from the bar. They settled into a yellow loveseat with black piping and flamingo pink seat cushions. Probably the ugliest couch in all of America.

  “It’s tough,” he said after a long pause. He scratched the back of his head, his eyes moving all around the room. “Some days are better than others. I miss them. I miss them a lot.”

  She leaned forward and reached across the armrests, putting her hand on his, lightly caressing his fingers. A little tickling whisper scurried up his back. She looked at him, her face full of tenderness and concern, and said, “Tell me about it.”

  This is what happens when you open up, he thought bleakly. Everyone wants to dig deeper, to know everything. To dig until they get at the core. Well, here we go: “You wanna know what the hardest thing is? It’s when I’m having fun. When I’m hanging out with you guys and we’re just having a good time. A part of my mind is like, why the hell are you doing this? How can you be partying with your friends when your parents just died? I feel like… I feel like I’m betraying their memory. That if they could look down on me, they’d be thinking I don’t even care. They just died and I’m out partying. What kind of a shitty son am I? How could I do that to them? That’s, um, yeah… that’s the hardest part. I just miss them. I can’t believe they’re really gone. Sometimes I look at my phone and I see my number, you know, for home. I think about calling. And I think someone will answer. My mom will just pick up and say ‘hello’ and tell me to study hard and we’ll talk about whatever. And my dad will get on and ask me if I’ve kissed any girls. He always said dumb stuff like that.” He went quiet for a moment. “But no one’s there. No one’s answering.”

  Harper was choking back tears. Unsuccessfully. He watched as she smeared them around her cheeks. Felix wasn’t the kind of person who derived pleasure or validation from other people’s sympathy. Making people cry just made him feel guilty. It made him feel like shit.

  “I know how this is going to sound, but you know your parents would want you to be happy,” Harper said, sniffing. “They wouldn’t want you feeling sorry for yourself. You know that, right?”

  “I guess.” Felix had had enough. He lifted his shoulders and let them drop. He could only think about this for so long before the sadness consumed him and sent him into a death spiral. Harper must have sensed it.

  “So what are you doing for Christmas?” she asked, her voice a little too high with forced cheer. “I can’t believe it’s coming up. Do you have any grandparents or anyone to spend it with?”

  Felix shook his head, staring into his mug, swirling the coffee around in a circle. “When my parents had me they were both pretty old. By the time I got to high school, I lost my last grandparent. My mom’s mom. She lived not too far from us up the coast. Cancer. I’m the last of the Augusts, I guess. But we used to have Christmas dinner at our house. We didn’t have any relatives other than my grandma. But my mom and dad had a lot of friends who’d come over. It just sort of became a tradition. My mom would cook all day, and my dad and I would go out in the woods and chop down a little tree. They loved Christmas.”

  She smiled sadly, clearing her eyes quickly with the back of her hand. “That sounds nice. So what are you going to do this year?”

  “I haven’t really thought about it.” Complete lie. He’d thought about it a ton. “I’ll figure something out.” In case his dishonesty had etched itself all across his face, he masked it by taking a drink from his mug.

  “You really deserve to be happy. I hope you know that. You’re a great guy. You really are.” He felt Harper’s gaze and their eyes met, like two people at a party checking each other out at the same time. He fought the temptation to look away. And won.

  She smiled, playing with her hair. “Now we just need to figure out what makes you happy.”

  “That’s a tough question.” He returned
her smile, feeling the heat rushing into his face. “What do you think makes me happy?” That was bold. But it felt right. And it was time to make a move.

  Her eyebrows twitched up for a second. “I think I can come up with a thing or two. When’s your last final?”

  “Monday. I’ll be like the first one done.”

  “Mine’s on Tuesday, and I’m not flying home until Saturday. That gives me like four whole days to do whatever I want.”

  “Really?” He swallowed hard. The handle of the mug suddenly felt slick, like it was going to slip right out of his fingers.

  She crossed her legs and sank back in her chair, a smile spreading over her face. “Maybe we can hang out when I’m done?”

  He nodded, his heart pumping fast, resonating in his temples. This was happening. This was really happening.

  “Just the two of us?” she asked hopefully, holding him in her stare. “Maybe we can ditch the wolf pack for a while.”

  “Sounds good.” His heart seemed to be skipping every third beat. Stay cool, he said to himself. You don’t want her to think you’re desperate—or too eager. “I’d like that.” Good. His voice only had a small hitch in it.

  “Me too.”

  He checked his watch. “Shit. I’m late. I really gotta go. I’ll see ya later?” The meeting with his TA maybe wasn’t such a bad break after all, he thought. If he stayed, she might start asking about his parents again and if he reacted badly she could change her mind about ditching the wolf pack. Better to leave on a high note.

  “You can count on it.” Her cell phone rang. She looked down at the screen. “It’s Caitlin.” She smiled and gave him a fluttery finger wave. “Hey,” she said into the phone, scooting her chair around, squaring herself to the fireplace.

  Felix grabbed his coat and headed toward the exit. He couldn’t stop grinning. Harper had officially announced that she was into him; there was no doubt about it. He felt high with insane happiness. He wanted to jump on a table and proclaim to the world that Harper Connolly was into him. He wanted everyone to know. Harper could have any guy on campus and she’d chosen him. Everything seemed brighter and sunnier than the muddled half-light he’d been living in. Everything seemed better. He felt like singing (something he only did alone in his Jeep), and dancing (although he wasn’t drunk or on his way to becoming drunk), and ripping off his shirt and running through campus like he’d scored a goal in a World Cup match. They could think he was crazy. He didn’t care. He didn’t care what anyone thought. Because Harper Connolly was into him. And that’s all that mattered. The world wasn’t such a bad place. In fact, it was awesome and beautiful and full of hope and endless possibilities. Not even his fear and his sadness could weigh him down. No weight on earth was great enough to tether him to the floor. He felt light on his feet. He wasn’t walking—he was floating. He felt lighter than air. He felt like he could take flight and soar up into the clouds. Life was good. Better than good. Fantastic. Perfect!