“It’s really not.” He reaches into his pocket. “I can show you my Ancestry account.”
That sidetracks me. “You put a genealogy app on your phone?”
“Is that not cool enough for you, Space Cats?”
“Mr. Gutierrez is your grandfather.” I have a foggy memory of hearing about a grandson, and the immediate brain worm of jealousy that followed, because what if they liked him better? But no one’s mentioned him for ages. Long enough to lull me into a false sense of being the precious only grandkid of the entire building. “You’re super into art or something?”
I leave out the part about him being a quote-unquote prodigy. Allegedly.
“I’ve gotten more into theater these last few years. I was painting sets and then I thought, why not? It sounded fun, and I can sing, plus I’d done a fair amount of acting with mygrandad.” His eyes light like he can’t wait to tell me this next part. “He and his friends play this mystery game. It’s like Clue but instead of a board game you act it out, with costumes and props—”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Trust me, it’s awesome. Like solving a puzzle but you’re alsointhe puzzle, with all this suspense and drama. Plus there’s a ticking clock to solve the mystery before everyone else.”
I cannot believe he just mansplained my favorite game to me. As if I’m not an expert with literal years of experience. “You play Killing Me Softly?”
“You know about it? I thought I was the only person our age who was into that stuff.” He gestures between us like we’re BFFs who are about to braid each other’s hair.
The bit about the will was bad enough, but at least I could tell myself Felix was a minor player, on the fringes of Claude’s life. If he’s Mr. Gutierrez’s grandsonandthey let him play Killing Me Softly, it doesn’t get much more inner circle than that.
And maybe part of me is annoyed that Felix had the nerve to go out for theater, when I’ve always looked at my school’s audition notices with a secret yearning. But the theater kids had already decided who they were by freshman year, and I can’t imagine trying to break into that fortress, because at-home Virginia is less bold than the version of me I get to be at Castle Claude.
“For such nice people, they do love murder,” Sofia says, tapping the steering wheel with her right hand while we idle at a stoplight.
I grunt in agreement before turning my attention to the window to avoid looking at Felix, who is apparently living my life, only better.
“How are your sisters?” he asks Sofia, and I instantly feel bad for not being the one to mention them.
“Not great,” she replies. “Here’s some advice: Never marry a DJ.”
I lean sideways so I can see her face in the rearview mirror. “Carmen got married?”
“Elena,” she corrects.
Felix and I exchange a brief look of surprise, which I quickly pretend didn’t happen.
“Long story short, it didn’t work out,” Sofia continues. “And she had moved into his place because it was closer to his gym so now Elena is couch surfing and he’s trying to get part of our business in the divorce. A real prince.”
“I’d rather be farther from my gym,” Felix volunteers. “If I had a gym.”
Sofia cracks a smile, some of the tension leaving her face. “He’s a semiprofessional bodybuilder. I think it was the abs that melted Elena’s brain.”
“That’s one thing I never have to worry about.” Felix leaves it at that, like his meaning should be obvious.
“Because you wouldn’t fall for a six-pack?” I ask.
“Twelve-pack or nothing for me.” He laughs at his own joke. “No, I mean no one is going to love me for my body. All the good stuff is up here.” He taps the side of his head.
“The good stuff?” I repeat, like I must have misheard.
“Brains, charm, jokes—the total package.”
It’s possible he’s kidding, but just in case his ego really is that big, I turn away with a skeptical huff.
As we get farther into town, Sofia updates us on all the new construction: another high-rise, a fancy restaurant by the water, rumors of a bigger, better golf course. They’re alwaysbuilding something, even though this place is mostly sand, swamp, and water.
“Under every rock there’s a knuckle-dragger who thinks he can make a quick buck in real estate,” Grandma Lainey explained when I was ten. “That’s why it’s important to be a woman of property. Don’t let your mother sell this place when I die.”
