Rosario’s fingers snap in front of his eyes, and he blinks. “Earth to Prince,” Rose calls. “You okay? You’re freaking me out.”

Prince swallows. “I’m fine.”

“You’re shaking,” Rose retaliates. “You’ve had this far-off look on your face for the last ten minutes. You do that a lot, actually.”

He’s a lot worse at navigating two bodies than he thought. “Sorry,” Prince apologizes, ignoring the concerned look on Rose and Felix's faces. “I’m just thinking about someone.”

“Who?” Rose demands.

He shrugs. “Friend of mine.”

“You have friends?” Felix asks, that smug gleam in his eyes.

“Oh-ho! Nice one, Felix!”

Prince grins despite himself. “Yeah, I do, actually. Just one.” This is strange; he’s never talked about Clover before. Before tonight, she’s tried not to talk about him, either.

“Where the hell did you get another friend?” Rosario asks, flipping onto his stomach on Princeton’s bed, holding out the comic book he’s reading for better light.

“When I lived back east,” he explains. “We met at my dad’s funeral.”

Rose shifts uncomfortably, muttering a tiny “Oh,”

Felix, it seems, has completely dropped his awkwardness, and clearly knows how to handle uncomfortable situations better than Rosario. “They knew your dad?” he asks.

Prince sighs. “Nah,” he lies, thinking with a pain in his chest how hard they had cried over their loss. “Her dad died, too. The funerals were on the same day; we met at the cemetery.”

“Shit, dude,” Rose mumbles. “Who is she?”

“Her name is Clover,” he says, and the name tastes strange, sounds wrong, coming from his mouth. It isn’t a name Princeton Moss should ever have a reason to say. He wonders if it’ll feel just as strange through her, and as she walks down the dark street, Clover whispers Prince’s name aloud, too. It’s still odd, even though she says it often. “She’s five years older than me.”

“Dude,” Rosario deadpans, “You’re friends with a sixteen year-old girl?”

Felix snorts into the can of soda he sips from, and Prince rolls his eyes. “Yeah, we’re best friends, you could say I’ve known her all my life,” he drawls.

Rose flips the comic book to the back of the bed and leans close. “Is she hot?”

Clover pauses mid-crosswalk, then barks a laugh and finishes crossing the street. Prince shrugs. “I mean, she’s like a sister to me.” He grins, unable to resist a joke, “It’d be like kissing myself.”

“There’s a weird thought,” Felix supplies.

“Weird for you,” Rose says. “She’s not my sister."

"Trust me, you're not her type," Prince deadpans.

"You got a picture or something?”

Prince pauses. “I don’t,” he murmurs, and he wonders why the idea never occurred to him. He sees Clover every day in the mirror, hell, if he looks down at his hands miles and miles away, he can see the smooth, cool, umber skin that belongs to her. He compares both sets of hands. “She might like it if she could get a picture of us, though. It’s lonely up there by herself.”

Felix tenses ever so lightly, like a fine string has been wrapped around his spine and is slowly pulled taunt. “Of us?”

Prince realizes suddenly that Felix doesn’t think he’ll stay with them. Perhaps he thinks he’s here for the day, but on Monday at school they’ll pretend tonight never happened, that they hadn’t ever spoke. He licks his lips. “Yeah, of course,” he says. “What are friends for?”

Felix gapes at him with wide eyes, then turns to look at Rosario. Rose grins and gently shoves him with his shoulder.

“What, did you think we followed you to a creepy murder house because we didn’t like you?” Rosario chuckles and reaches over to where Felix sits on the floor with his back against the bed, ruffles the blond mop atop his head. “You’re alright, Felix.”

For a few, long moments, Felix seems speechless. He exhales sharply, the remnants of a laugh, and grins. “Then we’d better get a good shot."