Here's to Us(What If It's Us #2)(27)

“Not just a single date, or a double date, but a triple date!” Dylan says. “This is a first in the history of the world.”

“We went on a triple bowling date with my friends back at school,” Samantha says.

“That didn’t count. Your friends had no chemistry. At best that was a double date.” Dylan turns to me. “Ashleigh was always on her phone, and Jonah was the absolute worst, Big Ben. He was such a show-off at the bowling alley.”

“So he was a better bowler than you?” I ask.

“Yes,” Samantha says. “And Ashleigh was dealing with a family emergency, but Dylan’s right: Jonah is pretty insufferable.”

Dylan beams. “Did you hear that? She said I’m right.”

“A true first in the history of the world,” Samantha says.

Dylan hops onto my bed and bounces. “I’m right!”

“Get off,” I say.

Dylan leaps off and eyes me suspiciously. “Why? You hiding Arthur under here?” He looks under the bed.

I blush. “Why would I be hiding Arthur?”

“Because keeping Arthur out in the open would be downright disrespectful?”

“There’s nothing going on between us.”

I’ve only exchanged a couple texts with Arthur since we saw each other on Monday. The first was one when I suggested the hangout, and then earlier today to confirm the times for tonight and see if he was cool with Dylan and Samantha tagging along.

“Don’t be weird tonight, D. I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.”

“Me? Weird? May I be insulted, Fun Police?”

“Sure.”

I pocket my wallet and lead everyone out of my bedroom.

My parents are snuggled up on the couch watching the second season of Netflix’s One Day at a Time. Ma has probably watched every episode like four times, but it’s the first time she’s getting Pa through the series. They’ve invited me to join, but I usually prefer to go to my room to write or FaceTime Mario. Watching family shows often makes me wish my life were simpler, like I could go through the ups and downs of living with my parents over the course of thirty minutes.

“What’s the plan, Benito?” Ma asks as she covers her lap with a blanket.

“Just hitting Times Square.”

“Times Square?”

“Hasn’t Arthur been there already?”

“Yeah, but he loves that area. Mikey probably does, too.”

I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve spent every night in New York seeing a different show. Meanwhile I’m over here earning paychecks and giving my parents money for rent and groceries.

“Well, have fun,” Ma says. “You too, Samantha and Dylan.”

“Gracias,” Dylan says like a true white person.

We leave and make our way to the subway station, getting on a train just in time to see a duo of boys with dark brown skin shout, “Showtime!” The beat kicks in and Dylan tries to clap along—though he’s so off-rhythm, I’m this close to grabbing his hand. To be honest, I don’t always pay attention to the subway shows, but these boys are on another level. I can’t help but watch them flip down the aisles and spin around the poles with the upper body strength of superheroes. We tip them a few dollars before we transfer to our next train.

When we arrive in Times Square, I’m so aware how it doesn’t cast its magical spell on me. The lit-up marquees blend in with the traffic lights. All the Broadway billboards may as well be posters for bus stops. I’m feeling this all the time around New York now. Every morning I wake up to the city shining a little less brightly. But this glamour isn’t for residents like me. It’s for people like Arthur and Mikey, who will probably be skipping down the street any moment now and singing some show tunes that I won’t know.

I check my phone to see Mario is running a few minutes late because he got caught up packing for his flight. I was thinking about spending the night at his place, but he’s taking off really early, and I know how important rest is to him. Thankfully we got to scratch some itches while my parents were working yesterday afternoon.

“I’m starving,” Samantha says.

“Hot dog?” Dylan asks, pointing at the vendor on the corner.

“Maybe a pretzel,” she says.

Dylan approaches the cart. “My good man, what’s your pretzel rate?”

“Why are you talking like that?” the vendor asks.

“So you don’t mistake me as a tourist.”

“You sound like a tourist.”

“From where?”

“The past.”

Dylan glares. “How much for the pretzel? My woman is starving and I need to put food on the table.”

“Five dollars.”

“I see. And after I hand over my main man Lincoln, will you be immediately arrested for your crimes?”

The two lock into a staring contest. Samantha and I roll our eyes.

“Four dollars,” Dylan haggles.

“Five.”

“Four dollars plus a dollar for a soda.”

“Seven.”

Dylan leans in. “You’re embarrassing me in front of my woman. Come on, one family man to another. Help me out.”

“You’re a child.”