Here's to Us(What If It's Us #2)(33)

“He’s too far back,” Mario says—but he’s wrong. The claw descends in the exact right spot, evenly framing its target.

I don’t blink. I don’t even breathe.

The claw closes, grazing the bear’s face and torso. Then it pauses for the barest split second before starting to rise again. Empty. Of course. Unless—

“Oh. My. God.” Dylan presses his palms to the glass.

The claw lifts the bear by its valentine heart and carries it safely to the prize chute before releasing it. For a moment, I’m frozen in place, like a dancer holding a jazz-hands pose after a big Broadway number.

“Holy shit. You fucking did it. Are you guys seeing this?” Mario slams his palm into mine in the most forceful high five of my life, and then—before I even realize it’s happening—he hugs me. “Incredible. I can’t believe I doubted you.”

“That’s what I’m talking about. One and done.” Dylan squats in front of the prize chute. “That’s right, come to papa.”

Ben shoots me the tiniest smile, and my stomach flips like a pancake.

“Just look at the little guy! He’s so cute,” Mario says, and I whirl around, blushing. Little guy? Okay, but he’s looking at Dylan. Not even Dylan. It’s the bear. Mario’s talking about the bear.

“You know what I’d love?” Dylan says. “For goddamn once, I’d like to see a valentine with a little creativity. I’m not buying what he’s selling. Haven’t we evolved past I love you beary much? Hello?” He flicks the bear’s heart. “Where’s that energy for I bearly love you?”

“That’s not a valentine; that’s a breakup gift,” says Ben.

Mario elbows him and laughs. “That’s your breakup move, Alejo? You win the guy an asshole bear, and it’s done?”

Nope. Absolutely not. No one, literally no one, asked for Mario’s hot take on Ben’s past breakups. And I can tell from a glance that Ben feels weird about it, too. It’s actually bizarre how much a year or two of FaceTime can teach you. I can read Ben better now than I could when we were dating.

Dylan jumps into the fray. “Are you calling my bear an asshole, Super Mario?”

“Your hypothetical asshole bear? Definitely,” says Mario. “This bear, on the other hand? Total fucking sweetheart. Dylan, you’re a lucky dad.”

And I guess I’ve been possessed by some kind of Pick-Me-Cool-Ex demon impulse, because suddenly I’m grabbing the bear from Dylan and thrusting it at Mario.

Dylan’s jaw drops. “WHAT?”

Which is when I realize, with dawning horror, that I just gave my ex-boyfriend’s new boyfriend a teddy bear. With a heart. That says I love you beary much.

Has my whole entire life been leading up to the complete and utter shame of this moment?

“I’m—God, I’m so sorry. You don’t have to . . .”

I reach for the bear, but Mario whisks it away. “Hey, now. I didn’t say you could have it back.”

Dylan looks stunned. “I have never been so offended in my entire life. You just kidnapped my child.”

“You just said you weren’t buying what he’s selling,” says Ben.

“Bennifer, why are you making this about capitalism?”

Mario presses the bear to his chest, heart to heart. “Arthur, you’ve made me the happiest man alive.”

“I’m . . . glad things are working out for you two,” I say to Mario.

But my eyes drift to Ben.





Chapter Eleven


Ben

Saturday, May 23




It’s been raining all day.

I swore Mario’s flight was going to be canceled this morning, but the plane was able to make it out of New York before things got really bad. Still, I was tracking his flight throughout my shift this morning to make sure everything was okay. Before I could check a sixth time, I got a text from him letting me know that he’d landed safely and was already on his way to meet with his Tío Carlos. I liked that he wrote to me. He didn’t have to, but he did. That put me in a pretty great mood for the rest of my shift.

Up until Dylan texted to cancel on our plans to eat Taco Bell and talk about everything that happened at Dave & Buster’s that we couldn’t talk about in front of Mario and Arthur. I don’t know why he’s treating the rain like it’s acid, but I’ll let him have his cozy night in with Samantha. I get how rare it is for them to see each other since they live in the same college dorm room, are bouncing back and forth between their respective families’ homes, and are still inseparable while out and about in the city.

Totally get it . . .

I’m in my room working on The Wicked Wizard War rewrites, really in my head over some feedback from my teacher about my early pages. Mrs. García thinks the story would benefit from more backstory about Ben-Jamin, but other early readers thought I was info-dumping too much. I’m torn about whose critique to pay more attention to. Yes, she’s my teacher and has given me so many helpful tips—I wouldn’t have been able to fix my plot’s bridge without her. But Mario and others felt Ben-Jamin’s origins were slowing down the story and didn’t ultimately serve the central plot.

It’s times like this when I don’t even want to deal with this book. Like I’ll never know how to make it everything everyone wants it to be. Like it’ll never be good enough for people.