Here's to Us(What If It's Us #2)(8)

Probably nothing. Maybe his finger slipped while scrolling. Maybe he doesn’t even know he liked it. I wonder if he’ll unlike it as soon as he realizes. I don’t know if that would make the notification go away or if I’ll get a new notification or— I realize with a start that Mikey just spoke. And I didn’t hear a word of it.

“Wait, sorry.” I swallow guiltily. “What did you say?”

Mikey looks at me. “I said if you want to see him, you should see him.”

“Mikey, I haven’t even talked to him since—”

“February. I know.” He’s blinking a lot. “You said that. A few times.”

I blush. “Well, it’s true.”

February 12th, to be exact.

And I hate it. I hate how far I have to scroll to find Ben’s texts. I hate not knowing if he finished his last TWWW revision, or whether his parents followed through and made him get a job like they threatened. I hate not knowing what he had for breakfast this morning.

I hate that it’s my fault. I’m the one who made it weird. I guess it started when Mikey and I got back together, on New Year’s. But I can’t blame Mikey—it’s not like he asked me not to be friends with Ben. He just always got kind of prickly and distant when Ben’s name came up.

So I stopped bringing his name up.

And I guess that made Ben feel like a thing I was hiding.



“Mikey, Ben liking one Instagram post doesn’t mean we’re suddenly best friends again,” I say, aiming for the space between casual and jovial. But even I can hear the defensive edge in my voice.

I glance sideways, and Mikey’s doing this tic he has sometimes, where he pinches the bridge of his nose behind his glasses. He used to do it a lot first semester. I don’t think it even hit me until now that he’d stopped. He shuts his eyes for a moment. “Can I be really honest with you?”

“Of course.” I scoot an inch closer.

The music’s stopped, and the silence feels boundless and thick. When Mikey speaks at last, his voice is flat. “I know you haven’t talked to him. And even if you did, I trust you, Arthur. You’d never cheat. I know that. I’m just scared.”

I press my thigh against his. “Of what?”

“I don’t know. I guess I feel a little threatened by him. He was your first love. Your big Broadway love story.”

“Two years ago. And I haven’t seen him since then. You know that.”

He nods quickly. “It’s just, what happens when you do see him again?”

“But why would I? I don’t even think he thinks we’re friends at this point.”

Mikey looks at me strangely. “Do you think you’re friends?”



My cheeks go warm. “I mean, we were? I don’t know. He’s my ex. We dated for a few weeks, a million years ago. But I’m with you now. And, Mikey, I really, really like you. I really like us.”

And I do. I really like him. I like Mikey’s face and his voice and his weird nerdy brain, and there are times when I find him so endearing I almost can’t stand it. And we’re so good together. We barely fight. Yeah, he’s been a little moody about New York, but I know we’ll work through that. We always work through stuff. Because we’re mature grown-ups in a mature grown-up relationship, and everything’s good and chill and solid. And I’m happy.

“I like us, too,” Mikey says.

I take his hand again and squeeze it.

Here’s the thing. Ben was my big Broadway love story. But I was sixteen. That’s just what falling in love at sixteen feels like. Just because it’s different now doesn’t make it less real.

I study Mikey’s face for a moment. “Okay, I want to show you something. I was going to wait to surprise you in New York, but . . .”

I stand, stretch, and quickly tug my shirt down, winning a fleeting smile from Mikey. My messenger bag’s propped against the edge of my bookcase, packed and ready. I grab it and bring it back to the bed, unzipping the smaller front pouch.

Mikey watches me curiously.

“Wait for it . . .” I root around until I find a short stack of paper, folded in thirds. Then I pass it straight to Mikey, who hesitates. I nudge him. “Open it.”

He does, and then pulls the papers closer to read, his eyes going huge behind his glasses. “Wait, for real?”

“Two weeks from tomorrow. It’s the matinee. But the seats are terrible, just so you know.”

Mikey stares at me, dumbfounded. “We’re seeing Six?”

“We’re seeing Six!”

“Arthur, that’s—it’s too expensive. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to say sorry for ruining our summer—”

“You didn’t ruin it.”

“I did.” I lean my head on his shoulder. “And I wanted to do something special, you know? For us.”

“Arthur.” His voice sounds choked.

“And it wasn’t expensive,” I say quickly, lifting my head to meet his eyes. “I mean, it was, but I get a discount. Internship perk.”

“Why don’t they skip the discount and raise your stipend?”

“Doesn’t work like that.” I kiss his cheek. “Sorry, you’re just going to have to suck it up and see the best show on Broadway with me. And you know what?”