What If It's Us(37)

“Is there an option for a large green field with butterflies chasing us?” Arthur asks.

“Maybe in the next edition. But the butterflies will probably be bats. And the green field will probably be a cave.”

“So not what I said at all. Got it.” Arthur puts on his 3D glasses and grabs the blaster with a tight grip. “Let’s kill some escaped zombie convicts.”

The game starts off fairly creepy. The prison is only lit with a swinging lightbulb as our characters drag their feet into the darkness. A cell door creaks open, but it’s just the wind—no, no, fuck, no, it’s not just the wind, it’s an old man with half a face.

“Why is he in prison?!” Arthur yells.

“I don’t know!” I yell back.

“Death sentence him! Death sentence him!”

We shoot up the grandpa zombie—and wake up the entire prison and walking dead. One lunges at us in 3D and tries to choke me and Arthur blasts him to death. I shift closer to Arthur, like I once did with Hudson. Our legs are now touching and he scoots closer too. The vibrations of every step as the zombie convicts charge toward us has my heart racing.

“How are you—ah! Shit, he’s eating my arm—doing?” I ask.

“Scared. But could be worse.”

“What would be the scariest thing that can pop up on that screen? That fucker in the corner?”

We see a zombie in the corner eating a guard’s decapitated head like it’s roasted chicken. “Him too. And I don’t know. Maybe my parents getting divorced?”

“Oh. Is that . . . happening?”

“I think so. I don’t know, they’re just—zombie on your right!”

I let go of the blaster and push my 3D glasses to the top of my head. The zombies have their way with my character. “Want to talk about it?” It’s weird to picture anything bad happening in Arthur’s life. He’s a “high-powered intern” at sixteen, just relocated to New York, seems really smart. I guess no one’s life is perfect. Even those who seem to have it all.

Arthur pauses. “Okay, new scariest thing. Ethan hitting the high note in ‘Music of the Night’ from Phantom.”

I’ll take that as a no for talking about his parents. “Ethan’s your best friend, right?”

“Yeah, I think?” Arthur turns to me with his glasses still on. I can’t see his eyes. “Things have changed since I came out. I knew they would, but—I don’t know. I didn’t expect my best friends to exit stage left.”

“Jessie too?”

“Oh no, she’s cool. She’s amazing. We’ve always been pretty extra together, and now we’re extra about boys.” He finally removes the 3D glasses. “Can I ask how out you are?”

“Super out. In freshman year I was sleeping over at Dylan’s and we were watching The Avengers. He went on about how many crimes he would commit if it meant Black Widow would track him down so he could meet her. I talked about hammering Thor and he respected that choice. That was that.” Now that I hear about Ethan sucking in this department, I’m extra grateful for Dylan. “Same deal with my parents. I came out over dinner while Dylan was there, and my dad assumed we were dating. I just thought my parents would make a bigger deal about it. When they didn’t, I was underwhelmed. I thought it was going to be some major event. Balloons, parade, I don’t know.”

“That’s good though, right?”

“Yeah, now I’m glad it wasn’t. I wanted it to be normal and it was.”

“Because it is. You said you’re super out. So everyone knows?”

“Yeah. I put up an Instagram post on Thanksgiving a couple years ago. Said that I was thankful for all the people in my life who are cool enough to love me as I am. And everyone else could unfriend me online and in real life. I had even checked my follower count before posting.”

“Mass exodus? Modest exodus?”

“No exodus,” I say. It’s surprising. I thought people were going to care more than they did.

“Can I be honest about something?”

“You are a cartoon porn fanatic, aren’t you?”

“Well yeah, but . . . I’m not an arcade fanatic. I have failed you.”

“This explains a lot,” I say.

“We make a great team though!”

“No we don’t. We literally lost because we stopped playing midway.”

“Logistics.”

We put away the 3D glasses and get out.

“So no more playing is what you’re telling me,” I say. I still have credits, and they don’t exactly let you get your money back because your date doesn’t like arcades. He really is an alien. “Now what?”

“I have an idea,” Arthur says. He leads me to the photo booth, puts in five dollars, and takes a seat. “Come on!”

I don’t even get the chance to decide if this is what I want—the photo, this moment with Arthur—but I follow him inside the booth because not doing so is awkward and a waste of five bucks. I sit and all I can think about are the stupid faces Hudson and I made when we were here months ago. But Arthur is not Hudson. And I can’t let Hudson spoil any chance at making new memories in old places. Not just here at Dave & Buster’s, but everywhere in the city. School, parks, you name it. Arthur is his own person. Not a plaything. Not a distraction. I got to do this right.