What If It's Us(46)

I stare into my lap and nod along like Arthur’s possibilities for the future are no different from mine. But he’s seen me fake my way through enough already that he catches himself.

“Of course, there’s financial aid and scholarships,” Arthur says.

I shake my head. “I’m not getting a scholarship.”

My heart is racing because I feel like such a loser now. Like I’m always going to be fighting some uphill battle to make a place for myself in this world. Like why bother if I’m not some rich valedictorian. You would think the universe would be cooler about taking care of those with less. Let’s say I get financial aid. I’m not liking my odds of maintaining the high GPA to keep it. And if I can’t afford college, why would someone as brilliant as Arthur want to be with me, someone who’s struggling with high school?

“I said something stupid,” Arthur says.

“You’re okay,” I say. Though I can’t look him in the eye. I really wish Dylan would come through and fill this awkward silence with some stupid joke. Call Arthur Arnold, talk about sex, anything. Except this has become the quietest karaoke room ever.

Arthur’s hand slides off mine and he tucks his hands between his legs.

“Um. Follow me,” I say, going out into the hallway.

Arthur stands and turns to Dylan and Samantha. He’s probably not sure if he should say bye or not. I guess that’s up to him.

The hallway is echoing with songs from other people’s private rooms. A group is butchering Journey, which is what you should expect during karaoke—awkward singing. What I didn’t expect was an awkward talk.

“I’m an idiot, Ben. I don’t know why, but I know I am. I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. I have to remember you don’t know every little thing about me. Like you don’t know that I kind of suck at school. So Ivy Leagues are really not a thing that’s going to happen for me. And I don’t know you well enough to know if that’s important to you.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not! I’m sorry. I just get excited.”

“You should be super excited. That’s awesome. I hope you get into Yale or Harvard or Hogwarts. Wherever you want. But school is sort of a sore subject for me right now. I’m . . .” I wasn’t planning on telling him tonight, but why the hell not. “I’m actually in summer school. That’s the class I’m taking.”

He looks up at me. “Okay. That’s cool.”

“You think I’m stupid.”

“Are you serious?”

The thing is, I am. Hudson, Harriett, and I had the same teacher as everyone else, and yet we’re the only ones from our class wasting away in summer school. Even Hudson and Harriett had perfectly fine grades before the three of us got closer. I’m the only one in that entire class who actually deserves to be there.

“How could I possibly think that?” Arthur says.

“Because you’re applying to Yale and I’m in summer school.”

“So what?” He steps closer, taking my hand. “That doesn’t mean anything. I almost went one year, too.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Okay. But for real, I did. Fifth grade. It was before I was on meds.” He squeezes my hand. “I had a really hard time focusing—like a really hard time. The only reason I didn’t have to go was my mom got me six tutors. I’m not even kidding.”

“That’s a lot of tutors.”

“Listen, Yale and everything . . . You know I don’t care about that stuff, right? I don’t care if you’re in summer school.”

“I believe you,” I say. “And I’m sorry for not being happy for you without being hard on myself.”

“We’re saying sorry a lot,” Arthur says.

“That’s what people do when they want something to work,” I say. “Do you want to go back inside?”

“I really, really do.”

I’m about to open the door when I stop and knock.

“WE’RE HAVING SEX!” Dylan shouts from inside.

I open the door and Dylan and Samantha are flipping through the binder.

“Straight sex is so weird,” I say.

We all settle back in. Arthur gets another round of Cokes and when he returns, he grabs the remote. “I know you don’t want to do a duet, but can I do a solo?”

“Knock yourself out.”

Dylan cuddles up next to me and Samantha accepts it because if she’s in this for the long run, this is her new life.

Arthur selects a song. He clears his throat as the song starts. “This song is called ‘Ben,’ and I dedicate it to . . . Samantha and Dylan. Kidding. Karaoke humor. Ben, this one is for you.”

Arthur has hit peak awkward, and even he’s cringing at himself.

He looks nervous, but not as nervous as I am when I see the first line dragging across the monitor. The song is “Ben” by Michael Jackson. I’m already half praying for a blackout and half smiling because this will be one for the books.

“Ben, the two of us need look no more . . .” Arthur isn’t going to be on Broadway anytime soon, but he has a really nice voice, and I’m mortified and I’m charmed and I never thought that was a combo that would make sense. He takes a deep breath when the song ends.