What If It's Us(62)

“I heard someone threw up,” says a lanky guy in glasses.

Ben checks his phone again.

“What does that mean?” I ask, but Ben doesn’t seem to hear me.

The lanky guy chimes in. “Well, they have to clean the whole car and sanitize everything. We might as well settle in.” He seems almost pleased about it. “We’re not going anywhere for a while.”

“We better walk,” says Ben. “Come on.”

I follow him out of the station and out to the street. “It’s not much farther. We’ll be there in ten.”

But ten minutes turns into fifteen, and that’s with him walking so fast, I’m practically jogging to keep up. He turns onto Broadway and then Forty-Sixth Street, and I open my mouth to ask where we’re going, but then I see it, all lit up in yellow-gold.

“Ben.” For a moment, I’m speechless. “You did not.”

He exhales, grinning. “Okay, so Lin-Manuel Miranda was running this lottery promo for—”

“For teens enrolled in New York Public Schools. I know. I know.”

Holy shit. This is happening. This is actually happening. My voice cracks. “You won?”

“I mean, I entered.” Ben shrugs. “I don’t know. I figured, even if we lose, we could still hang out.”

“I’m sorry, what?” My mouth falls open.

He smiles uncertainly. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I just . . . are you seriously implying that seeing Hamilton and quote-unquote ‘just hanging out’ are two equally good alternatives?”

“I feel like there’s an insult buried in there.” Ben laughs.

I don’t laugh.

“Anyway, I think they should have announced the winners by now. Let’s check with the box office.”

I nod, but I feel like crying. God, I actually let myself picture this happening. Just for a moment, but already the loss of it stings. No one ever wins the Hamilton lottery. I enter every single day. And yeah, maybe the odds are better on this promo thing, but I’ll never be that lucky. The universe doesn’t love me that much.

But I follow Ben inside the theater, where there’s an immaculately made-up blond woman at the will call window. “Hi. Excuse me,” Ben says, his voice an octave higher than normal. I’m sort of in love with how weird he is around adults. “So. Um. I entered a competition today for New York Public School students, and I don’t know if you’ve announced the winners yet, or if I need to check in somewhere else, or . . .” He trails off. “My name is Ben Alejo.”

“Benjamin Alejo?” The lady looks at him, eyebrows knitted. “Oh, honey. We just gave away your tickets.”

“W-what?” he stutters. “I won?”

My heart sinks into my stomach.

“Two front-row tickets, but they had to be claimed by six p.m. I wish you’d called in.”

Ben shakes his head wordlessly.

“I’m so sorry. I can enter you in the lottery for tomorrow if you’d like.”

“Um. Sure. Thank you.” His voice is almost a whisper.

But by the time we’re back outside, he’s raging. “That’s ridiculous.” He stalks down the street, and I hustle to catch up. “When does the show start? Eight? There’s over an hour. They could have called me.”

“Are you joking?”

“They had my number on the form.”

I want to scream. Or tear something down. I have that tornado feeling in my stomach. “Do you have any idea how many people would kill for the tickets you just lost? Front-row seats?” My voice breaks.

“Yeah, well, if they’re going to set an arbitrary time to claim—”

“It’s not an arbitrary time. That’s how this works. We were late.”

“Yeah, if the train hadn’t stopped—”

“If you’d been on time, we wouldn’t have been on that train.”

“Arthur, come on.”

“I’m just . . .” I exhale. “Like, do you even get that you just lost front-row Hamilton tickets?”

“I get it! God.” His voice is thick. “You have no idea how much I wanted this to work out. No idea. I wanted this so badly.”

“Yeah, well. Me too.”

“I know. Arthur. It’s Hamilton. I’m just—”

“It’s not just Hamilton, okay?”

“It’s not?” He looks at me helplessly.

“How do you not get this? God, Ben.” My chest feels so tight it could burst. “You’ve been late for every single date. Every single one.”

“I know. I’m—”

“And you know what? If you were excited about seeing me, that wouldn’t happen. It wouldn’t. It’s like you don’t even care.”

He looks at me like I’ve hit him. “I do care!”

“But not enough. You don’t care enough.” I stare at him, heart pounding. “Maybe I should care less.”





Chapter Twenty-Four


Ben


I don’t think I’ve ever been a bigger disappointment than right now.

Boyfriends are supposed to be the ultimate hype men. The ones responsible for smiles and building each other up even when they’re down. They’re not supposed to be the reason someone is heartbroken in the first place. But I betrayed Arthur’s trust and I’m the cause behind his un-Arthur-like face. I held Arthur’s big Broadway dreams in my hands and crushed them.