What If It's Us(68)

“What’s going on here, Ben?” Arthur is red. Pissed? Embarrassed? Both. I don’t know.

“It’s not what you think,” I say. Even though it’s true doesn’t make me any less of a cliché douchebag.

“What is he doing here?” Arthur asks.

Hudson takes a step back. “I’ll give you a sec.”

“Ben. Why is he here?”

“He’s in summer school too.”

Arthur looks like I just punched him in the face. Like I punched him in the heart. He turns his back on me and heads into the rain, dragging his messenger bag on the ground. I stay by his side.

“So, what, you just hang out with your ex-boyfriend after school? Does he even know about me? Are you two-timing both of us?”

“We were literally hanging out so we could talk about you!”

“Since when do you guys hang out at all?!”

“Today was going to be the first time, I swear!”

Arthur throws his messenger bag against the wall. “NO! You just got caught today. That’s the only first.” He crouches over, holding his stomach. “I’m going to throw up.” I put my hand on his lower back and he swipes me off of him. “DON’T TOUCH ME.”

“Arthur, please, hear me out. This looks bad. Catastrophic. But I promise you that I love—”

“What ass-backward world are you living in where your ex-boyfriend is more in the loop than your boyfriend?” Arthur stands straight. He grabs his messenger bag and we go on to the next block with a little more distance between us. “How come he gets to know about me but I don’t get to know about him?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” I say. “I tried to say something, but it just got harder and harder and looked worse and worse the longer I took and—”

“Then you should’ve just said something!”

“I should’ve, but nothing happened between us. I can’t control the fact that we’re both in summer school. Sorry we don’t have it together like you.”

“Don’t spin this around on me! I’m not pissed you’re in summer school, I don’t care about that. It would’ve been nice to know Hudson was there with you.”

“Oh yeah, like you would’ve been really chill about that. You clearly don’t even trust me. Why should you, we haven’t even known each other for a month.” I take a deep breath. “There were so many expectations and I honestly wasn’t sure we were going to be able to live up to them and then we did.”

“Ben, just stop. I don’t need to hear how this wasn’t real for you all along.”

“It was real, but what’s the point? You’re leaving the city in a week.”

Arthur squeezes his eyes shut and he’s shaking. When he reopens his eyes, there’s so much hurt and anger. “So you’re going to stand there and act like this has all been in my head? All these first dates and meeting your parents and your friends and . . . everything.”

“It wasn’t—”

“Did you ever send Hudson his box?”

“What?”

“The box that you were going to mail the day we met.”

The rain is pounding on us.

I don’t say anything.

I can’t lie to him, and telling the truth is even worse.

Arthur shakes his head. “And this is why I don’t trust you. Hope you and Hudson have an awful life together.” He looks me in the eyes. “We’re over.”

I reach for his arm. “Arthur.”

“No! I’m done. I can’t wait to go home.”

I don’t think he’s talking about Uncle Milton’s place.

He walks away, and even though I’m a huge idiot, I’m smart enough to know better than to follow him.





Chapter Twenty-Seven


Arthur


Of course it’s raining. Of fucking course. I’m drenched to my boxers, water dripping from my eyelashes, and everything hurts. Everything’s broken.

Ben and Hudson. This whole time. Well done, universe. Way to prove you were never on our side. Way to prove you don’t even exist. There’s no plan and no fate. It’s only us. Only me trying too hard. Only Ben trying not hard enough. But hey—why bother trying for a guy you barely even know. Because I guess that’s how he sees me. Just some stupid tourist here to entertain him for the summer.

A sudden buzz in my pocket. I’ve got my phone rainproofed in a Ziploc, but I duck under an awning anyway. Just to peek. If it’s him, I’m not answering.

But it’s not. Surprise, surprise. It’s just Jessie, swooping in for an impromptu FaceTime. I tug it out of the bag and decline it—but then I feel bad, so I text her. Sorry, am outside and it’s raining She writes back immediately. Can you go somewhere to talk? It’s kind of important.

My stomach drops. Kind of important. I don’t like that phrase at all. It’s too serious, too urgent. Maybe this is about the Complicated Thing. Only maybe it’s not just a Complicated Thing. Maybe it’s Complicated Bad News, really bad news, and she’s been trying to tell me for days. Maybe I’m a really bad friend.

Give me one sec

I don’t even stop to think. There’s a guy in a tank top letting himself into a nearby apartment building. “Hey!” I call. “Sorry, can you hold that. My keys are . . .”