What If It's Us(94)

Anyway, I told Mikey I’d be there, so I’m here. Or at least I was here, until I saw Ethan’s Instagram Story. Now I’m the best friend, reporting for duty.

I try texting. You okay my dude?

Nothing. Five minutes later, still nothing, not even an ellipsis, and I feel a little sick about it. When Jessie broke the news to me yesterday, she made it sound like it was mutual. I’ve talked to her twice since then, and she seems okay—sad, but okay. But Ethan won’t answer my calls. He’s barely responding to my texts.

I rest my head on the cinder-block wall, shutting my eyes. I mean, I’m sure Ethan’s fine. Maybe he’s ignoring my texts because he already met an awesome new girl who can sing and play piano and looks like Anna Kendrick. Maybe she is Anna Kendrick. Though you just know Ethan would blurt out that he likes the original cast soundtrack of The Last Five Years better than the film, which, duh, but how rude is it to say that to Anna Kendrick? So obviously she’ll dump him, which means he’s double-dumped, which means we’re back where we started, but worse.

Guess I better call again.

I’m sent straight to voice mail. For a minute, I just stare at my phone, only half listening to the Radiohead song drifting out of someone’s dorm room. I hate how helpless I feel. And not the romantic kind of helpless. Not the Eliza Schuyler kind. It’s more like the feeling you get watching the end of Titanic. You want to reach into your screen and tip the boat back upright. You want to fix the unfixable.

A text from Mikey: Hey, where’d you go?

I should text him back. Actually, I should just suck it up and go back to the party. It’s not even the intimidating kind of party. It’s mostly just a cappella people sitting on Mikey’s bed and drinking. College is like that—at least Wesleyan’s like that. It’s like the nerds rose to power, kicked out all the popular kids, and stole their weed and alcohol. Which isn’t to say everything’s about smoking and drinking here. A lot of people just sit around talking or gaming or making art, and they’re sometimes naked, and I kind of love that. Not the nudity in particular. But I love that give-no-shits mentality. Also Wesleyan has the cutest boys, far cuter than a certain other Connecticut school that shall remain nameless until I name them. I’m not even bitter that Yale waitlisted me. That’s how cute the boys are here. Case in point: Mikey, with his bleached hair and wire-framed glasses and above-average kissing ability. I’d say he’s the third-best kisser out of the six boys I’ve kissed. Second best was this guy I met when I visited Jessie at Brown. First best was Ben.

Ben. That’s who I should FaceTime. He knows breakups, and more importantly, he knows Ethan. And most importantly, I’m wearing a button-down shirt and a cardigan and glasses, and I’m kind of feeling myself tonight. Also, a few weeks ago, Ben drunk-texted me to say I look hot in my glasses. So there’s that.

Ben answers right away. “I was just thinking about you!”

“You were?”

He nods.

“But you’re going to leave me hanging on the details, aren’t you?”

“Yup.” His face breaks into a grin, and wow. We need to FaceTime more often, because his smile is my favorite smile ever. He’s gotten a haircut since the last selfie he posted—sort of longer on top, but it’s subtle. He looks perfect. Which is a thing I notice in a strictly platonic way. I’ll just be here thinking all the platonic Ben thoughts. Even though he’s on his bed. It’s not like I’m thinking about all the things we did on that bed. I can appreciate the bed as a well-crafted, functional item of furniture. Ben leans back on his pillows and yawns. “So, what’s up?”

Might as well spit it out. “Jessie dumped Ethan.”

Ben sits up. “Whoa.”

“Right? It’s weird.”

“I bet. Wow. How are they holding up?”

I stretch my legs out in front of me, settling in for the long haul. “Jessie’s good, I think. Ethan, though. Have you looked at his Instagram?”

“Not recently.”

“Ben, it’s bad. He posted this story where he’s singing ‘I’ll Cover You’ from Rent and crying, and like . . . I don’t know. Can you pull a muscle from cringing?”

Ben winces. “Uh-oh.”

“Whatever you’re picturing, it’s worse. Just watch it.”

“Poor Ethan.”

“I know.” I press a hand to my face. “Tell me this gets less awkward.”

“You mean breakups?”

“Yeah, I mean. I’ve only ever had ours, and ours was awesome.”

Ben laughs. “Best breakup ever.”

“I know. We rocked it.” I sigh. “Maybe Ethan and Jess will bounce back, too.”

“They might. I bet they will.”

“Should I go visit him at UVA? I don’t want it to be like I’m picking sides. Jessie’s my friend, too.”

“That’s tricky.” Ben wrinkles his nose, and it’s so cute, it makes my heart flip. I’ll never get over those freckles. Not ever. “But it gets easier. You’ll see. Look at me and Hudson.”

I narrow my eyes. “I try not to.”

“I love that you’re still jealous of Hudson. Still.”

“Always.”

He shakes his head, smiling. “I’m just saying, it’s not exactly like it used to be, but we’re cool. We can text. We don’t really talk much, but—”