“Me too! Everyone always thinks I’m white. It sucks,” I say. “It’s pretty annoying always having to make that clear.”

Kent bites his lip as he nods. “At least no one follows you around grocery stores like you’re trying to steal something. And I bet no one is asking you if you got into Yale to meet some sort of diversity quota. That actually sucks.”

I look away because wow, Kent didn’t swing, but it still felt like I got punched. “I’m sorry, I . . .” It’s quiet between us. Having to tell people I’m Puerto Rican is not a problem compared to what Kent faces regularly. I’m the worst. “I should rescue Alima from Dylan.”

“Yeah. I’ll see you around, Ben.”

Of course he won’t, and that’s got to be a good thing.

I go to Dylan and grab his arm. “Excuse us a sec,” I say. I drag him away. “I want to go.”

“Are you kidding? I was wrong about the a.m. vibes. Kent is pure p.m. He wants you to take him into that bathroom and catch his Pikachu.”

“I have no idea what that is supposed to mean. We need to have a chat about what dude-on-dude sex looks like.” I shake my head. “I don’t belong here. I’m not actually about to build a future at Yale or with Kent or Arthur. I’m done.”

“You’re not being fair to yourself,” Dylan says.

“Maybe not. But I’m being honest.”

I rush for the steps and head back down into the park.

This was such a waste. I can’t believe we did all this, like Arthur was ever actually going to be here. I was stupid to think that the universe had some master plan. All I know now is that I cared enough to show up here, and I’m walking away completely clueless on what’s next for my future. I just know I’m back at the start with no idea which way to go.

Friday, July 13

I can’t focus on Angry Birds when I hear Hudson and Harriett laughing while taking a selfie together.

“The bags under my eyes are so . . .” Hudson can’t find the word.

“WWE cage match?” Harriett says. She flips her hair over her shoulders and sticks her chest out. “You should make a silly face. It’ll distract from the beat-up look you got going on.”

“Thanks for the ego boost.”

“I’m just being honest. You need more beauty sleep,” Harriett says.

Beauty sleep hardly seems important for someone who filters the holy hell out of her photos, but what Harriett does for the ’gram is her business—literally. She does these ads for healthy juices that she doesn’t even like because they give her stomachaches. Doesn’t stop her from making two hundred dollars a picture. Harriett once did a #BoyfriendTag with Dylan where she did his makeup—contour on his cheekbones and eyeshadow. Dylan was a total champ about it and loved the attention. Harriett was so proud of the photos that she didn’t even delete them after he broke up with her. Harriett tagging me in photos was always wild. I would get a couple dozen followers. Then they’d all gradually unfollow because they could give a shit about my pictures of cool graffiti I’d find in bathrooms around the city. Or my pictures with Hudson.

“That photo sucks even more,” Hudson says, after another attempt. “My face is not good today. Forget it.”

Hudson is always hard on himself.

“Let’s try one more,” Harriett says. “Silly faces.”

“You got it, Boss.”

Hudson leans in, puts his fist underneath his chin, and stares off into the sky like he’s just had the most epic eureka moment and is now ready to remake the world. Harriett is blowing a kiss at absolutely no one in the opposite direction. They review the photo.

“Love it,” Harriett says. “I need a caption.”

“Wait,” Hudson says.

“You look hot!”

“No.” He zooms in and they both turn around.

Staring at me.

I must’ve photobombed their selfie. Their one good selfie. And of course I was staring at them instead of casually looking at my phone. Hudson shakes his head and looks away. My face goes red. I get back into Angry Birds and mind my business.

Or try to, at least. I still have ears.

“He looks good too, I got to admit,” Harriett says.

“No, you don’t have to admit that,” Hudson harshly whispers.

One more month until I’m free from this hellhole.

I walk into Dream & Bean and Dylan is sitting by the window.

“Big Ben, step into my office,” Dylan says, removing his backpack from one chair so I can sit.

“Your office needs a bigger table.”

“Who needs tables when you have this wonderful view.” Dylan gestures to the window.

“There’s literally trash piling up.” Three bags’ worth. There’s a better view from Hudson’s bedroom and it’s just brick wall.

“Do you want something to drink? My people can get right on that.”

“You’re a regular, not the owner.”

“Why are you so hurtful, Ben?”

“Quick recap: I’m in summer school with my ex-boyfriend. I thought I was going to reunite with a cute guy yesterday. I didn’t. Life sucks.”

I lost some sleep last night thinking about both Hudson and Arthur. Hudson because I wasn’t looking forward to another school day with him. Arthur because I realized I screwed up by moving along. Up until yesterday when Samantha got involved, I never thought there was a real chance of finding him. It’s New York City and I know next to nothing about him. But then she got her Nancy Drew on and hope became a thing. And the Yale lead was a smart one, but it led to nothing except how much I wanted it to work out. To find Arthur and see what could happen between us.

“You won’t stay single long with that face.” Dylan’s eyebrows bounce.

I’m not in the flirty mood.

“I feel like I’m being punished for wanting to be happy,” I say. Like maybe life would’ve been fine if I gave Hudson a second chance. Maybe everything would’ve gotten better.

“Maybe you’re just Friday the thirteenth’s bitch.”

“At least we have our marathon.”

Dylan is quiet for a second. “Samantha-less marathon.”

“I’m sure she’ll reach out.” I’m not sure. She never texted him back last night.

Not to be that person, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little relieved things aren’t coming together with Samantha. Don’t get me wrong—I want him to be happy, he’s my absolute best friend. But sorry, he’s not good at being a best friend when he’s someone’s boyfriend. It’s like the only topic in the world becomes his girlfriend, and I don’t ever feel like I can get a word in about what’s happening with me. Maybe this is a bad attitude for me to have. But I just get, I don’t know, threatened and feel pretty worthless every time he starts liking another girl. My dad asked me if I had secret feelings for Dylan, which is seriously not the case. Dylan is just the best and I would drop-kick someone for him. But I just miss him whenever he’s dating. And I don’t only want to feel relevant when he’s single.

I’m thirsty, so I get up and go to the condiment bar. While I’m pouring some complimentary water into a plastic cup, I check out this bulletin board with tons of flyers for campus internships, a Resist poster, some phone numbers, dog walker job listing, random ads and—

My face.

My face is on the bulletin board.

The water spills over the cup and I don’t even have the common sense or decency to immediately wipe it because that’s my face on the bulletin board.

What did I do? What am I wanted for? Wait. No. This isn’t some police sketch or shady security camera snapshot. My face is cropped out from that picture where I smashed a snowball in Hudson’s face. Is this from him? I almost call for Dylan, but I’m still speechless because there’s a memo too:

Are you the boy from the post office?

I feel super awkward right now, and I can’t believe I’m doing this, but here we go.

We talked for a few minutes at the post office on Lexington. I was the guy in the hot dog tie. You were the guy mailing stuff back to your ex-boyfriend.