He’s close to my face and I think about how kissing him will be awkward. Not this second, though that would be awkward too. Way too early. Talking about the height difference. Hudson and I were on an even playing field, and Arthur is not at my level. That sounds bad. And I hate that I think about this, but I do. I can’t help it if height is important for me. The way other people refuse to date someone who plays in a band or someone whose geekiness is so strong they can name all of the original one hundred and fifty Pokémon.

Arthur puts the necklace on me and his knuckles brush against my skin. He looks like he wants to kiss me. I can’t see him making the first move. Not like at the post office.

“How do I look?” I ask.

“Like someone who wants gay peace on earth,” Arthur says. “And whose breath smells like the wrong green Skittles.”

“Like sexy Skittles?”

“Like sexy Skittles,” Arthur says. His shoulders straighten. His neck cranes.

“Let’s grab a drink,” I say.

We go to the bar. I get water and Arthur gets a Coke. I’m a little hungry, but I don’t want to make this a dinner date because I get uncomfortable eating across from people. Not friends. I can watch Dylan talk with his mouth full for a disturbingly long amount of time. But with Hudson, we only ate at places where we didn’t have to sit across from each other, like counters at pizzerias and in our bedrooms while watching movies. It’s this strangling fear that we’ll be sitting there and we’ll run out of something to say and I’ll be able to witness the exact moment someone falls out of love with me because I don’t have enough substance to keep a conversation alive over a meal. Why would you want to talk to me for the rest of your life?

Our drinks arrive. “I got this,” Arthur says. He pulls out his wallet and hands the bartender some cash. “I have that high-powered law firm intern money.”

“Thanks.”

We cross the arcade floor to the windows. Arthur is staring outside at Times Square like he wants to be out there getting an exaggerated portrait drawn for thirty dollars, finding his name on one of those license plate magnets, catching a musical, running into a celebrity, or standing around the sidewalk until he sees himself appear on one of those jumbotrons.

Arthur catches me staring at him. “Oh. I’m being an obvious New York noob.”

“You are. It’s cute. You still have that tourist glow. I can’t remember what it’s like to be wowed by Times Square. Or anything in New York.”

“What! Let me mansplain your city to you.” Arthur spills a little of his soda and rubs the rug dry with his sneaker. He recovers and keeps his cool. “You can order food at, like, any time. And if you can’t order it, you can find it. These streets will still be busy at two in the morning. Movies are filmed in Georgia all the time, but they’re not always about Georgia. Movies are made about New York. I could go on.”

“I’m sure you can. You miss Georgia?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, I miss my best friends, Jessie and Ethan. And my house. The guest room we have at home is bigger than my uncle Milton’s bedrooms.”

“That’s the New York way,” I say. It’s sad thinking about how if we picked up our lives and left behind extended family, ass-smacking Dylan, and late-night food-delivery services, I could live in a big house. “You excited to go back?”

“Not thinking about that right now. I’m just basking in that New York magic.” He points at me, himself, and me again. “The city made this happen.”

I nod. “Good call.” I look around at the other games. There’s the roulette for tickets, where I once spent a lot of credits only for someone to come up right after me and immediately win five hundred tickets. There’s Just Dance, which Dylan usually wins, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Arthur has moves. Mario Kart racing is always fun. “Are you a scary movie fan?”

“I don’t totally hate them.”

“So yes.”

“Sure.”

“Great.”

We go into this booth for Dark Escape 4D. It’s a really immersive game that plays on people’s fears. The seats vibrate, air blows at your face, the surround sound makes you feel like a madman with a knife is creeping up on you, and there’s a panic sensor to track your heart rate so you can see who was the most scared.

“What do we have to do to win?” Arthur asks. “Is it who can outlive the other?”

“It’s a team game. We have to survive together.” I put on the 3D glasses as we look over the stages: Prison for those scared of the dead, Death Chamber for those scared of the dark, Cabin for those scared of pursuit in tight spaces, Laboratory for those scared of vermin.

“Is there an option for a large green field with butterflies chasing us?” Arthur asks.

“Maybe in the next edition. But the butterflies will probably be bats. And the green field will probably be a cave.”

“So not what I said at all. Got it.” Arthur puts on his 3D glasses and grabs the blaster with a tight grip. “Let’s kill some escaped zombie convicts.”

The game starts off fairly creepy. The prison is only lit with a swinging lightbulb as our characters drag their feet into the darkness. A cell door creaks open, but it’s just the wind—no, no, fuck, no, it’s not just the wind, it’s an old man with half a face.

“Why is he in prison?!” Arthur yells.

“I don’t know!” I yell back.

“Death sentence him! Death sentence him!”

We shoot up the grandpa zombie—and wake up the entire prison and walking dead. One lunges at us in 3D and tries to choke me and Arthur blasts him to death. I shift closer to Arthur, like I once did with Hudson. Our legs are now touching and he scoots closer too. The vibrations of every step as the zombie convicts charge toward us has my heart racing.

“How are you—ah! Shit, he’s eating my arm—doing?” I ask.

“Scared. But could be worse.”

“What would be the scariest thing that can pop up on that screen? That fucker in the corner?”

We see a zombie in the corner eating a guard’s decapitated head like it’s roasted chicken. “Him too. And I don’t know. Maybe my parents getting divorced?”

“Oh. Is that . . . happening?”

“I think so. I don’t know, they’re just—zombie on your right!”

I let go of the blaster and push my 3D glasses to the top of my head. The zombies have their way with my character. “Want to talk about it?” It’s weird to picture anything bad happening in Arthur’s life. He’s a “high-powered intern” at sixteen, just relocated to New York, seems really smart. I guess no one’s life is perfect. Even those who seem to have it all.

Arthur pauses. “Okay, new scariest thing. Ethan hitting the high note in ‘Music of the Night’ from Phantom.”

I’ll take that as a no for talking about his parents. “Ethan’s your best friend, right?”

“Yeah, I think?” Arthur turns to me with his glasses still on. I can’t see his eyes. “Things have changed since I came out. I knew they would, but—I don’t know. I didn’t expect my best friends to exit stage left.”

“Jessie too?”

“Oh no, she’s cool. She’s amazing. We’ve always been pretty extra together, and now we’re extra about boys.” He finally removes the 3D glasses. “Can I ask how out you are?”

“Super out. In freshman year I was sleeping over at Dylan’s and we were watching The Avengers. He went on about how many crimes he would commit if it meant Black Widow would track him down so he could meet her. I talked about hammering Thor and he respected that choice. That was that.” Now that I hear about Ethan sucking in this department, I’m extra grateful for Dylan. “Same deal with my parents. I came out over dinner while Dylan was there, and my dad assumed we were dating. I just thought my parents would make a bigger deal about it. When they didn’t, I was underwhelmed. I thought it was going to be some major event. Balloons, parade, I don’t know.”