Suddenly, Jessie’s FaceTiming me. “Jess, I’m at work,” I hiss.

“You’re clearly in the bathroom,” she says. “Look, I’m not going to—okay. Here’s the thing. I know I’m not quote-unquote ‘experienced’ or whatever, and I’m obviously talking out of my ass here—”

I can’t help but smile.

“But Arthur, don’t listen to Ethan, okay? He is . . . not one to talk, trust me.” Jessie rolls her eyes. “But you actually like this guy.”

I shrug.

“Arthur, come on. You made a poster to find him. You stalked him all through New York—”

“I did not.”

“It was sweet! And yeah, you screwed up, but come on. Remember how hard it was for you to even find him? The fact that you did? Arthur, that’s a miracle.”

“I know, but—”

“Arthur, this is fate! Don’t you dare give up this easily.”

I spend the subway ride home drafting the text in my notes app—which of course makes the whole thing loom even larger. It’s hard to feel casual about a text that’s gone through three rounds of revisions. I might as well write the final version out in calligraphy. Or engrave it. Tattoo it on my butt cheek.

Hey. So I know last night was weird, and I hope it’s okay that I’m texting you. Feel free to delete this if you want, but I hope you don’t. I’m really sorry, Ben. I shouldn’t have asked about Hudson. It’s not my business, and you were right, I was jealous. It’s just, I think I like you a lot, and I’m kind of new to this whole thing of actually dating guys I like a lot. Or dating guys at all, really. And I honestly get it if you’d rather just end things (I wouldn’t want to date me either, lol). But if you want to give this another shot, I’m totally 100% super madly up for that. Maybe we could have another do-over?

I copy it into my texts and click send before I lose my nerve. And for a moment, I just stand there, in the middle of the subway station.

I just did that. I told him I liked him. I mean, he probably figured it out, what with the whole chasing-him-around-New-York thing. But that was different. That was almost like a game I was playing with the universe. This time it’s Ben, and this time it’s real.

I shove my phone into my pocket so I don’t obsess the whole way home, but it starts buzzing with texts before I even reach the end of the block. Jessie, I’m sure. Or Dad. Don’t check and don’t hope. I won’t look until I’m home.

Yeah, that lasts approximately two seconds. I whip it out and tap into my texts, heart skittering in my chest. There are two.

No, you’re fine, I totally get it. It’s a lot. Anyway, no worries, Arthur, and I’m super madly up for a do-over, too. Maybe we keep it casual this time and go from there?

And then the second: Actually, I don’t know what you’re up to tonight, but I was going to hang out with Dylan and his maybe-girlfriend. No big deal if you’re busy, but let me know if you want to save me from the whole third wheel thing. Apparently we’re doing karaoke, so I’m warning you, it’s probably going to be a disaster.

I whip around in a full one-eighty, already speed-walking back to the Seventy-Second Street station. I’m smiling so hard my jaw hurts. But right outside the entrance of the subway, I pause to text Ben back. Three words.

I like disasters.

Chapter Eighteen

Ben

This is going to be a disaster.

We’re running a few minutes late when I get off the train with Dylan and Samantha. They are so drunk from flirting that I don’t trust Dylan to not ruin this for me.

“Dylan, what are tonight’s dos and don’ts?”

“I don’t care for pop quizzes.”

I stop in front of him. “D, I’m serious.”

“I promise not to talk about how you have sexy time with Hudson during summer school—” I glare. “Okay.” Dylan turns to Samantha, who’s just laughing. “Ben, I’m not going to blow up your spot. I will only talk up the good things. I’ll start with how you’re an awesome friend and an even better lover.”

Samantha shakes her head. “I’m going to be honest, I can’t tell if you guys have actually had sex or if this is an ongoing joke I need to accept.”

“What happens in Ben’s room stays in Ben’s room,” Dylan says.

Deep breath. “Hudson is a word we all have to forget about. If Arthur got bothered by seeing old pictures of Hudson on my Instagram, he would freak out if he knew I was stuck in summer school with him.”

“You’re planning on telling him, I hope?” Samantha says.

“Yeah. Just got to figure out the right moment,” I say.

I keep it moving. We get to the karaoke center and Arthur is waiting in the lobby. He’s wearing a short-sleeved, sun-colored plaid shirt and he’s just really damn cute. “Hey,” I say. “Sorry we’re a little late.”

“It’s okay,” Arthur says. “Hi.”

I go in for a hug because I think we’re past handshakes and awkward fist bumps. I think he breathes me in, but I might be making that up. Hugging Arthur is different from hugging Hudson; Hudson’s chin was able to reach my shoulder whereas Arthur’s face is pressed against my chest, kind of like I’d imagine it would be if we were lying on the couch watching TV.

“This is Dylan and Samantha. Guys, this is—”

“Arnold!” Dylan shouts, and hugs Arthur. “So great to finally meet you. Ben has spoken so highly of you.”

“Hi, Arthur,” Samantha says. “He’s trying to be funny. He’s not funny.”

“I’m mostly funny.”

“Nope,” Samantha and I say at the same time.

Arthur looks between all of us. Like he’s just now realizing how outnumbered he is in this circle. “So . . .” He puts his hand on my shoulder. “Fourth first date and first double date.”

“Fourth first date?” Samantha asks.

“We want the first date to be epic and worthy of how we met,” I say. “So we keep calling do-over when things detour a bit.”

“Our beginning was very epic too,” Dylan says. “I was just smart enough to get Samantha’s phone number.”

I want to remind him that he almost messed up his epic relationship, but that’s bad form in front of our future people; I’ll save it for when we’re alone.

Samantha grabs his arm and looks into his eyes. “It was very romantic and epic the way you came to my job and waited in line and talked to me. Everyone should follow your lead!” She half hugs his waist and looks back at Arthur. “The poster you set up for Ben sounds wonderful, by the way. I feel like I’m in the presence of romantic greatness.”

Arthur blushes. “Thanks. Luck was on our side.”

The woman behind the counter calls out Arthur’s name. He apparently put his name down when he got here. We’re led into this boxy room with one L-shaped couch, a TV, and two microphones. In the center of the table is my worst enemy—the binder of songs that we’ll be choosing from tonight. In front of one another. For the first time. Even Dylan and I haven’t done karaoke together. We’ve sung together, but we’ve never ever had a microphone and we were never sober.

“Dylan! Go use your beard to get us some alcohol.”

“I can’t drink,” Dylan says. “Still too nauseous after that seafood.”

“Don’t blame the seafood,” Samantha says.

“Fine. Get yourself whatever and the rest of us something not boring,” I say.

“I don’t drink,” Samantha says.

“Me either,” Arthur says. “Doesn’t mix well with my Adderall.”

“I’ll drink for all three of you,” I say, which makes me sound like an alcoholic, but there’s no way I’m getting through this hour sober.

Dylan rushes out of the room.

Arthur and Samantha flip through the binder.

“Do they have Hamilton or Dear Evan Hansen here? This karaoke place back home didn’t have updated songs yet,” Arthur says.