But I follow Ben inside the theater, where there’s an immaculately made-up blond woman at the will call window. “Hi. Excuse me,” Ben says, his voice an octave higher than normal. I’m sort of in love with how weird he is around adults. “So. Um. I entered a competition today for New York Public School students, and I don’t know if you’ve announced the winners yet, or if I need to check in somewhere else, or . . .” He trails off. “My name is Ben Alejo.”

“Benjamin Alejo?” The lady looks at him, eyebrows knitted. “Oh, honey. We just gave away your tickets.”

“W-what?” he stutters. “I won?”

My heart sinks into my stomach.

“Two front-row tickets, but they had to be claimed by six p.m. I wish you’d called in.”

Ben shakes his head wordlessly.

“I’m so sorry. I can enter you in the lottery for tomorrow if you’d like.”

“Um. Sure. Thank you.” His voice is almost a whisper.

But by the time we’re back outside, he’s raging. “That’s ridiculous.” He stalks down the street, and I hustle to catch up. “When does the show start? Eight? There’s over an hour. They could have called me.”

“Are you joking?”

“They had my number on the form.”

I want to scream. Or tear something down. I have that tornado feeling in my stomach. “Do you have any idea how many people would kill for the tickets you just lost? Front-row seats?” My voice breaks.

“Yeah, well, if they’re going to set an arbitrary time to claim—”

“It’s not an arbitrary time. That’s how this works. We were late.”

“Yeah, if the train hadn’t stopped—”

“If you’d been on time, we wouldn’t have been on that train.”

“Arthur, come on.”

“I’m just . . .” I exhale. “Like, do you even get that you just lost front-row Hamilton tickets?”

“I get it! God.” His voice is thick. “You have no idea how much I wanted this to work out. No idea. I wanted this so badly.”

“Yeah, well. Me too.”

“I know. Arthur. It’s Hamilton. I’m just—”

“It’s not just Hamilton, okay?”

“It’s not?” He looks at me helplessly.

“How do you not get this? God, Ben.” My chest feels so tight it could burst. “You’ve been late for every single date. Every single one.”

“I know. I’m—”

“And you know what? If you were excited about seeing me, that wouldn’t happen. It wouldn’t. It’s like you don’t even care.”

He looks at me like I’ve hit him. “I do care!”

“But not enough. You don’t care enough.” I stare at him, heart pounding. “Maybe I should care less.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Ben

I don’t think I’ve ever been a bigger disappointment than right now.

Boyfriends are supposed to be the ultimate hype men. The ones responsible for smiles and building each other up even when they’re down. They’re not supposed to be the reason someone is heartbroken in the first place. But I betrayed Arthur’s trust and I’m the cause behind his un-Arthur-like face. I held Arthur’s big Broadway dreams in my hands and crushed them.

I had nothing but his heart in mind and the worst of me got in the way.

“Arthur?”

He’s standing there. Shaking. He hasn’t looked this pained since the night that asshole came for us on the train. Now I’m the asshole. I reach for his shoulder and he shrugs me off. He just sinks to the curb.

I want to say I’m sorry, but I know he won’t hear it.

He’s crying. This is not just about tickets. I’m a screwup and he thinks I’m not into him as much as he’s into me. I take out my phone and sit beside him.

“Arthur? Can you look up for one sec? Please.”

I pull up YouTube. I have to make this right now more than ever.

I hand him one earbud and keep the other. I type Hamilton karaoke, and when “Alexander Hamilton” comes on, I sing along. I put myself out there the way Arthur did with “Ben.” I feel him watching me as I try keeping up with the lyrics, as I try not to focus on the various people walking by us as I make a mockery of the performance that will soon be happening right behind us. One minute in, Arthur doesn’t react. But then:

“My name is Alexander Hamilton,” Arthur says. Lead role. Of course.

We vibe along to the rest of the song, singing together—one of us significantly better and more carefree than the other. But he’s the only audience I’m caring about.

When the song ends, I’m ready to apologize. But Arthur takes my phone and looks up a cover of “Only Us” from Dear Evan Hansen, and he comes closer to me as he sings the words “So what if it’s us, what if it’s us, and only us.” This song is so beautiful. What it feels like to be wanted by someone who sees you for who you are. How the world—the business of Times Square—can feel like it’s falling away when you’re with the right person. When it’s my turn to choose the next cover, I go for “Suddenly Seymour” from Little Shop of Horrors, a movie I saw with my parents a few years ago. He chooses “The Wizard and I” from Wicked. I step it up—I choose “Can You Feel the Love Tonight” from The Lion King. I wish I could read Arthur’s mind as he sways along. Arthur chooses “What I Did for Love” from A Chorus Line, and every song we choose feels like we’re having a conversation without saying a single word.

“One more,” Arthur says.

“We can stay here all night,” I say. “Though my phone only has twenty percent battery left.”

He plays a high school chorus banging out to “My Shot,” and I wish I went to the kind of school that had talent shows so I could see something like this in person.

Which only reminds me we should be inside the theater.

“I’m so sorry, Arthur. I will never forgive myself. We should be seeing the real deal.”

“I know this may sound like bullshit, but I loved this even more.”

“Really?”

“Ben, millions of people can say they were inside the Richard Rodgers Theatre and saw Hamilton. We’re the only ones who can say we sat on the curb and got so much of Broadway in one night.”

“And you’re sure that’s better because—”

Arthur shuts me up with a kiss.

“Well played,” I say.

We get up.

“Seriously, I’m sorry—”

Another kiss.

“Okay. But I messed u—”

Another kiss.

“Let me say—”

Another kiss.

“You kissing me while I try to apologize is a good problem to have.”

“Ben, I’m happy. That was amazing and romantic and perfect. You’re the King of Rebounds.”

We go on into the heart of Times Square. Tons of foot traffic keeps splitting us up, but we always make our way back to each other, not letting strollers or group selfies keep us apart. When I get his hand next, I keep him close and I don’t want to let go.

Not tonight.

Not ever.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Arthur

Friday, July 27

Jessie texts me on the group chain as the train leaves Thirty-Third Street. You free now?

Gah—on my way to Ben’s apartment. I’m sorry!!

I frown at my phone, trying to ignore the guilty twinge in my chest. It’s been almost a week since I cut short our FaceTime, and we still haven’t found time for a do-over. Jessie still hasn’t told me her Complicated Thing.

It’s like we’re spinning in opposite directions, like everything’s off-kilter. And I can’t explain why, but it feels like my fault. Even when it’s Ethan and Jessie who are busy. Even when they’re the ones not texting me back. I guess it’s just weird, being the first one in a relationship.

No worries, Jessie writes. Are you gonna eggplant emoji, peach emoji, two dads with baby emoji?