“Regular hot mess. Standard-issue,” says Dad.

Mom hugs me sideways. “Maybe you should give your hot mess another chance to explain himself?”

“Psh. That’s different.”

“Oh, Arthur. If you say so.”

Maybe the universe doesn’t hate all of Team Seuss, but it definitely hates me.

Chapter Thirty

Ben

Hanging out with Hudson and Harriett has felt pretty easy. It’s sort of like when I put away my winter boots because it was spring again and I got to slip back into last year’s sneakers; I grew a little bit, but they still fit. We’ve been catching up and filling in the blanks on everything that’s been going on since Hudson and I split, though we’re not bringing up our breakup at all. Even last night when I went over to Hudson’s, he was just listening to me whine about Arthur and Dylan. He’s being the friend he used to be.

“I’m living for Mr. Hayes’s Instagram,” Harriett says as we step out of the frozen yogurt store, a smoothie in one hand and her phone in the other.

“I didn’t know he has one.”

“When you have a face like Mr. Hayes’s, your Instagram magically appears.”

On a bench with Harriett in the middle, we lean in as she scrolls through Mr. Hayes’s Instagram profile. I expected rows and rows of shirtless selfies, and while some definitely exist, everything else is motivational, like removing the clutter in your home and living minimalistically and balanced breakfasts and this mega cheeseburger he conquered in Germany.

“See, he’s living his best life,” Harriett says. “Just look at his feed. He’s been to so many countries. Prepare for my Instagram to be nothing but ads for organic baby food and sugar-free gum and goat milk shampoo, because I have to save up so I can unleash myself on the world.”

“Then you’ll return to a life of selfies?” Hudson asks. “The onslaught of selfies is really important; if I go two minutes on Instagram without seeing your face, I’d probably forget what you look like.”

“You won’t be selfie shaming when you see pictures of me flying solo on boats and on mountains and on hot guys’ laps.”

“You wouldn’t want a travel buddy?” I ask. If I had the money to see the world, I’d want Dylan there. He’s in all my other stories, and I’d want him in all the new ones too, when things settle down again. If they do.

“Are you volunteering your company?”

“Yeah, right.” I chuckle. Harriett’s parents have well-paying jobs and they love spoiling her. I can’t side hustle with my Instagram.

“Down the line, I mean,” Harriett says. “After you’ve sold your book and you’re raking in that Netflix and amusement park money.”

“No pressure.” The Wicked Wizard War feels like such a waste now. Arthur was my biggest fan, and I doubt anyone would love the story as much as Arthur does. And he was my boyfriend. If I wanted to post somewhere public like Wattpad, I would be opening myself up to feedback from strangers who won’t care if this is the story of my heart.

“Just saying. We really missed you, Ben,” Harriett says. Hudson shoots her a look. “What. Let’s stop acting like there isn’t a big gay elephant in the room and try to move on.” She holds our hands. “We’re all friends, right?”

Not all of us, but I say “Right” anyway.

“Yeah,” Hudson says. I hope he means it.

“So let’s be friends again,” Harriett says. I wonder if she misses Dylan at all. “What are you going to do about Arthur? Reach out? Move on? Let us know where you stand so we can support you.”

“I wish Arthur would give me a chance to explain . . . I know it’s kind of pointless because he’s leaving, but I don’t want him leaving like this. And Dylan . . .” I turn to Harriett, who gestures for me to go on. “I stepped out of line. But I also told the truth. I just think everything would be simpler if I could have my boyfriend and all my friends and not feel like people always have to choose one or the other.”

I shut down right there because we’ve been here before, after Dylan broke up with Harriett. Being Harriett’s friend was weird for Dylan, and me trying to be Hudson’s friend was weird for Arthur. But maybe this isn’t how life works. Maybe it’s all about people coming into your life for a little while and you take what they give you and use it on your next friendship or relationship. And if you’re lucky, maybe some people pop back in after you thought they were gone for good. Like Hudson and Harriett.

And maybe this is the do-over I needed all along.

Chapter Thirty-One

Arthur

Friday, August 3

Just me and you tomorrow, Obama.

Alone in Uncle Milton’s apartment, surrounded by horses, with only the Grubhub delivery guy for company. I may actually print a picture of Barack’s face and tape it to a Popsicle stick, because even if I’m single with no friends or parents in sight, at least I can spend the day partying with my president. And I bet you think I’m kidding, but guess who overcame “sickness” and showed up at work just to use the color printer.

“Arthur, you’re depressing me,” says Namrata.

“I . . . didn’t say anything.”

“I know. It’s freaking me out.”

I shrug and turn back to the Bray-Eliopulos files, which are as numbingly boring as ever. Maybe I’m feeling masochistic. Or maybe I’ve unlocked the secret, and this is how people focus. All you have to do is have a cute boy rip your heart out, then let your best friends stomp all over it, and if it’s still beating even a little bit, finish the job yourself. Say the worst things and yell your voice raw and destroy everything you love until, lo and behold, the monotony of work is a relief. Because if you’re balls-deep in Bray-Eliopulos, at least you can’t think about your ex-boyfriend. Your un-soul-mate. The guy who bailed in the middle of Act Two.

“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” Juliet turns to Namrata.

I look up. “What’s tomorrow?”

“David’s roommates are having a goodbye party,” says Namrata.

“The dinosaurotica guys? Jurassion Passion?”

“Yeah, and I can’t fucking wait. I’m shedding no tears over that departure.” Namrata leans back in her chair. “Jules, we’re heading up there together, right?”

“Up where?” I ask.

“Upper West Side. David goes to Columbia.”

“Oh, that’s near me.” Neither of them speak. “So. Party, huh?”

Juliet nods. “It’s pretty small, though, right?”

“Yeah, just in their apartment,” Namrata says.

“Sounds fun,” I say slowly, and then I press my lips together, because it’s not like I’m about to sit here begging for an invite to a random party on my own birthday. God. Even I’m not that uncool.

Wait, I AM that uncool.

“Maybe I could stop by?” I ask casually.

Juliet and Namrata glance at each other.

“Or . . . not.”

“Arthur, look, it’s not personal,” Juliet says. “There’s going to be booze there.”

“I’m comfortable with that.”

“Well I’m not.”

“You’re not comfortable with booze?”

“I’m not comfortable with rolling into a boozy party with my boss’s underage son.”

“Ha.” I grin. “I hear you. I wouldn’t actually drink. But my parents have a liquor cabinet, so I could make something! Like a candy corn martini—”

“No, like, Namrata and I could legit get fired for that.”

“Yeah, not happening,” Namrata says.

“Even on my birthday?”

And there it is. My Hail Mary.

Namrata softens. “It’s your birthday?”

“Tomorrow is.”

“Oh, Arthur.” Juliet bites her lip. “We can’t bring you to this, though. You get that, right?”

“Yeah, I . . . never mind.”

“But seriously, you don’t want to hang out with the dinosaur guys anyway. You should do something fun with Ben.”