Ben’s eyebrows furrow. “Arthur?”

“What?” I clear my throat. “Right. Sorry. Next question.”

“You okay?”

I ignore him. “Is silver chloride soluble in water?”

“Um. No.”

“How about silver nitrate?”

“Yes.”

“Not bad, Alejo,” I say, and Ben buries his face in his pillow—but I catch a flicker of a tiny, proud smile first. This boy.

My heart twists every time I look at him. The way his hair curls around his ears. The way it brushes the nape of his neck.

“I have a question,” I say softly.

“You have a whole stack of questions.”

“This one’s not about chemistry.”

“Oh.” He rolls onto his back and looks up at me. “Okay.”

So I just let it spill out. “I know you don’t like making plans for the future, but we’re almost seniors—”

“Unless I’m still a junior. Again.”

“You’re going to pass.” I tug his hand up to my chest, lacing our fingers together.

“But what if I don’t?”

“You will. You’re going to ace the crap out of this test.”

He laughs shortly. “I’m not in summer school because I ace tests.”

“Ben. Come on. We’ve got this.” I shift closer. “I’m going to teach you all my mnemonic devices—”

“Those don’t actually work.”

“Try me. First nine elements of the periodic table. Go.”

“Um. Hydrogen . . .”

“Hydrogen, helium, lithium, beryllium, boron, carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, fluorine,” I say. “Happy Hudson loves boners but can never overcome flaccidity. I made that one just for you.”

He laughs. “Wow.”

“And if it’s not true, I don’t want to know.”

“Arthur, you are so fucking cute.” He kisses me lightly on the mouth. “Don’t go.”

“I don’t want to.” Then I disentangle our hands and reach for an index card and a pen, because fuck it. I have to ask him.

I write. Deep breath. And then I hold up the card.

“‘What about the United States?’” Ben reads.

“No, us. You and me. What about US? The caps are for emphasis.” He’s grinning. I grin back and swat him in the arm. “Shut up. You know what I’m asking.”

“I mean . . . I don’t know.” His eyes find mine. “Can I be real with you?”

“You should always be real with me.”

“Okay.” He pauses. For a minute, his eyes catch mine, but then he squeezes them shut. “I think we have to let go.”

“Let go?”

And there’s this silence—the kind that rearranges your organs.

I press both palms to my chest. “Like . . . we break up?”

“I don’t know.” He sighs. “I guess I’m scared.”

He takes my hand and tugs me closer, until we’re both horizontal. And for a moment we just lie there, our faces a breath apart on the pillow.

“Scared of what?” I ask finally.

“I don’t know.” He squeezes my hand. “That I’ll hold you back from meeting other guys. That I’ll lose you, even as a friend. I’m so scared of that.”

“But you won’t.”

“You never know.” He starts to smile, but it falters—and when he speaks again, his voice is so soft. “I’m scared I’ll break your heart.”

I don’t speak. If I do, I think I’ll cry.

“I don’t want to.” His voice cracks. “But I might. Relationships are so hard. Maybe it’s just me. I don’t know. But I couldn’t make it work with Hudson, even when he was right in front of my face.”

I feel my eyes start to brim. “I wish I could stay.”

“Yeah, me too.” He wipes his cheek with the heel of his hand and smiles wetly. “I’m going to miss you so fucking much.”

“I miss you already.”

The next tear slides all the way down his cheek. “Well, we have one more day.”

“The grand finale. Or intermission. Because we’re going to keep in touch, right?”

“Are you kidding?” he says. “I plan to know you forever.”

I drink him in: rumpled hair, brown eyes, shiny, tear-streaked cheeks. “I love you,” I say. “I’m really glad the universe made us happen.”

“Arthur, the universe just got the ball rolling,” he says. “We made us happen.”

Tuesday, August 7

Ben wakes me with a FaceTime on my last morning in New York.

“Hey, I’m kidnapping you.”

“Wait—what?” I yawn. “Where are you?” He’s clearly outside, but his face is so close to the camera, I can’t make out what’s behind him.

“You’ll find out. Your first instruction: let me know when you’re at the subway. And then I’ll text your next instruction. Okay?”

As soon as we hang up, I scramble out of bed. I don’t bother with contacts or actual clothes. Glasses, T-shirt, and gym shorts for the win. I find Mom pacing around the living room, on the phone with the movers—the ones Ben couldn’t believe we hired when we aren’t even moving furniture. But I’m glad we did, because guess who’s not lugging boxes onto the elevator right now. Guess who’s not loading up a U-Haul. Guess who’s already at the subway by six forty-five in the morning.

I’m here!!

Good. Now take the 2, transfer at 42nd St, and take the 7 to Grand Central

Are you taking me to the office? Side-eye emoji.

He sends me an Aladdin GIF. Do you trust me?

Eye-roll emoji. Heart-eyes emoji.

Of course, the 2 train’s packed with commuters, and the 7’s even worse. I’m on my way to say goodbye to a boy I’m head over heels for. I’ll wake up tomorrow in a city where I didn’t have my first kiss, in a bed where I didn’t lose my virginity.

I’ll wake up single.

But to everyone around me, it’s just a regular workday. Headphones and pantsuits and scrolling through phones. It boggles the mind.

I text Ben from Grand Central. Okay, now what?

He texts me a picture of a street map, where he’s clumsily traced my route in red. I don’t even have to read the street names. WHY ARE YOU SENDING ME TO WORK BEN ALEJO??? I ask.

He texts me a thinker emoji.

This better not be about the Shumaker files. Side-eye, side-eye, side-eye.

But somehow, I can’t stop grinning. I’m the worst New Yorker ever. I’m floating through the intersections, smiling at strangers, totally captive to my own triple-knotted stomach. Maybe when I get there, Ben will be waiting naked in the conference room. Or maybe a literary agent works in this building, and I’ll find Ben signing a contract for a book deal with movie rights, and the movie’s filming in Atlanta, because things always film in Atlanta, and they’ll need Ben there for filming, so—

“Doctor!” says Morrie. He sips a cup of coffee with one hand and extends the other one toward me—but he’s not going for a fist bump. “I’m supposed to give you this,” he says.

He hands me an envelope with my name on it, but when I start tearing into it, he snatches it back. “You have to find all four. See?” Morrie flips the envelope over, and sure enough, in Ben’s messy handwriting, there’s a message.

#1 out of 4. Find them all and read in order.

NO PEEKING, ARTHUR.

“Okay . . .” I glance at the letter again and back up at Morrie. “Where are the others?”

“You have to find them,” says Morrie, shrugging. And then he turns his cup around.

It’s from Dream & Bean.

My mouth falls open. “Is that a clue?”

“I don’t know. Is it?”

Two blocks to Dream & Bean. I don’t think my feet touch the ground the whole way there. I don’t even know what I expect to find. An envelope, I guess? A whole bunch of envelopes, swarming around Harry Potter–style?