“I couldn’t have done it without you,” I say.

“You’re the one who wrote the book,” Arthur says.

“I’m not sure I would’ve finished without you cheering me on.”

Arthur lounges on the bed where he read the first few chapters before anyone else. “I, King Arturo, am your first fan, Ben-Jamin.”

In more ways than one—I really do believe in myself because of him.

I’ve thanked him a thousand times for helping me study on his last night in New York because those pneumonic devices helped me pass summer school so I could move into senior year with Dylan, Hudson, and Harriett. I got serious about school after that scare of failing. I set a challenge to not only be early—or at least on time—but also having a perfect attendance so I wouldn’t ever feel left behind on material like before. I was late a few times and absent twice because I’m still me, but not bad overall. Dylan, Harriett, Hudson, and I made it to graduation without killing one another, and our picture in our caps and gowns hangs right beside the one of me and Arthur on his birthday.

College in the city has been tougher, but I’m getting through it. Whenever I pictured college life, I thought I would be sharing a dorm room with Dylan and hanging a Hufflepuff tie out on the doorknob whenever I had a guy over and Dylan would barge in anyway. But I’m home with my parents while Dylan and Samantha are getting their college on in Illinois. Thankfully, Hudson and Harriett are still in the city, even if our friendship is probably never going to be what it used to be. Maybe we peaked as a group before we started dating one another. But better where we are now than when things were messy.

“I don’t know what’s next for me,” I say. My fingers are restless.

“I’m always going to beg you for a sequel,” Arthur says. “Keep the story going.”

“But what if the story should quit while it’s ahead?”

“How do you know unless you give the story another chance?”

I smile. “Like a do-over.”

I’m pretty sure we’re not talking about my book anymore. At least Arthur is a lot subtler than he used to be. Unlike last year when he was heavily hinting that he should come to New York so we could spend New Year’s Eve together and watch the ball drop at midnight and if we happened to kiss that would be cool with him. That didn’t happen, but Arthur is still the last person I’ve kissed. One time I thought I was developing a crush on this guy in my creative writing class, but that didn’t last long. I just need more time with me, I think. To really believe in my worth without anyone’s help. Doesn’t mean I don’t find myself tracing the letters of Arthur’s name on the magnet I bought myself to match the one he has with my name. Or staring at the photo of when I kissed him in front of the post office where we met. Or constantly thinking about the future and asking myself: What if?

“Never say never,” Arthur says. “Right?” So much hope hangs on one word.

“Right,” I say. “Never know what the universe has planned for us.”

I don’t know what we have planned for us.

What if there’s a do-over down the line for us? What if we end up in the same city again and pick up where we left off? What if we go as far as we once hoped we would, and boom, happy ending for us? But what if this is it for us? What if we never get to kiss again? What if we’re there for each other’s big moments, but we aren’t at the heart of those big moments anymore? What if the universe always wanted us to meet and stay in each other’s lives forever as best friends? What if we rewrite everything we expect from happy endings?

Or . . .

What if we haven’t seen the best us yet?