“Well,” Juliet says, “at least he’s giving it a shot. Arthur, you want to have sex with this guy in a mailbox again, right—”

“That is not a thing. Mailbox sex is not a thing.”

“I’m just saying—”

“Look, he’s blushing!”

“Okay, I’m closing this now.” I slide my laptop into the center of the table, burying my face in my arms. “Let’s do the Shumaker files.”

“And that,” Namrata declares, “is how we get Arthur to do some fucking work.”

Chapter Four

Ben

“I think she died,” Dylan says over FaceTime.

Maybe I shouldn’t have answered Dylan’s call on my way to school. I’m on a Lorde kick this week and could be listening to more of her music before class, but I got my best friend pants on because Dylan is thrown off by Samantha right now. Last night he texted her some YouTube videos of underappreciated Elliott Smith songs and still hasn’t heard back. Dylan’s love for Elliott Smith can go overboard sometimes, like when he gave me shit for a solid week because I once spelled Elliott’s name without the second t.

“I don’t think she’s dead. She probably has a life,” I say.

“Doing what?”

“I don’t know. Slaying vampires?”

“Sun’s up. No vampires out. Try again.”

“I’m sure everything is fine. You talked for two hours yesterday.”

“Two hours and twelve minutes,” Dylan corrects. He refills his mug of coffee. He didn’t get a lot of sleep. I woke up to two middle-of-the-night missed FaceTime calls and ten thousand Samantha-related texts.

I really don’t get the coffee thing and I especially don’t get the coffee thing during the summer and I 100 percent don’t get the coffee thing when you’re already having a hard time sleeping. This math doesn’t add up, but girls have this effect on Dylan.

“She has a last name,” Dylan says.

“Whoa.”

“Samantha O’Malley,” Dylan says. He fills me in on every detail he learned about her yesterday: being a barista makes her way happier than it does her coworkers; her favorite movies are Titanic and The Sandlot; she takes her little sister out for seafood every week; she’s great at video games. “And I thought she liked me.”

I’ve seen Dylan go through a dozen “relationships” since third grade, but he’s never been this insufferable on day two of knowing a girl. Even his crush on Harriett took a month to really take hold, which is years in Dylan Time. Dylan’s heart-eyes for Samantha remind me of how I was with Hudson back when he used to race to find me after school. We know what happens next.

“I’m sure she likes you, dude.”

“Liked. She’s dead. I’ll see you at the next Heartbroken Anonymous meeting.”

I turn the corner and walk to the school’s entrance. Belleza High in Midtown is not where Dylan and I go, but this year they’re hosting a shitload of New York’s summer mourners from other public high schools. I’m about to reassure Dylan that Samantha will reach out when I see Hudson and Harriett sitting on the front steps of the school.

Just like his Instagram picture yesterday, Hudson looks perfectly healthy. He sees me right before he can take another bite from his bacon, egg, and cheese roll, and he just turns to Harriett and busts out laughing. No shade to Harriett, because she’s awesome, but hilarious she is not. Even she’s looking at him like he’s lost his shit.

“Oh,” I say. “D, I got to go.”

“What’s happening?” Dylan asks. I flip the phone around and Dylan is also suddenly staring down Hudson and Harriett. “OH. Hi, guys.”

Harriett shakes her head. “No thanks.”

“Alrighty then,” Dylan says. “Hudson buddy, you have ketchup on your face.”

I shake my head and hang up FaceTime while Hudson wipes his face with a napkin.

“Hey. Hi,” I say to Hudson and Harriett.

“Hi,” Harriett says. But unlike yesterday, she doesn’t give me a hug, because Hudson’s here and she can’t go betraying him. Really sucks since we knew each other before Hudson transferred to our school at the beginning of junior year. I really wish we could all be friends again. That Harriett and I could still talk about our favorite superhero shows. That Dylan and Hudson could still play chess. That Hudson and I could get our friendship back on track. Same for Dylan and Harriett. Maybe one day we can try being a squad again.

“Hey,” Hudson says, not looking at me. No brave Instagram face today. He goes for another bite of his roll but holds out, probably still mortified from having ketchup on his face. Hudson always has been a sloppy eater, but I never called him out on that. Walking to school and eating cheap sandwiches while talking about whatever was a highlight for me. I know it shouldn’t sting to see him having breakfast with Harriett, but it does. Like it’s really that simple for Hudson to write me out of his life.

“You feeling better?” I ask. I’m really trying to make this summer not suck.

“Healthy and happy.” Hudson wraps the aluminum around his sandwich. “And heading up.” He goes up the steps and through the door.

“This is going to be a fun day,” Harriett says.

“I’ll never ask him how he’s doing again, I guess,” I say.

“He’s going to need some time. Bruised ego.”

“He’s the one who made out with another guy,” I say.

“He thought you guys had broken up,” Harriett says.

“He kissed him two days after our fight.”

Harriett raises her hands. “It’s more complicated for him, and I think you know that.”

“That’s not fair. He broke my heart first,” I say. “I don’t get how Hudson gets all the pity points just because I’m the one who broke up with him. I had my reasons. You know all of them.”

“I don’t want to be in the middle any more than I am,” Harriett says. “I’m sorry, Ben.” She heads into the building.

I take a deep breath. I don’t know what twisted world Harriett is living in where she’s in the middle of this—she’s clearly Team Hudson. None of this would be happening if Hudson and I had just stayed friends.

I go up the steps, dreading this class. But I don’t turn back. I’m not repeating junior year because my ex-boyfriend scared me out of summer school.

Our teacher, Mr. Hayes, is outside the classroom flirting with the algebra teacher. Mr. Hayes is pretty young, like maybe midtwenties. He usually does missionary work in other countries during the summer, but in May he twisted his ankle during a Spartan Race, so he’s keeping busy teaching us chemistry. He’s not exactly my type because he’s a little too fit, the kind of guy you see on a package for underwear, but there’s no denying how handsome he is.

I take my seat at the back of the room, as far away from Hudson and Harriett as possible. I just open my notebook and keep to myself.

I’ve always sucked at school. Hudson telling me I didn’t have to study as hard for exams definitely didn’t help, but I’ve always had trouble focusing in class. I spend way too much time daydreaming, for starters. Whenever there’s a test I study at home for twenty minutes and get back to my Sims and stories. Ma was so frustrated with me in my first semester that she confiscated the laptop until my grades improved, which they sort of did because I really needed to get back to my made-up worlds.

But even when I do my best to pay attention in class, I feel so far behind. Like if you miss a lesson because you’re out sick or gazing out thinking about what it would feel like to be really loved back, the teachers don’t stop class to reteach you. They keep it moving. I forget who fought in World War II. I can’t name more than ten presidents. I’m geographically lost. Trivial Pursuit is my nightmare.

I want to know the real world better. Not just the ones I make up or the ones I play with on Sims. But right now I just feel lonely and unwanted in the real world.

Mr. Hayes walks in with a crutch under one armpit and carrying a duffel bag in his other hand, like he’s about to work out instead of talk about chemical properties for the next two hours. “Good morning, friends,” he says. “Let’s roll through attendance.”