“I took the story off Wattpad so I could rework it in school. I really want to get it published soon.”
“What school do you go to?” Mikey asks.
“Hostos College,” I say. I feel insecure again, wishing I had the grades and financial means to have gone to the New School creative writing program, or anything at NYU. But that’s my truth. I did my best and my family does their best. I’m trying to be more comfortable with that. “I really like it. Great teacher, great classmates. There’s even this guy Mario who became my partner on a project and now we’ve got a will-we-won’t-we thing going on.”
“He was the one with you all at Dave & Buster’s, right?”
“He beat us in pretty much every game,” Arthur says.
“Where’s he now?”
“He’s in Los Angeles with his uncle. Apparently it’s amazing.”
“Why didn’t you go with him?”
I shake my head. “Kind of a big step since he’s not my boyfriend. Besides, I got to work on my book.”
“Yeah, but you can write anywhere,” Mikey says.
Why is he pushing so hard on this? It’s like he doesn’t want me in the same city as Arthur.
“I don’t really have book-a-flight-last-minute money.”
Bringing up money makes me uncomfortable. It reminds me that no matter how much I try, there isn’t much money to save. It makes me feel even more powerless. This is where a book deal would come in handy. We had a book editor visit Hostos to talk about publishing, and she gave us some realistic ranges to expect for a first-time deal. Even the lower-end advances would be life-changing for me. Maybe then I would have the money to go wherever I want, whenever I want.
Mrs. García once asked the class what motivates us to write, aside from being drawn to stories. The raw reason we push ourselves draft after draft. I was really nervous, but I raised my hand and told her I wanted financial security. To not be worried anymore about how I spend my money. To see something cool online and buy it because I can and want to and not because I need it. To take care of my family the way they’ve taken care of me. To repay Dylan for all the times he’s given me money even though he’s never asked for a dollar back, not even when he sees me get the occasional twenty in the mail from my abuelita.
As everyone finishes their ice cream and the conversation moves away from money, I’m ready to give them their space.
“I’ll get out of your hair. Thanks so much for the ice cream, Arthur.” I get up from the table and throw out my trash.
“You’re not in our hair!” Arthur says, a little too brightly. “Walk back with us?”
“I’m—”
“I mean, you haven’t even told me what Ben-Jamin’s up to in the revision!”
Something tells me Mikey could live without that update, but Arthur looks so weirdly panicked that I just shrug. “Um. Sure.”
But Mikey takes Arthur’s hand as soon as we leave the shop, and it’s kind of messing with my brain. I keep losing the thread of what I’m talking about, midsentence.
I’m not going to say it’s the most excited I’ve ever been to arrive at Arthur’s building, but it’s definitely the most relieved.
I turn to Mikey. “It was really great to meet you. I hope you love the rest of your trip.”
“Thanks, Ben.” Mikey extends his hand. I would’ve gone in for a hug, but a handshake is more than respectable. “Good luck with the writing. I’m sure it’ll all work out.”
I cross my fingers. “Here’s hoping.”
“Get home safely,” Arthur says. “No fights with anyone on the train.”
Two summers ago, we found ourselves being harassed by this homophobe on the train because Arthur and I were cuddling together. Arthur was really rattled, and honestly, I still tense up whenever I pass that subway stop thinking I might see him again. It’s yet another thing about this city that haunts me.
“I’ll do my best,” I say.
Arthur and I give each other the world’s quickest hug, like anything longer will be mistaken as intimacy.
Then he steps into the lobby with Mikey. I watch them for a few moments before I turn away because jealousy gets the best of me. I want a solid relationship like they have.
And I want it with Mario.
The next evening, Dylan drags me to the Upper West Side again for an early dinner.
The Earth Café seems really chill, and the entire time we’re eating, Dylan keeps scoping the place like he’s trying to invest in it. I don’t get the comedy behind this bit, but I just let him keep inspecting every utensil, plate, and food temperature. But I draw the line when he tries ordering three different coffee flavors. He rebels by ordering one of every pastry for dessert.