I read it and smile.
I’m in!
Chapter Twenty
Arthur
Wednesday, June 10
Seeing Ben outside the rehearsal studio is like stepping through a wormhole. I don’t know how else to explain it. Maybe it’s just one of those ex-boyfriend things, but his face makes me forget what year it is.
“I’ve totally walked by this place a million times,” Ben says, giving me a quick hello hug. “Didn’t even put it together that you work here.” He’s dressed in way too many layers for June—a light gray sweater zipped over a blue polo shirt.
“You look very autumn collegiate,” I tell him.
He laughs. “Wait—what?”
“Like—I don’t know—like you’re dressed for the big homecoming game? It’s not a bad thing!”
It occurs to me suddenly that I’ve never seen Ben in the fall—not in person, at least. I’ve never stood with Ben in any season but summer, and the thought alone makes me lose my breath for a second.
“The homecoming game,” Ben says. “You’re so Georgia.”
But when he steps into the intersection, I follow him, even though the walk sign hasn’t switched yet, and if that isn’t pure New York instinct, I don’t know what is. It’s funny how easy it is to slip back into that city headspace—dodging taxis, anticipating light changes, walking three times as fast as I do at home. I’m right where I left off two summers ago, like some parallel version of me never stopped crossing this street.
“So Dylan’s being weird and distant,” I say.
“We don’t actually have to talk about that.”
“But I want to.” He scoffs a little, but I wave it away. “I’m your friend! I care about you.”
Ben just looks at me, and I can’t quite read his expression. But then he smiles faintly and says, “Okay, but I don’t even really know where to begin.”
“Just start at the beginning. You said it’s kind of subtle, right?”
“Not to me, but yeah.” We turn onto St. Marks Place, and Ben fidgets with the sleeve of his sweater. “Like, he’s still Dylan, and it’s still the Dylan show. But underneath that, he’s always been real with me, and that’s not happening now. I feel like he’s been shutting me out for weeks.” He shrugs, gesturing to a nearby plaza. “Anyway. Did you know there used to be a rhino sculpture here?”
“Rhino like rhino?” I point my finger out from my forehead.
“Okay, that’s a unicorn.” Ben tugs my finger-horn down a few inches, until my hand’s resting on my nose. “Rhino. It was like a PSA about them dying.”
“Sounds fun to look at,” I say, trying to ignore my drumrolling heartbeat.
He laughs. “They weren’t dead in the sculpture.”
We pass Cooper Union and a bunch of restaurants and tattoo parlors, and I can’t stop mixing up my past and present tenses. I’m sixteen years old, carrying a bag full of condoms, and every square foot of this sidewalk feels like holy ground. I’m walking past buildings I’ve never seen before with a boy who knows them by heart.
Ben’s still bursting with stories. He points up a side street to tell me about a restaurant that serves latkes, which he pronounces like lot-case. And when we reach Tompkins Square, he tells me how he and Dylan ghosted each other for their very first playdate because their moms walked them to different playgrounds on either end of the park.
“Feels like some kind of metaphor.” Ben shoots me a faltering smile.
“Do you have any idea what’s up? Like, why he’s shutting you out?”
He stares straight ahead. “I mean. I figured he was wrapped up in Samantha, you know? People always ditch their friends when they’re in relationships.”
I startle. “What—”
“But then he canceled plans again,” Ben continues, still not looking at me, “so I asked why, and he was like, ‘Oh, I have a doctor’s appointment.’”
“Wait.” I look up. “You don’t think he’s having issues with . . .” I trail off, not wanting to mention Dylan’s heart condition out loud for some reason. But I point to my chest.
“Yeah. I don’t know.”
“Fuck.”
He blinks. “Maybe I’m pulling this out of nowhere. He’s probably just in Samantha world.”
“Yeah, hopefully.” I pause. “Not that I want him to ditch you. That’s not—”