“There’s nothing wrong with you.”
“I’m just so new to all of this, and here you’ve already kissed people and probably had sex, and you had this whole other relationship before me. I don’t know if I can live up to that.”
We turn onto a side street and then into an alley, and the fact that there are no people around makes Ben twenty times more relaxed. I can feel it in his grip.
“But I don’t see it like that,” he says finally.
“How do you see it?”
“Well, for one thing, I’m the one with something to live up to.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
He smiles slightly. “No, really. I just—like, the fact that you’ve never dated anyone before or kissed anyone . . . I don’t know. What if I mess it up for you? I don’t want to be the guy who fucks up your first kiss.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“It’s just this pressure, you know. I want to make it perfect.”
“Being with you already is perfect.”
He snorts.
“I mean, except for the parts where you tragically underestimate my claw-machine skills and get hit on by Ansel Elgort’s doppelgänger and have fifty-six pictures with your ex and—”
He kisses me.
Just like that.
His hands are on my cheeks, and he’s kissing me.
Holy shit.
I mean, I never realized how close someone’s face gets when they kiss you. His head is right there. It’s tilted down to meet mine. His eyes are closed, and his lips move against mine, and WOW, I don’t know what the rules are around the appropriateness of getting a boner in this sort of moment, but—oh.
I should kiss him back.
I try to move my lips around like he’s doing, like I’m trying to eat his mouth without my teeth. But I think I’m doing it wrong, because he pulls back a few inches, grinning down at me.
I grin back. “What?”
He laughs. “I don’t know.”
“That was a kiss,” I say slowly.
“No question.”
“I guess the pressure’s off now, right? No more worrying about making the first kiss perfect.”
“It was perfect,” I say.
“You sure you don’t want a do-over?” he asks, smiling up to his eyes. “Second first kiss?”
“Oh, I could do that.”
He laughs, hands falling to my waist. And then we’re kissing again, and it’s the same startling closeness.
I slide my eyes shut.
And the whole world narrows. I don’t know how else to describe it. It’s like I’m not on the street and I’m not in New York and it isn’t July and none of it matters. Nothing exists but Ben’s hands on my back and his lips on my lips and my fingertips and his cheekbones and my thundering heartbeat.
I never knew kissing had a rhythm. I never even thought of it, beyond lips mashed together. But I can feel it like a bass line, somehow steady and urgent at once. Ben pulls me even closer, not an inch between us, and this time I don’t worry about boners, because if there are rules about that happening, he’s definitely, definitely breaking them, too.
I kiss him even harder.
“Oh,” he says faintly. And I have this limitless feeling, suddenly, like I’m capable of anything. I could stop time or lift a car or press my tongue between his lips.
“You’re not bad at this,” he says.
“I’m not?”
“I mean, we should definitely keep practicing. Always room for improvement.” I feel him smile against my lips.
I smile back. “Infinite do-overs.”
“I like that,” he says. “It sounds like us.”
Chapter Twenty
Ben
I’ve been home from my fourth first date with Arthur for a couple hours now, but I’m still coasting on my happy high. It’s like the satisfaction I just got from a scene I wrote, where an old nemesis of Ben-Jamin unexpectedly popped back in and is making things extra tense. It’s this exciting feeling of everything falling into place. Except this happiness is a real thing everyone can see. Like holding Arthur’s hand as we left karaoke. Like the first kiss. Like the second first kiss.
I can’t focus anymore, so I close my laptop. All I can think about is how much I want to still be out on the streets hanging with Arthur. Or even having him over to hang out. Wherever.
I have to talk to him. I don’t even text, I just call.
“Hello?” Arthur asks.
“Hey.”
“It’s actually you. Not a butt-dial. I get everyone’s butt-dials. Always have. Always will. Unless I change my name. Identity change seems like a good idea since I sang you a song about a rat.”
I have only said one word on this call—a call I made—and I’m already ready to settle into another few hours of Arthur rambling. It’s better than my favorite Lorde and Lana Del Rey songs.
“You can sing a different song next time,” I say. I like that we’ll have a next time. That even though things have gone wrong, we’ve tried to make it right. “So I was nervous to admit this at karaoke, but—”
“Please don’t tell me you’re actually a bunch of rats wearing a cute boy as a disguise.”
“Worse.” I take a deep, dramatic breath. “I haven’t listened to Hamilton.”
He doesn’t say anything. Then the line goes dead.
Arthur texts: I’m sorry for hanging up, but I’m speechless. I really need to know something: HOW DOES THIS HAPPEN? HAMILTON HAS BEEN OUT FOR YEARS!!!
I laugh at his ridiculousness. Whoa three exclamation points, I text back.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! he says.
I’m actually glad we’re doing this over text.
BEN HUGO ALEJO!!!!
So we’re breaking out the full poet name.
So you’ve heard nothing of this millennium’s greatest phenomenon?
I’ve heard some stuff. but I haven’t gone out of my way to sit thru it all. It’s like Terminator movies. I know I should watch them but I haven’t gotten around to it
You did not just compare the history of our great nation to the Terminator franchise.
Haha
BEN. The entire album is on YouTube for free. You need this 142 minutes and 13 seconds in your life.
Pls tell me you had to google how long the soundtrack is
You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.
Ok. if I agree to try it, can I call you back?
PUT IT DOWN IN WRITING.
Do u have a middle name?
Arthur JAMES Seuss is not interested in your changing the subject.
I promise I’ll try out Hamilton for mega fanboy Arthur James Seuss
I’m shaking my head and smiling when Arthur calls me back. “I’m sorry I had to hang up on you,” he says. “But Hamilton is very serious business.”
“I get that now.” I’m staring at my ceiling and I really wish he was here.
“Good. Because I don’t want to hang up on you again. Not my finest moment.”
“If you do, I’m going to write you into my story and kill you off.”
“You’re writing a book?!”
“It’s never going to be a real book, but it’s a story I’m trying to finish for me.”
“Is it our epic story?”
“No chill. You have no chill.”
“Nope. So what’s it about?”
I hesitate, like I’m about to not be cool enough for him. Cool is the thing I feel like I’ve had going for me. It’s not brains, it’s not money. But coolness has been my plus. “You’re going to make fun of me.”
“I sang you a song about a rat.”
“Good point.” If Arthur takes away all my cool points and can’t embrace my nerd-ness, we’re not going to be a good match anyway. Loving the same things I do is really important for me this time around. In my former squad I was the mega nerd, and I wish they were as into things as I get. Like how Hudson took a week to read Harry Potter and the Cursed Child and I wa
s done within six hours. Or how they’d shrug off my suggestions for fun group costumes like Super Smash characters or Hogwarts students.
“It’s a fantasy book. The Wicked Wizard War. My character, Ben-Jamin, is the chosen one in this war between wizards.”
“I want to read it,” Arthur says. “Right now.”
“Really?”
“It’s you in a world of magic. Of course.”
“It’s really nerdy.”
“I like nerdy and I like you. Has anyone else read it?”
“Literally no one.”
“I have to have this.”
“What if you don’t like it? What if you don’t like it so much that you no longer like me?” I’m not trying to get canceled right as we really sync up.
“This is impossible. Trust me.”
It’s weird how it’s easier to trust Arthur than it is to trust people I’ve known way longer. Like Dylan and Hudson and Harriett. My parents. It’s not even that it’s kind of low-risk because I’m not sure how long Arthur will even be in my life—it’s more that I’m counting on knowing him for a long time and I want him to know the real me as soon as possible.
“Okay, I’ll let you read it, but I got to warn you. You’re right that this is me in a world of magic. Which means Hudson is a character too. I get it if you don’t want to read that.”
Arthur goes quiet, and here is where he’s going to jump ship. To write about someone is so personal, even in a world with fire-breathing children and flying dragon services, and a lot of the good stuff between me and Hudson is there. I don’t know if that’s going to be hard for Arthur or not.
“If you’ve written about Hudson, maybe this means I’ll pop up in the story one day?” Arthur asks.
“Let’s see how nice you are about the book.”
“I’m going to be the most generous critic.”
“And the only.”
“That’s me. The one.” Arthur pauses. “I have an idea.”
“Yeah?”
“You listen to Hamilton while I read The Wicked Wizard War.”
“Deal.”
We get off the phone.
I can’t believe I’m attaching The Wicked Wizard War to an email that I’m not just sending to myself. I really hope Arthur genuinely likes it. I’ll know he hates it if he just tells me he thinks Ben-Jamin is hot or that my chapter titles are cool. I hit send and cross my fingers.
I go to YouTube and get Hamilton going.
I press play, and I’m going to be really real here: I don’t know who Alexander Hamilton is. I mean, I googled him earlier this year because I thought he was a past president and Ma corrected me, which embarrassed me even though the only other person in the room was Pa. But I’m not sure I still have a handle on what he’s done. If you’re not a superhero or a sorcerer, my memory is bad at retaining any information about you. But as I lie on my side, reading the lyrics of the first song as it’s playing, I’m immediately pulled into Hamilton’s story.
And Arthur is into my story. He texts me after reading about Ben-Jamin getting his powers during a snowstorm and how he already wants The Wicked Wizard War to be a movie so he can buy Hot Topic shirts and Ben-Jamin Funko Pops. He’s being overly generous, but I really love it when he keeps texting me favorite parts. It’s all the scenes that were really cool to me and I wasn’t sure if they would be cool to anyone else. I really like hearing which parts have him laughing and which ones get his heart racing. It’s the greatest ego boost. Like maybe I have it in me to entertain strangers too.
And for the next couple hours, we keep texting each other our favorite parts. Hamilton not throwing away his shot as Ben-Jamin rejects his destiny. King George sending a fully armed battalion to remind the colonists of his love as Enchantress Eva predicts tragedy for a ragtag group of wizards. Hamilton rising up as Ben-Jamin rides into battle on a one-winged dragon. The Schuyler sisters getting me helpless as Arthur loses it over Ben-Jamin getting drunk with Duke Dill. History’s eyes and coming of age in their young nation and making a million mistakes. Flirty touches and first kisses and hearts that turn out to be wrong.
Arthur reaches the end of everything I’ve written, where Ben-Jamin is fighting some monsters in a glass town, and he wants to talk, but I can’t pull away from the tension between Hamilton and Angelica Schuyler, or Hamilton being a dumbass and cheating, or Eliza’s haunting song and shit just getting super real that I can’t believe I’m so caught up in something that happened centuries ago. Then “It’s Quiet Uptown” comes on, and wow, I’m about to cry, and by the end of it I press pause and call Arthur.
“You’re not done yet,” Arthur says. Of course he knows where I’m at in the musical.
“I’m calling it quits. This shit is getting too sad.”
“Oh yeah. ‘It’s Quiet Uptown’ is brutal. But you have to finish.”
“Okay. Will you stay on the phone with me? It’ll be easier for me to yell at you if this gets sadder.”
“My pleasure.”
I wait for Arthur to sync up with me and we press play at the exact same second. I close my eyes, listening to the last twenty minutes, and it feels like Arthur is right beside me.
“Wait, is Hamilton going to die here—”
“So Burr—”
“No spoilers!”
“It’s history!”
“History that I don’t know.”
And the gunshot goes off.
“Burr is a bastard,” I say.
“Hamilton really wasn’t all that great himself—”
“No commentary!”
The last song comes on and a tear finally breaks through. The longing in Eliza’s voice as she sings about aching to see Hamilton again, and wow, I loved every second of this.
“Whatever Hamilton fans are called, Arthur, I am one of them.”
“You’re not just saying that? You’re not obligated to like it, though you would be wrong not to.”
“No, I’m a total Hamil-head.”
“We’re called Hamilfans, actually.”
I tell him how I want to write Hamilton and Harry Potter crossover fanfiction and call it The Great American Fantasy Novel and stage all those duels in the dueling club and what houses I would sort everyone in. I take a deep breath. “All history should be taught through rap by Lin-Manuel Miranda.”
“Maybe The Wicked Wizard War will become the next Broadway hit!”
Arthur tells me everything he loves about TWWW, and all I can think about is how I wish he was actually by my side right now, so I could feel him laughing against me and kiss him for making me feel smarter than I actually am.
“. . . and when Ben-Jamin cracked the enchantress’s wand, I yelled and my dad came into the room to ask me if everything was okay and then told me to shut up.”
It’s almost two a.m., and I could talk to him until my body forces a shutdown on me like an overheated laptop.
“Arthur?”
“Ben?”
“Thanks for reading. And for Hamilton.”
“Thanks for listening. And for The Wicked Wizard War.”
“I want to see you again tomorrow.”
“Date?”
“Why not.”
“So is this a fifth first date?”
“Second date, Arthur.”
“Wow. Second date. We finally got there.”
“How lucky we are to be alive right now, right?”
“Oh my god, you’re speaking Hamilton—I’m just so into you. I’m helpless.”
I’m so into him too.
Saturday, July 21
Dylan calls me on FaceTime as I’m getting ready to meet up with Arthur.
“Hey,” I say. I’m naked from the top up because I’m not sure which shirt I want to wear yet.
“Morning strip show,” he says. “Dylan like.”
I hold up a solid white T-shirt and a solid green T-shirt. “Which one?”
“Green. What are you doing? Let’s hang out. I’m bored. Samantha has to work until s
ix.”
I put on the green shirt. “I’m meeting up with Arthur.”
“Cool. Let’s all go chill.”
“I think I need some one-on-one time with Arthur.”
“Whoa. Knife to the heart, Big Ben.”
“You’re kidding.” He’s not playing this card on me.
“You were going to hang with just me and Samantha last night before Arthur was going to come around.”
“Yeah, but you guys needed me too after your future-wife comment. It took away the pressure. Same with me and Arthur.”
“I love you, man, but we didn’t need you there. I said something stupid, but Samantha and I would’ve hung out with or without you.”
“Okay. But you only want to see me right now because Samantha is busy and you’re bored.” It was the same deal with Harriett.
“I’m not seeing what’s wrong with that. You’re my best friend.”
I don’t know what a fight between me and Dylan would look like because arguing has never been our thing. But it’s hard to just joke my way through this one. “Right, and Arthur is becoming more than a guy I just like. I got to give that some time and attention. I want to hang with you too, but this thing with Arthur is just so new and limited. I got to see how this plays out.”
Dylan nods. “What’s the winning scenario for you here, Bennison? Long-distance relationship? Friends on Instagram who like each other’s pictures?”
I shrug. “I’m just going to live in the moment. That’s the only way to see where we end up.”
“I will let you live in the moment because it sounds serious and awesome,” Dylan says. “But be careful, okay? I like Arthur and don’t want to have to kick his ass if he breaks your heart.”
“No ass kicking needed,” I say, hoping pretty damn hard that Arthur won’t turn out to be Hudson 2.0.
Arthur and I leave the High Line holding hands.
After that conversation with Dylan, I really needed Arthur telling me how Ms. Angelica “Looking for a mind at work” Schuyler is a Ravenclaw, or how screwed the wizarding world would’ve been if Hamilton was not only a Death Eater but Voldemort’s right-hand man. But with every good thing, like kisses while we wait to cross the street or our hands finding each other again after crowds split us up, I’m still rocked by this idea of everything ending.
What If It's Us Page 15
