What If It's Us

by Becky Albertalli

  The air was different in class this morning. No more weirdness. Like Hudson and Harriett are going to be my friends again and not just because they were the only people I could turn to after messing things up with Arthur, Dylan, and Samantha.

  Everyone’s willingness was enough to make me feel super hopeful about everything in life until Mr. Hayes handed me back a quiz where I got a C-plus. I was so sure I was going to score an A-minus or a B-plus. The exam that determines everything is tomorrow—same day Arthur leaves. I just . . . I don’t have the hang of this, and I was ready to break down and cry, so I texted Arthur. We’re canceling our plans to run around the city so Arthur can be a Super Tourist, and he’s just going to help me study instead. I’d be surprised if we get any studying done—too many reasons to not keep our hands off each other and one big talk we need to have. One we’ve been avoiding.

  But one big talk at a time.

  When we get out of class, I keep the conversation about grades as we walk over to Dream & Bean. Harriett and Hudson fared better than me, as I knew they would. It’s weird how everything could fall back into place with our squad and Harriett, Hudson, and Dylan might be moving on to senior year without me. Graduating without me. Going to college without me. I’ll always be one year behind them in life.

  I have to kick this test’s ass tomorrow.

  We get to Dream & Bean, and Dylan is seated in a corner with four drinks and a box at his feet.

  “These aren’t all for you, right?” I ask as I sit next to him.

  Harriett sits across from me and Hudson across from Dylan.

  “Peace offerings,” Dylan says. He gives me a pink lemonade, Hudson an iced mocha, and Harriett a cappuccino with caramel drizzle. “The barista drew a cat that you could’ve Instagrammed, but it got messed up.”

  “Thought that counts. Thanks.” Harriett takes a sip. “So how are you feeling?”

  “Been okay. Summer has been pretty slow. I did start seeing someone—”

  “That’s wonderful, but I’m talking about you being admitted to the hospital,” Harriett interrupts. “Not your summer. You seem physically okay. What happened? Panic attack?”

  “Yup. I’m okay.”

  “Good,” Hudson says. “I wanted to text yesterday, but it didn’t feel like my place.”

  “What do you mean?” Dylan asks.

  “Ask him,” Hudson says, pointing at me.

  “Because I didn’t let you go with me to the hospital? It didn’t make sense.”

  “I have love for him too,” Hudson says. “He’s not just your friend.”

  Dylan props his face into his hands. “Are you guys about to fight over me?”

  I glare at Dylan. “I know you love him too. But you never even tried to be his friend after we broke up.”

  “Your friend game went down before you guys broke up too,” Dylan says.

  Hudson is blushing.

  “So you’re ganging up on him,” Harriett says.

  I call time-out with my hands. “No ganging up. I know you guys have your loyalty to each other and we have our own. But this is keeping us apart.” I take a deep breath. “Look, this has to be weird before it gets better. I know it’s awkward, but I’m glad we’re doing this.”

  “What exactly are we doing?” Hudson asks. “What’s the point of all of this? A group hug? Instagram refollows?”

  “For starters, yeah,” I say. “I want us to try and hit the reset button. Get a do-over. You’re both really important to us, and you’re obviously not here just for fun. You want to make this right too.”

  Harriett stares at her cappuccino. “You’ve never been to the hospital for a panic attack, Dylan. I was freaking out, but I felt like I wasn’t allowed to be there. All because my ego refused to let me trust you with any relationship, not even friendship, after the way you dropped me out of nowhere.”

  “I’m really sorry,” Dylan says. “I just didn’t want to waste your time.”

  “I get that. I guess I’m grateful for it in retrospect. It still messed with my head. But no matter how angry I was, when I thought the worst was happening to you, I really wanted to be by your side like old times.” Harriett stares into his eyes and then mine. “I don’t think I would’ve been open to this conversation if I didn’t lose sleep over all of this on Saturday.”

  “Wow, you lost sleep over me?” Dylan asks. “You love sleep.”

  “Precious beauty sleep over you,” Harriett says.

  “It means the world to me.” Dylan places a hand on his heart. “I’m no longer the odd man out. Between you three reconnecting when Ben and I weren’t talking and all the hanging out in summer school, you guys had me wishing I failed chemistry too.”

  “D, enough with the summer school jabs, okay?”

  “Whoa.” He leans in and lowers his voice. “We’re on the same team here.”

  “No teams. The only team is the one we’re all trying to be on again.” I rap my knuckles against the table. “It’s just been a day. Almost failed a quiz, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to fail tomorrow. I just need support from you.”

  “Sorry, Big B. You know I’m just joking.”

  “Time and a place. I could probably stand a summer school joke once I come out on the other side of this. If I pass. Not looking likely. Pretty sure I’m going to be repeating junior year in a different school. No you and no you and no you.” I almost add Arthur won’t be there either, but Arthur not being around for school or anything is a bigger problem eating away at me. “I’m going to be the actual odd man out who gets left out and forgotten.”

  Dylan grabs my hand. “Big Ben, if you get left back and kicked out, I would transfer to your new school. You know I’m not messing around.”

  I squeeze his hand back. No matter the outcome with Hudson and Harriett, I know Dylan will be in my life forever. It’s the kind of comforting thought I need on the eve of Arthur leaving. “No coming to my new school if you’re going to make fun of me for getting left back.”

  “Deal.” He turns to Hudson. “Okay. So I went to war against Harriett and Ben. You got any complaints or can we get our group hug on?”

  “We’re good,” Hudson says. “I want to talk to Ben though.”

  “Same,” I say.

  “Have at it,” Dylan says. Waiting.

  “We should give them some space,” Harriett says.

  “Why? We aired out our business in front of them.”

  Harriett gets up. “Come buy me a hot cappuccino and tell me about this new girlfriend.”

  Dylan follows, always ready to talk about Samantha. I can’t believe I’m watching Dylan and Harriett walk off together like they don’t have this history of not speaking for the past four months.

  I slide across the bench so I’m face-to-face with Hudson. “So. Good start, right?”

  “For the group, yeah,” Hudson says. “I’m sorry I tried kissing you. I shouldn’t have jumped on you like that. Some wires got crossed.”

  “Yeah, you thought I wanted to get back together.”

  “Not just that. Talking about my own wires. I don’t think I wanted us to bounce back as boyfriends, I was just confused because . . . my parents weren’t the only ones who made me believe in love. You’re my first, and I wanted to feel that specialness again. But I think we’re better friends than we were boyfriends and that’s how we should keep it. You’re so hard on yourself, so I almost didn’t even want to tell you this because I never want to make you feel worthless again. But I have to air this out so you can trust I’m ready to be friends again. You’re important to me, and we shouldn’t have messed with our friendship in the first place.”

  “I’m really glad we did, Hudson. D and I were talking about this last night. I don’t regret us dating, and I wouldn’t throw any of it away. Literally.” I bring out the box from underneath the table. “Everything in here reminds me of when you didn’t think love was total bullshit. Do whatever you want with it, obviously. But if you want to toss it, maybe it’ll help
if you look through it again? You’re one of the kindest people out there. I wouldn’t have been so heartbroken about us not working out if falling for you wasn’t so awesome in the first place.”

  Hudson slides the box closer to him. “That means a lot, Ben. Thanks.” He taps the box. Deep breath. “So what are you going to do about Arthur?”

  “I’m not sure. I get that it doesn’t make sense because he leaves tomorrow, but . . . I think there’s something more to us. I should head out and go see him.”

  “You should definitely do that.”

  I look into Hudson’s eyes, and I know he’s not only rooting for my love, but he’s aching for the heartbreak that may be coming my way.

  I hail Dylan and Harriett back over. We tell them we’re all good. No jokes are cracked. They don’t ask questions about us just like we don’t ask if they really just talked about Samantha or if the conversation revolved around them. Just because we’re friends doesn’t mean we’re entitled to one another’s private moments.

  I open up my arms and we come together. If I’m being honest, the group hug feels a little forced. But maybe that’s not a bad thing. We’re fighting to be close again, and that’s beautiful. Maybe one day it’ll feel easy again. We can start slow by following each other on Instagram again and keeping the group chat thread alive. We can plan hangouts instead of the good old days where we would just show up at each other’s apartments. We can fall back in place, or somewhere close enough to where we were before. This summer with more do-overs than I can count gives me hope that the four of us will figure it out.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Arthur

  I don’t want to go home.

  I’m on my stomach on this too-small bed in Ben’s too-small room with its warm, gooey air and index cards everywhere, and I’m literally reading a chemistry textbook. Chemistry, the most molecularly shitty of all subjects, and I don’t mean that ionically.

  I really wish I could stop time.

  Ben flops onto his stomach beside me, pressing his hands to his face. “I can’t believe we’re spending your last night studying for my fucking exam.”

  “I love studying with you for your fucking exam.”

  “I’d rather forget the exam part and go straight to—”

  I clap my hand over his mouth. “Don’t say ‘fucking.’ Don’t you dare.”

  His laugh is muffled. “Why not?”

  “Because.” I let my hand drift to his cheek. “It’s the least romantic sex word ever.”

  “But what about ‘coitus’?”

  “Okay, that’s another strong contender.”

  “‘Fornicate.’ ‘Copulate.’ ‘Sexual congress.’”

  “That one sounds like a political-themed porn.”

  Ben bursts out laughing.

  “Starring Mitch McConnell and Paul Ryan.”

  “Thank you so much for that mental image, Arthur.”

  “And the sequel: Congressional Cock-us.”

  “I hate you.” He kisses me, and I just gaze at his face. I’m pretty sure I’d be happy devoting the rest of my life to kissing each and every Ben freckle. I’m pretty sure he can tell.

  I cup his cheeks in my hands. “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  “Question. In sodium chloride, which element has the negative charge?”

  “Chloride.”

  “Yup!”

  He smiles self-consciously.

  “Next question. How does adding salt change the freezing and boiling points of water?”

  “The freezing point decreases and the boiling point increases.”

  “How are you so good at these?”

  “I mean, I have to impress my Yale-major boyfriend.”

  I laugh and kiss his cheek. “You can’t major in Yale.”

  “You’ll be the first.”

  “Yeah, about that.” My heartbeat quickens. “I had an interesting conversation today with Namrata and Juliet.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “About NYU. Excellent school. Excellent theater program.”

  “You’re majoring in theater?”

  “No, but I want to know famous actors before they’re famous. Oh, and Namrata’s boyfriend is going to talk to me about Columbia.”

  “I . . . okay.”

  “I just mean”—I shoot him a tentative smile—“maybe this doesn’t have to be my last night in New York.”

  Ben doesn’t smile back. He doesn’t say a word.

  “Okay, wow, your expression right now. I’m freaking you out. I’m so sorry. I’m just going to—”

  “Arthur, no. You’re not freaking me out, but listen.” He rubs his forehead. “You can’t plan your future around me.”

  And just like that, my words evaporate. My heart’s thudding so quickly, it’s almost painful.

  Ben’s eyebrows furrow. “Arthur?”

  “What?” I clear my throat. “Right. Sorry. Next question.”

  “You okay?”

  I ignore him. “Is silver chloride soluble in water?”

  “Um. No.”

  “How about silver nitrate?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not bad, Alejo,” I say, and Ben buries his face in his pillow—but I catch a flicker of a tiny, proud smile first. This boy.

  My heart twists every time I look at him. The way his hair curls around his ears. The way it brushes the nape of his neck.

  “I have a question,” I say softly.

  “You have a whole stack of questions.”

  “This one’s not about chemistry.”

  “Oh.” He rolls onto his back and looks up at me. “Okay.”

  So I just let it spill out. “I know you don’t like making plans for the future, but we’re almost seniors—”

  “Unless I’m still a junior. Again.”

  “You’re going to pass.” I tug his hand up to my chest, lacing our fingers together.

  “But what if I don’t?”

  “You will. You’re going to ace the crap out of this test.”

  He laughs shortly. “I’m not in summer school because I ace tests.”

  “Ben. Come on. We’ve got this.” I shift closer. “I’m going to teach you all my mnemonic devices—”

  “Those don’t actually work.”

  “Try me. First nine elements of the periodic table. Go.”

  “Um. Hydrogen . . .”

  “Hydrogen, helium, lithium, beryllium, boron, carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, fluorine,” I say. “Happy Hudson loves boners but can never overcome flaccidity. I made that one just for you.”

  He laughs. “Wow.”

  “And if it’s not true, I don’t want to know.”

  “Arthur, you are so fucking cute.” He kisses me lightly on the mouth. “Don’t go.”

  “I don’t want to.” Then I disentangle our hands and reach for an index card and a pen, because fuck it. I have to ask him.

  I write. Deep breath. And then I hold up the card.

  “‘What about the United States?’” Ben reads.

  “No, us. You and me. What about US? The caps are for emphasis.” He’s grinning. I grin back and swat him in the arm. “Shut up. You know what I’m asking.”

  “I mean . . . I don’t know.” His eyes find mine. “Can I be real with you?”

  “You should always be real with me.”

  “Okay.” He pauses. For a minute, his eyes catch mine, but then he squeezes them shut. “I think we have to let go.”

  “Let go?”

  And there’s this silence—the kind that rearranges your organs.

  I press both palms to my chest. “Like . . . we break up?”

  “I don’t know.” He sighs. “I guess I’m scared.”

  He takes my hand and tugs me closer, until we’re both horizontal. And for a moment we just lie there, our faces a breath apart on the pillow.

  “Scared of what?” I ask finally.

  “I don’t know.” He squeezes my hand. “That I’ll hold you back from meeting other guys. That I�
�ll lose you, even as a friend. I’m so scared of that.”

  “But you won’t.”

  “You never know.” He starts to smile, but it falters—and when he speaks again, his voice is so soft. “I’m scared I’ll break your heart.”

  I don’t speak. If I do, I think I’ll cry.

  “I don’t want to.” His voice cracks. “But I might. Relationships are so hard. Maybe it’s just me. I don’t know. But I couldn’t make it work with Hudson, even when he was right in front of my face.”

  I feel my eyes start to brim. “I wish I could stay.”

  “Yeah, me too.” He wipes his cheek with the heel of his hand and smiles wetly. “I’m going to miss you so fucking much.”

  “I miss you already.”

  The next tear slides all the way down his cheek. “Well, we have one more day.”

  “The grand finale. Or intermission. Because we’re going to keep in touch, right?”

  “Are you kidding?” he says. “I plan to know you forever.”

  I drink him in: rumpled hair, brown eyes, shiny, tear-streaked cheeks. “I love you,” I say. “I’m really glad the universe made us happen.”

  “Arthur, the universe just got the ball rolling,” he says. “We made us happen.”

  Tuesday, August 7

  Ben wakes me with a FaceTime on my last morning in New York.

  “Hey, I’m kidnapping you.”

  “Wait—what?” I yawn. “Where are you?” He’s clearly outside, but his face is so close to the camera, I can’t make out what’s behind him.

  “You’ll find out. Your first instruction: let me know when you’re at the subway. And then I’ll text your next instruction. Okay?”

  As soon as we hang up, I scramble out of bed. I don’t bother with contacts or actual clothes. Glasses, T-shirt, and gym shorts for the win. I find Mom pacing around the living room, on the phone with the movers—the ones Ben couldn’t believe we hired when we aren’t even moving furniture. But I’m glad we did, because guess who’s not lugging boxes onto the elevator right now. Guess who’s not loading up a U-Haul. Guess who’s already at the subway by six forty-five in the morning.