“That’s good though, right?”

“Yeah, now I’m glad it wasn’t. I wanted it to be normal and it was.”

“Because it is. You said you’re super out. So everyone knows?”

“Yeah. I put up an Instagram post on Thanksgiving a couple years ago. Said that I was thankful for all the people in my life who are cool enough to love me as I am. And everyone else could unfriend me online and in real life. I had even checked my follower count before posting.”

“Mass exodus? Modest exodus?”

“No exodus,” I say. It’s surprising. I thought people were going to care more than they did.

“Can I be honest about something?”

“You are a cartoon porn fanatic, aren’t you?”

“Well yeah, but . . . I’m not an arcade fanatic. I have failed you.”

“This explains a lot,” I say.

“We make a great team though!”

“No we don’t. We literally lost because we stopped playing midway.”

“Logistics.”

We put away the 3D glasses and get out.

“So no more playing is what you’re telling me,” I say. I still have credits, and they don’t exactly let you get your money back because your date doesn’t like arcades. He really is an alien. “Now what?”

“I have an idea,” Arthur says. He leads me to the photo booth, puts in five dollars, and takes a seat. “Come on!”

I don’t even get the chance to decide if this is what I want—the photo, this moment with Arthur—but I follow him inside the booth because not doing so is awkward and a waste of five bucks. I sit and all I can think about are the stupid faces Hudson and I made when we were here months ago. But Arthur is not Hudson. And I can’t let Hudson spoil any chance at making new memories in old places. Not just here at Dave & Buster’s, but everywhere in the city. School, parks, you name it. Arthur is his own person. Not a plaything. Not a distraction. I got to do this right.

“What’s our motivation?” I ask. “We get three shots.”

“I am not throwing away my shot,” Arthur says. He looks at me expectantly. “Hamilton?”

“Oh. Right.” People are obsessed with that show. I haven’t heard a single song, but it’s not something I should bring up now.

“I have so much to teach you, Ben.”

A timer counts down from three. For the first photo, we wing it. Arthur leans against me and we both smile, super simple. For the second photo Arthur sticks out his tongue and says “Aaaaaah” like a doctor is inspecting his mouth. I do an exaggerated wink. For the third photo Arthur turns to me. My heart is racing because he looks like he wants to kiss, but I’m not there yet. I know this is all really cute, that I’m actually reunited with the boy I met at the post office, but no matter how charming he is, I can’t force myself to kiss him before I’m ready. Before I mean it. We just stare and smile at each other when that last flash goes off.

We step out of the booth and we each get a reel to keep. We’re actually really cute together.

“That last photo is something,” Arthur says. “I . . . Never mind.”

“Go ahead.”

Arthur stares at his sneakers. “I look way happier than you. It’s cool if you want to call this quits. If you’re still caught up on your ex, I get it. Well, I don’t get it. But I can imagine.”

“No, I just . . . I had a lot of fun, but I know I wasn’t fully here,” I say. That’s my fault. I brought my date somewhere I used to come with my ex-boyfriend. I also don’t know how much I should really be investing in this since Arthur is just going to leave at the end of the summer anyway.

We’re both quiet. I really want to see Arthur the way he sees me. It might take time though, and time isn’t really on our side.

Arthur sighs and stares at the floor. “I screwed up my first date. Go me.”

“No, you didn’t screw it up . . . I’m the one who messed up. I’m always ready to flip off anything good the universe throws my way since I swear the universe hates me. But maybe the universe is just playing the long game. Like everything that’s ever gone wrong was so it could be right later. I don’t know.”

“So the date was good? Or wrong?”

“The date wasn’t wrong, I just think that if the universe is setting us up here that our story deserves a more epic first date,” I say. “I really want to see you again. Maybe we should have a do-over date.”

“Like a first date? Again?”

“Exactly. This time you can plan it. Whatever you want.”

“Challenge accepted.”

We smile as we shake on it.

Chapter Fifteen

Arthur

Sunday, July 15

A do-over date. And I’m the one who’s supposed to plan it.

I didn’t even know this was a thing. I thought they were just called second dates.

A do-over.

But at least I get to see him again. Which is convenient, since he’s all I can think about. I can’t even get out of bed. I’m too busy staring at the photo strip of us together. And yeah, we look a little like Pepé Le Pew and his bewildered cat girlfriend, but we really do seem like a couple. If you saw these pictures, you would not conclude that Ben and I are platonic bros. But the idea of myself as part of a couple is so intensely surreal, I can’t even wrap my head around it.

I finally wander out into the living room around ten in gym shorts and glasses. Dad’s on the couch, drinking coffee with the news on mute. “Why are we watching the orange guy?” I ask, sinking into the cushion beside him.

Dad shuts the TV off. “Good morning, Romeo.”

“Wow. Please don’t.”

Dad’s brow furrows. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t be weird.”

“Uh-uh. Nope,” Dad says. “This is not My So-Called Life.”

“I don’t understand that reference, Dad.”

“You’re not The Perks of Being a Wallflower. I did not just rent The Breakfast Club.”

“What does that—”

“It means chill with the fake teen angst. This is your first date, and I want to hear about it.”

“Don’t you think it’s weird that we talk about this stuff?”

“Why? Because I’m your dad?”

“Yes. Obviously.”

He just gapes at me, like he’s trying to process that.

I sigh. “It was fine, Dad. It was an okay date. We have another one tomorrow.”

“Whoa. Look at you. Second date.”

“Well, it’s not a second date. It’s a second first date. We’re having a do-over.”

Dad strokes his beard. “That’s interesting.”

“I know.”

“But he clearly likes you.”

I sit up. “You think?”

“Well, he wants another date.”

“Yeah. God. I don’t know how to do this.”

“How to plan a do-over date?”

“I don’t even know how to plan a regular date.”

Honestly, how am I supposed to know how to pick a destination and set the mood and charm Ben’s pants off? Not literally. Kind of literally, though.

I glance sideways at Dad. “Okay, so if tomorrow’s the first date, how do we talk about Dave & Busters? Do we pretend it didn’t happen? Do we call it Date Zero?” I rub my forehead. “Do we try to reenact it?”

“Why would you reenact a bad first date?” Dad asks. “Just relax. This is going to be great. Just stick with the tried-and-true, like a diner. Something basic.”

Basic.

I nod. “Okay.”

Monday, July 16

Okay, no.

I’m not doing basic. I’m sorry, this isn’t some random guy. This is Ben. Which is why I’m here on a Monday evening, crammed into a corner table at a restaurant in Union Square called Café Arvin. It’s one of those places that looks like a nightclub shoved into a warehouse, with oddly geometric light fixtures and a menu that changes every day. But Yelp says it’s a Best Date Restaurant, so hopefully Ben will be into it. Assuming he shows up. He was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago, but he hasn’t texted to say he’s running late.