What If It's Us (What If It's Us #1)

by Becky Albertalli

I kind of hate him. I really miss him.

I’m so happy, I could sing. If the girls and I are lunch friends now, we’re probably on track for tasteful matching BFF tattoos by next week.

The coffee shop smells like pretentious writers who would hate the stuff I write.

The classic honeymoon stage where everyone feels like they’re riding a unicorn on floating rainbows while drinking Skittle smoothies. But eventually you realize the unicorn was just a horse in costume and now you have cavities.

I guess that’s any relationship. You start with nothing and maybe end with everything.

It’s this strangling fear that we’ll be sitting there and we’ll run out of something to say and I’ll be able to witness the exact moment someone falls out of love with me because I don’t have enough substance to keep a conversation alive over a meal. Why would you want to talk to me for the rest of your life?

I like disasters.

This is going to be a disaster.

I take a deep, dramatic breath. “I haven’t listened to Hamilton.” He doesn’t say anything. Then the line goes dead.

“If you do, I’m going to write you into my story and kill you off.”

I remember that home isn’t about how big the space is but how we fill it.

“Te quiero. Estoy enamorado. You don’t even know.” And I don’t speak a word of Spanish, but when I look at his face, I get it.

But maybe this isn’t how life works. Maybe it’s all about people coming into your life for a little while and you take what they give you and use it on your next friendship or relationship. And if you’re lucky, maybe some people pop back in after you thought they were gone for good.

It’s really sweet. I can’t wait to make fun of him. I’m so happy I get to make fun of him.

I hug my best friend. “Thanks for not dying,” I say.

“A lightning bolt is going to burst in here any second now and shut you up.” “I eat lightning for breakfast.”

I just have no idea what our next chapters look like. What kind of ending we need to brace ourselves for.

“I love you, Arthur,” I say. Arthur turns to me. “Te amo . . . too, Ben.”

“Hey, I’m kidnapping you.”

Maybe that’s what the universe wanted. Maybe that’s us.