Tonight the Streets Are Ours

If she’d told Chris all of it, all the hard work that had to go into creating a seemingly magical night, would he have come after all? Or would it just have made her seem pathetic, to work so hard and to care so much?

Tonight was supposed to be it, the ultimate proof of their love for each other, their ability to be happy together. Because if they couldn’t even get it together on their anniversary, when they had brownies and sexy dresses and hotel rooms and months of preparation on their side, then what hope did they have? How good could their relationship be, really, if this was as good as it got?

She stretched out her arm and dragged her phone back across the bedspread toward her. She opened up Tonight the Streets Are Ours. She wanted to forget herself. She wanted to disappear into somebody else’s life.

But what she read there made her realize that today, Peter’s life wasn’t any better than hers. His latest entry had been posted less than an hour ago, and this is what it said:



April 24

Bianca broke up with me on Wednesday.

Again.

For good, this time.

She said there’s no grand geste that can win her back again. She said I shouldn’t even try.

It’s hard to believe that Tuesday I was so happy when today I am so miserable. For a brief moment, it felt like maybe I actually could have everything I wanted, and today that all seems like a ridiculous illusion.

How dare she steal this happiness away from me? I was going to spend this weekend celebrating. Now I’m spending it crying. And in the future, when I think back on this time when one of my dreams came true, I will always be forced to remember that it’s also the time when my other dream went up in flames.

It reminds me of the time when I was in sixth grade and we went to Paris and my mom’s purse got stolen. She was so upset. And she tried to explain that it wasn’t about the purse itself. “I can buy a new bag to carry my belongings,” she said. “I can cancel my credit cards and get new ones. I can replace my cell phone and my lipstick. That’s frustrating, and it takes time and money, but I have time and money. What makes me sad is that this was supposed to be our trip to Paris, and now I’ll never again be able to look at photos of us outside of Notre Dame without remembering that on that very same day, a thief stole my purse.”

This is how I feel about Bianca. A thief stole my happiness.

And now I have to go work at the bookstore for the next eight hours and pretend like my heart isn’t in pieces.

Arden let the phone again fall from her hands. She rolled onto her back and stared at the cream-colored ceiling.

Peter. He seemed to have so much going for him. He was rich. He was probably hot—all signs pointed that way. He went to cool parties, constantly. He was a really talented writer. Maybe he’d even get a book deal. He had fans across the Internet, people he didn’t even know.

And yet. The people who were supposed to be closest to him, who were supposed to be on his side … where were they? His brother was out of the picture. His parents, from everything he said about them, were cold, bossy, and judgmental. His girlfriend broke up with him—twice. His art-school friends always seemed to be right there when it was time to party, but when he needed support, their names never came up.

Being Peter seemed like it must be so exciting. But it also seemed lonely. And maybe that was why he wrote Tonight the Streets Are Ours in the first place. Because the only people who wanted to hear his innermost thoughts were strangers on the Internet.

What Peter needed was someone like Arden.

No.

He didn’t need someone like Arden. He needed Arden.

She sat up. Peter needed her—and why shouldn’t he have her?

She grabbed her phone and called Lindsey.

“How goes the big anniversary?” Lindsey asked when she picked up.

“Miserable. Want to go with me to New York?”

“New York City?”

“Yeah.”

“When?”

“Now.”

“You’re going to New York City, now. On your anniversary.” Lindsey paused, calculating. “I take it Chris isn’t with you?”

“Nope.”