I follow him and everyone’s eyes follow me.
Okay, do I have lipstick on my teeth? A quick tongue swipe confirms no. Nash told me that Middleton doesn’t get new people often; I guess he wasn’t kidding.
I try to avoid eye contact with all the staring and focus instead on Nash’s seat saver. She’s cute, with a petite frame and soft features. Her makeup is on point—bronze eye shadow makes her brown eyes pop and her deep red lipstick looks perfect. A neutral eye matched with a bold lip is Kels’s favorite combination.
Nash slides into the seat behind her, so I sit next to him. I pull my water bottle out of my backpack and take a long sip. Stall for a few seconds so I don’t have to speak. Introductions mixed with small talk are especially cruel.
“How was the shore?” Nash asks.
“Painful,” the girl says.
She slips down the sleeve of her sunflower shirt dress, revealing a red, blistering shoulder.
“Gross. What happened to SPF 100?”
She sighs. “SPF 1000 wouldn’t be enough.”
Nash laughs and the girl turns to me. “Wait. You’re Halle. Hi! I’m Molly.”
“Hi,” I say.
I almost said I know.
Because now I do. She’s Molly Jacobson. Nash’s IRL best friend. Wow. Meeting Nash is enough to process. Being introduced to the people in his IRL world? People who are now a part of my world? It’s too much. Online, talking to Nash as Kels, it’s easy to forget that he has people, real people, outside of Book Twitter and blogging.
He’s my best friend. I’m his best internet friend.
I hate that distinction.
Nash and Molly swap schedules and discuss The Situation. AP overlaps, study blocks. Important details, like who’s where when. They’re calculating how many minutes they can possibly spend with their core crew until the final bell rings at two-fifteen.
Meanwhile, I’m counting down the minutes until I can go home and update my blog and message my Nash, not the actual human sitting a foot away from me.
“I have the second lunch block,” Nash says.
“Me too!” Molly says.
“Third period study?”
“Fifth.”
“Damn.”
Molly glances at her cell. “Sawyer is second lunch too—and, hey, so is Autumn!”
“Sweet, Le Crew lunch is complete.”
I pretend I’m studying my Welcome to Middle-of-Nowhere High School! pamphlet. Then pretend there’s someone on the other side of my phone, not just the overwhelming amount of OTP emails I already have at eight in the morning.
“Halle,” Molly says, “what lunch block are you?”
I look up. “Second,” Nash and I say.
Molly swats Nash’s arm.
He shrugs. “What? We have, like, the same schedule.”
“Dude, it still sounded creepy.”
“Whatever.”
Molly looks at me. “Nash’s creepiness aside, you can totally sit with us. We can introduce you to everyone.”
I should say no. Given our near-identical course load, it looks like Operation: Avoid Nash is already a no go. He’s going to be a part of my Middleton life whether I like it or not. But if this morning’s disaster showed me anything, it’s that I should keep things strictly academic between us. I shouldn’t socialize with him. I shouldn’t get to know Le Crew. I shouldn’t get to know him, IRL.
Still, lunch is always, without a doubt, difficult on day one. I see myself standing in the cafeteria, frozen, with no choice but to crash Ollie’s sophomore table. So despite my self-imposed No-Nash Policy, I nod, and Molly smiles.
I’m grateful I have some sort of place, any sort of situation that does not involve a massive panic attack. Now Ollie and I can pretend not to know each other at lunch, like normal siblings do.
And it’s just lunch. It doesn’t mean we have to be friends. It’ll be great.
* * *
It’s not great.
I’m the seventh seat at a six-person table, which is uncomfortable in an infinite number of ways.
In dropping my fork on the floor and awkwardly trying to decide if I should squeeze out and maneuver my way back to the cutlery station or say Screw it, I didn’t want my salad anyway.
In being wedged between Molly and Nash.
In brushing shoulders with Nash multiple times—and feeling like all my secrets are going to spill out of my soul every time I do.
In checking and rechecking that I’ve silenced my cell, just in case Nash sends a DM to Kels.
In everyone talking all at once, but being unable to access any of the conversation.
“… having Weisner for English blows …”
“… dude, yeah, I have McAlister and she’s amazing. Her book list is exclusively women and people of color …”
“… I didn’t think it was possible to screw up cheese pizza, yet here we are …”
“… Sawyer, if you make a that’s sexist against men comment I’m breaking up with you …”
“… right? It’s so bad …”
“… If you have that little faith in me, maybe I should break up with you …”
“… I actually think it’s pretty good …”
My eyes flicker in circles, my eardrums bounce from conversation to conversation, attempting to piece together the web of relationships. Nash. Molly. Sawyer. Autumn. Taylor. Beth.
Nash + Molly = BFFs
Molly + Sawyer =
Sawyer + Nash = Bros
Autumn = Molly’s other BFF
Taylor + Beth = Autumn’s theater friends. Not Le Crew, but clearly lunch regulars—unlike me.
Overwhelmed by my total inability to naturally insert myself into the conversation, I look down at my phone. It’s the only place I never feel out of place. The home screen displays a string of texts from Amy.
Amy Chen
Happy LAST first day of high school, Kels + Elle!!
12:05 PM
Amy Chen
And happy FIRST first day of high school Samira, our freshman child!!
12:06 PM
I lock the screen. I can’t even respond to the string of texts from my friends, because Nash is here. Next to me. He knows my friends. They’re his friends too.
“So what is your thing, Hal-lee Levitt?” Sawyer asks.
My eyes snap up to meet Sawyer’s. “Huh?”
Could I be any more eloquent?
Sawyer Davidson is Molly’s other half. We met this morning in AP psych, when I took the seat Nash had gestured to behind him. I’m not the new kid anymore, Sawyer had said. I laughed and I don’t remember what I said because between the wavy blonde hair and ocean-gray eyes, I was too busy thinking Damn, Molly Good job.
“You know? Your jam.”
“Like how sometimes Sawyer speaks in syllables,” Molly says.
“And says ‘jam,’ ” Autumn adds.
Sawyer rolls his eyes.
“Um,” I stutter. Six people, twelve eyes. All on me. “I like books?”
Great. Where’s the instant lie impulse when I actually need it? I should’ve made up some sort of fake hobby. Or said literally anything other than “I like books.”
Because of course Nash says, “Me too.”
“Nash likes comic books,” Taylor says.
“Graphic novels,” Nash clarifies, since I, Halle, am not supposed to know that.
Heat creeps up my neck when Nash looks at me. “It’s an underappreciated genre, honestly. I, um, kind of blog about it. I’m trying to make graphic novels mainstream, one review at a time.”
“Nash, don’t be modest,” Autumn says, dipping a potato chip in ketchup and popping it in her mouth. She swallows, then looks at me. “He writes and draws too. They’re good—I’ve already called dibs on the option.”
I would’ve known Autumn Williams was a director even if Nash hadn’t already told Kels that she’s destined to be the next Ava DuVernay. Her mostly black, trying-without-trying aesthetic screams film school. Her
braided black hair is tied back into a ponytail and she carries around a little black notebook, where she jots down what she calls moments to remember, all through lunch. From what Nash has told me, USC is her dream, but for now she has A_Williams Films, a Vimeo account where she posts short films that are the epitome of black girl magic.
“They’re okay,” Nash says.
“Shut up, they’re so good,” Molly says.
It’s the second time today I almost say I know.
“He posts them online,” Autumn says.
“Autumn,” Nash says, his cheeks flush pink.
“www.outsidethelines.com/rex,” Sawyer chimes in.
Nash is full-blown red, but it’s adorable the way they’re hyping him up, like retweets in real time.
REX, Nash’s weekly web comic, is about two dinosaur brothers—Terry and Rex—exploring the modern world. At the end of the first series, they are separated and it is devastating. The second installment is from the POV of the younger dinosaur, Rex, searching desperately for his brother. It’s action-packed and adorable and heartbreaking all at once.
Online, Nash shouts about REX to his thousands of Outside the Lines subscribers. He’s always posting links, constantly liking tweets, and retweeting reviews.
IRL, he’s shy about it. It’s really cute.
I cannot think Nash is cute. Amy and Elle would go insane if they knew that thought even crossed my mind.
Nobody understands not wanting to talk about something more than I do, so I attempt to steer the conversation away from REX. Half for Nash’s sake, half for my own. But when I do I say, “Maus kind of changed my life.”
“Seriously?” Nash says. “Me too!”
His smile is grateful—not at all suspicious—but that doesn’t stop my heart palpitations and sweaty palms. Luckily, the bell rings and I take the opportunity to pretend I’ve left something in my locker and bolt.
I don’t know what I was thinking. I am the worst in group settings. I never know what to say, or the right questions to ask, or how to apply a face that reads approachable, I promise. It’s somehow always surprising if and when I’m directly addressed. It absolutely would’ve been better to sit with a different group, where even if it was uncomfortable, at least there were no stakes. No I like books and mentioning things I know he likes. I’m not supposed to know what he likes!
The whole point of not telling him is to protect our friendship because I won’t live up to Kels—and every awkward thing that’s happened today just proves me right.
REX: Series 1, Issue #24
FIVE
Friday is a cupcake day.
A reward for making it through my first week at MHS in one piece. There’s flour in my hair, the electric mixer is plugged in, and I feel unstoppable.
I feel like I can design a cupcake cover cake worthy of Ariel Goldberg’s cover reveal.
Earlier today, Alyssa Peterson emailed me. Subject line: Confidential. When I saw it at lunch, I promptly excused myself to go to the restroom, doing everything in my power to not gasp and run. I opened the email in the bathroom stall and stared at the cover for five minutes, stunned that someone from the real New York publishing universe trusted me with this information that thousands of fans will want. Not because I’m Miriam’s granddaughter—because I’m Kels.
It’s a piece of notebook paper, the cover. The page is filled with words, but they’re all redacted—except for the title words, Read Between the Lies—each on a different line. It has a three-dimensional effect, so the paper looks like it was crumpled up. Splatters of red, like blood, make up the only color on the page.
As soon as I saw it, I knew how I am going to introduce it to the world.
It’s going to be my first ever cinematic cupcake cover reveal.
My friends are already obsessed with this idea.
Elle Carter
A VIDEO??? Kels, that’s going to be AMAZING
4:31 PM
i hope so!! i’m picturing it, like, time-lapsed
4:32 PM
so each cupcake will be laid out one at a time, row by row … and then boom! full cover
4:33 PM
maybe I’ll even do some ~ fancy ~ animation. Swap out the cupcake cover for the actual cover at the end? i don’t know, i’m still experimenting …
4:33 PM
Samira Lee
4:34 PM
Amy Chen
I’m just impressed you can animate anything, tbh
4:34 PM
well, hopefully my brother will help with that part
4:35 PM
Elle Carter
So. Are we now done pretending you don’t care about the bookcon panel?
4:35 PM
Samira Lee
Yeah. This is too next level to “not care.”
4:35 PM
it’s less about not caring, more like how can i even think i have a shot against every other amazing blogger?
4:36 PM
Elle Carter
Because you make cupcakes LOOK LIKE BOOK COVERS?!
4:36 PM
Samira Lee
And write KILLER reviews?
4:36 PM
Amy Chen
and you don’t let adults get away with any of their garbage YA takes!!
4:37 PM
Elle Carter
… have we inflamed your ego enough?
4:38 PM
too much!!
4:39 PM
Okay, yeah, if my post goes viral, I can admit to myself how cool being on a panel at BookCon would be—and also how amazing it would look to NYU. If it goes viral, BookCon will start to feel less like not in a million years and more probably not, but maybe.
The only problem with totally falling for the idea of BookCon? Nash.
If I get in, Kels won’t be anonymous anymore. I’d submit a photo for the announcement—and even if I managed to avoid that, I’d be all over Twitter during the actual convention.
I’d have to tell Nash.
Right now? That feels impossible.
But I can’t talk to my friends about this, obviously, given that they have no idea I’m actually a girl named Halle living in Connecticut sitting with Nash at lunch every day.
So I place my phone down on the countertop a safe distance away from the chaos of ingredients on the table, and focus on them instead. Batch one is in the fridge cooling and Gramps’s kitchen smells like red velvet batter. Batch two—dark chocolate for Ollie—is in the oven. For my cover reveals, the batter flavor doesn’t matter as much as the look, so for tonight’s dry run I can make everyone’s favorites.
I’m making cream cheese frosting from scratch with Grams’s standing mixer when my phone buzzes. I glance over my shoulder and see the Instagram notification. Right on time, it’s a new post from Mad Levitt’s account.
I have notifications turned on for all of Mad and Ari’s social media accounts. It keeps me in the loop and helps me feel like they’re not so far away. It’s jarring, not being on location with my parents, not sitting in on their top-secret meetings, not being in the same time zone as them.
Mom plans on sending a weekly email and we have an ongoing text chain in WhatsApp, but the electricity of being there doesn’t translate in emojis. Instagram is better. The candid shots of my parents scouting locations and exploring Israel are as close as I can get. Today’s post is an obnoxiously cute selfie of my parents, floating in the Dead Sea. While the legal team is crossing Ts and dotting Is, Mom and Dad have been playing tourists in their temporary home.
I double tap to like it.
The emails and texts remind me that I do, in fact, still have parents. But Instagram is where I miss them. With everything going on in the past week, I’ve barely had brain space to think about it, but now I wonder if maybe this was the wrong decision. If I was with them, Nash would’ve continued to exist only in my phone and I wouldn’t be in this mess.
It’s fine.
I’m fine.
I separate the frosting i
nto three bowls and add the appropriate food coloring—black, white, and red. Mix it until it’s the perfect shade of blood red or pitch black. Even though they won’t look like traditional red velvet cupcakes, they’ll still taste like them. When my timer beeps, I pull out the cooled cupcakes in the fridge and swap in the fresh-out-of-the-oven chocolate ones.
Then I fill a piping bag and begin frosting.
Maybe if I make some of them not bloody cupcakes, Gramps can even bring them to Shabbat services.
I know he’s disappointed Ollie and I are not going. We can’t, though. We’re Jewish but we don’t know Hebrew or the melodies of the prayers or the order of the service. Mom and Dad never took us to temple. I’ve already had enough firsts for this week—I’m not ready for another situation where my anxiety will most definitely be on display.
I can’t Shabbat, but I can bake epic cupcakes. That’ll make Gramps happy. It always does.
I snap a picture of the first completed cupcake and send it to Ollie, even though he’s just upstairs—it’s easier than yelling over Kendrick Lamar.
Then, while I wait for him to rush down and give me an opinion, I remember I owe Nash flailing commentary on the new REX panels he emailed me this morning. It’s beautiful and devastating and starting to feel like Rex will never find Terry.
hey! sorry my notes are late, i’m just busy over here sobbing forever!!! seriously.
HOW DARE YOU?
4:31 PM
how does. REX. keep. getting. better???
4:31 PM
*flails*
4:31 PM
Please stop crying
4:32 PM
4:32 PM
Thank you—I think? I hope NYU thinks so
4:33 PM
THEY ABSOLUTELY WILL
4:34 PM
My parents will let me go if I get in? Right?
4:35 PM
i hope so.
4:36 PM
Every time I try to talk about it, I totally freeze.
4:37 PM
mood. they’re THAT against NYU? why? let me guess, your mom has a vendetta because they didn’t accept her a million years ago
What I Like About You Page 5
