“But will I learn the prayers?” Ollie says. “I didn’t even know how to hold the book—the siddur—before tonight.”
Nash nods. “You will. Give it a few Fridays.”
“Also! Still going to plug USY. There are a lot of Reform and secular Jewish kids involved,” Molly says. “I can text you more info.”
She recites her number to me and I plug the digits into my phone. She doesn’t pull hers out, so I’m guessing Molly keeps Shabbat—which means no phones after sundown on the Sabbath. Nash pulls out his phone and … does not ask for my number. Thank God. I mean, Nash and Kels only communicate via DMs and G-Chat. So Nash could have my cell number, theoretically. If I wanted him to. Which I don’t.
Once I’ve saved the number, Molly excuses herself for the bathroom. Ollie gets up to grab more challah, ignoring the look I’m shooting him to keep him in his seat.
It’s just Nash and me. Pretty much a nightmare scenario.
“Molly’s the community outreach chair. She can be kind of intense about it, but it’s okay to say no to the USY stuff. I do it all the time.”
“She thinks I know what USY is,” I say. “I have no clue.”
Nash raises his eyebrows. “United Synagogue Youth. It’s just a youth group for Jewish teens, basically—”
“Yeah, I got that part, obviously. I just didn’t know what the acronym stood for.”
Nash blinks, clearly taken aback by my abruptness. Ugh. Nash is talking to me, unprompted, when I’ve very actively been not talking to him all week. I don’t want to encourage it—but I don’t have to be full-on rude either. Not here. Not on Shabbat. It’s the first time we’ve talked, just the two of us, since the first day of school.
“Thanks,” I say.
I can reset Operation Avoidance on Monday.
“You could’ve just asked Molly,” he says.
“And cut her off in the middle of her spiel? It seemed easier to nod,” I say.
Nash laughs. “Mood.”
I laugh too, and for the smallest moment, it feels like we’re behind our screens. Nash says mood all the time. But we’re not behind screens—we’re here. Together. IRL. And Nash just laughed at something I, Halle, said.
I thought I liked making him lol. But this? His laugh is so much more than lol. The way his eyes crinkle in the corners and he covers his mouth with his hand if he’s laughing too hard. His one dimple.
This is a million times better. And that’s definitely going to be a problem.
Nash peels off the liner of his double dark chocolate cupcake—my cupcake—and I wait for his reaction, my stomach in knots. I don’t know if I want him to like it or not. It feels like a neon sign over my head. Ollie returns to the table just in time to witness the bizarre reality that is Nash eating one my cupcakes.
“Oh my God, this is so good,” he says, his mouth still full of cupcake.
I exhale because I am not a hack—my cupcakes are good. Online, no one gets to taste them.
Molly returns to the table with a red velvet of her own. “Are we talking about the cupcakes? We totally are, right? My God, who made these?”
Ollie is always the first to brag, so I nudge his toe gently before he can, reminding him of our secret—my secret. Instead of the confession, we both shrug and affirm the amazingness.
The four of us talk and laugh and drink an entire bottle of grape juice. Temple Beth Shalom is a happy place and I feel okay, safe, which is weird because I’m only Halle tonight, a complete stranger to Nash. Okay, maybe a familiar acquaintance at this point.
At the end of the night, Molly offers another hug, but this one comes with an invitation.
“You should come bowling with us tomorrow!” Molly says.
If I say statements as questions, Molly does the opposite. She makes statements out of things that should be questions.
“It’s a Saturday night tradition,” she continues.
“Mostly because it’s when Molly is free again.” Nash teases.
“Hashtag Conservadox Problems.”
“You should come,” Nash says, smiling.
His invitation is so earnest—and it’s exactly why I can’t. I have to say no. Tonight was a one-off—spending just five minutes alone with him is already messing with my head. I can’t get too close.
“Rain check?” I ask. “We kind of already have dinner plans with Gramps tomorrow.”
Ollie’s eyebrows scream, No, we don’t!
My pinched lips scream, Shut up, Ollie!
“Oh! Fair enough. Next week, then,” Molly says. “Shabbat Shalom! See you Monday!”
“Night,” Nash says, following her out. I can’t read the expression on his face.
My Kels heart wants me to change my mind.
My Halle head says avoid that boy like the plague.
Nash is Kels’s, not mine, and it needs to stay that way.
September 21
Elle Carter
… have y’all seen this?
7:35 PM
LINK: ALANNA LAFOREST CRITICIZES REVIEWERS WHO CALL FIREFLIES AND YOU PERFECT FOR TEENS AHEAD OF WINTER FILM RELEASE
“While FIREFLIES AND YOU centers on the teen experience, I don’t think it’s fair to assume I wrote this book for teenagers. I want my work to resonate with everyone, whether they’re 13 or 93.”
7:38 PM
HOLY SHIT, KELS. ONE TRUE PASTRY IS MENTIONED
7:40 PM
… excuse me WHAT
7:42 PM
Elle Carter
“That’s quite a statement for LaForest to make, especially when you consider teen fandom launched FIREFLIES AND YOU out from obscurity—starting with the account One True Pastry, when Kels Roth, a viral teen influencer in the YA community, posted a rave review.”
7:45 PM
i … need to lie down.
7:46 PM
Elle Carter
“When this is mentioned to LaForest, she said, ‘And I appreciate my teen following, I truly do. I just don’t think they’re my only audience, and I don’t understand why we put books in a box.’ ”
7:48 PM
Amy Chen
IT’S CALLED POSITIONING YOUR BOOK IN THE MARKETPLACE
7:49 PM
Wow I am so mad!! This is such a bad take. Because writing for teens is somehow LESS THAN.
7:50 PM
Samira Lee
Okay, let’s all agree that this is a trash take but also KELS YOU WERE CITED IN AN EW REPORT. Holy crap!!!
7:52 PM
Amy Chen
How does FAME feel?
7:53 PM
… kind of nauseating, not going to lie.
7:54 PM
SEVEN
Sawyer is behind the counter at Maple Street Sweets, and I instantly second-guess what I am about to do. I watch him through the window, packing orders and chatting with customers, a pastel-blue apron tied around his waist.
I chew on my lower lip, wiping sweaty palms against my jeans. Maple Street Sweets was supposed to be a solution, not a problem. A place where I can bake, since Gramps’s kitchen is off-limits.
But clearly, I need a Plan B. Maple Street Sweets isn’t safe if Sawyer works here.
“Seriously, Hal?” Ollie says, exasperated.
“I’m good. Just give me a sec,” I say.
I don’t know why I didn’t connect Maple Street Sweets to Sawyer. I know that Sawyer’s parents own the best bakery in Middleton. I know that Maple Street Sweets is, without a doubt, the best bakery in Middleton.
The first time Grams and I stumbled into this bakery was the summer after I turned twelve, in need of an immediate sugar fix. It was brand-new then. It’s part of the Main Street Shoppes—“a giant tourist trap” according to Gramps, who hates the spike in population during the summer months. Middleton is close to the beach without being a beach, making it the perfect affordable alternative for a family vacation, but Maple Street Sweets is a year-round draw.
It’s quiet in the bakery for a Sunday mornin
g—typically, a line wraps around the L-shaped counter and ends out the front door. The first time I visited the bakery, I fell in love with the three pink walls, the cake-patterned wallpaper on the fourth, and the way the white countertops gleamed in contrast with the dark wood of the tables and chairs. But mostly, I fell in love with the rainbow of cupcakes behind the cases and the cinnamon-sugar scent that refuses to fade.
Last week, after the Cupcake Incident, I noticed there was a HELP WANTED sign plastered on the front door, so I picked up an application and decided this job, this place where I can bake freely without breaking Gramps’s heart, is mine.
But Sawyer’s presence is a sign that screams no. He’s Nash’s friend. I should not be getting any closer to the people in Nash’s life and creating more opportunities for slipups. Also, working in a bakery is too on-brand for Kels. Totally suspicious.
Still—maybe the rewards outweigh the risk. I can bake in a real professional kitchen. And I’ll have money that’s mine. I have a savings account, filled with money from birthdays and holidays, but I’ve never had a job, apart from helping out on Mom and Dad’s sets.
It’ll round out my NYU application. Colleges love teens with a good work ethic who seem to balance it all.
The scale in my mind tips and my decision is made.
“Okay, let’s do this.”
I pull down the hem of my Gryffinclaw T-shirt and smooth down my hair. Fix Grams’s necklace so it’s not sitting on the clasp. Before I change my mind, I reach for the door, ready to swing it open and march inside.
“Wait,” Ollie says.
“What?”
He drums his fingers against his thigh.
“Sawyer does have an effect on people.”
Ollie blushes. “Shut up. He’s captain of the baseball team.”
“Is he?”
“Do you live under a rock?”
“It’s not baseball season!”
“I just need to get on his radar, you know? Please don’t embarrass me,” Ollie says.
I roll my eyes, but brother-sister banter centers me. When we approach Sawyer, the nervous butterflies are gone, and I just want to get this whole interaction over with.
“Oh hey, Hal-lee, how can I help you?”
Ollie interjects. “Hi. I’m Ollie. Halle’s brother. Yeah. Um.”
He holds out his hand to shake and Sawyer takes it and oh my God where is my brother? Swear to God, Ollie’s ears are bright pink and I am loving every moment of this. He’ll snap into character, I’m sure, but his fumbling shows that he does have the awkward Levitt genes inside him, deep down.
“I’m just dropping off an application,” I say.
“Sweet! I can take it from you, no problem.”
I hand him the papers. Instead of doing whatever it is you’re supposed to do with new applications, Sawyer starts reading through mine. Right in front of me. Which I’m pretty sure is a violation of something. I think. Yeah.
“Availability looks good—is there any time that will change? Any sports? Theater?” Sawyer asks. “It’s cool if there is. My parents just prefer a heads-up on any seasonal extracurriculars.”
“Um,” I say. “Nope, no sports. Or theater.” Group activities give me hives.
“I play baseball,” Ollie says, even though nobody asked.
“Dude, yes!” Sawyer moves in for a fist bump and Ollie relaxes. “We need some fresh blood on the team. What position?”
“Center field.”
“Are you free this afternoon?” Sawyer asks. “I’m out at one—let’s hit the batting cages.”
“Sure.” Ollie my brother is back. Cool. Calm. Casual. As if this moment isn’t everything his little baseball heart had hoped for and more.
He’s totally, without a doubt, dying inside.
They exchange cell phone numbers and coordinate plans and, wow, Ollie is good. I don’t even have Sawyer’s number yet, and I’ve sat with him at lunch every day. At school, he’s Molly and Sawyer, so to be honest, having Molly’s number in my phone is like having Sawyer’s, too. But still.
“So when can you start?” Sawyer asks me.
“Whenever.”
“You’re hired.”
I laugh, because that’s so not how this works. Sawyer cannot just hire me; I need to botch an interview first, at the very least.
“Yeah, okay,” I say, skeptical.
He makes a face at me, like I’ve wounded his ego or something. “I mean it. It’s my parents’ bakery, you know? So if you want the job, it’s yours.”
“You can do that?” I ask.
“Technically, no. Practically, yeah. Be right back.”
Sawyer folds my application in half and disappears into the kitchen. I don’t even have time to process what is happening before he returns with a stapled packet in his hand.
“Start the paperwork,” he says. “At school tomorrow, get a work permit from the office. It needs to be signed by a parent or guardian. Fill everything out, and boom. You are employed.”
“Okay,” I say. “Thanks.”
“Cool. I’ll have Dad, ahem, Mr. Davidson, give the final okay when he comes in later today. Let me …” His voice trails off and his attention shifts to another sheet of paper. “Can you start Wednesday?”
That seems so fast and I am not prepared for any of this. But I have a ton of reviews to bake for and this is my only shot, so I swallow that answer and say, “Sounds good.”
“Cool,” Sawyer says again. “Welcome aboard!”
“Thank you,” I say. “Seriously.”
“Of course!” He looks at Ollie. “See you later?”
“Yup.” Ollie’s pupils practically have heart-eye emojis in them.
“I’ll see you around,” I say, trying to be casual.
Sawyer nods. “See ya, Hal-lee.”
I exit Maple Street Sweets high on cinnamon sugar and having a job. So on the car ride back to Gramps’s, Ollie and I blast music and freak out.
“I have a job!” I say.
Ollie pumps his fist in the air. “I’m going to make varsity!”
Then his face falls. “Wait. Why did you let me agree to go hit with him?”
I turn down the music. “What?”
“He’s so cool and he’s captain,” Ollie says. “What if I botch this? I’m out of practice.”
“He has a girlfriend, you know,” I say.
He flips me off. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”
“Ol, you got this. I promise. Baseball is like breathing for you. And as for the social part, he’s nice. You’re nice. He’s funny. You’re funny. If there are any awkward moments, well, just start speaking baseball. But it won’t even get awkward. Because you’ve got this.”
Ollie breathes. I crank the music again.
“It’s just baseball,” Ollie shouts over the music, which confirms it is so not just baseball.
“Keep telling yourself that,” I say. “Admit it. You have a crush on Sawyer.”
“Crush is a strong word.”
“Lust?”
We burst out laughing because it’s true and because Ollie will never admit it, especially since I’ve referred to Sawyer as cute once or twice. We can’t have the same taste in anything, let alone guys. He didn’t talk to me for a week after I discovered he followed my Les Misérables Spotify playlist.
Ollie turns the music back down. “Gramps doesn’t need to know,” he says. “Most days, I don’t even know, and he’ll want to label it and I’m not ready for that.”
“Okay,” I say.
“I mean—I want to figure it out before I tell him. If I do.”
I nod. “Totally.”
“And, Hal? Thank you for saving my ass back there. I don’t know what happened.”
“I do,” I say, wiggling my eyebrows.
Ollie rolls his eyes but cannot for the life of him wipe the stupid smile off his face.
Neither can I, honestly. I am giddy the entire drive home because I have a job I can be excited abo
ut.
A job where I can almost be Kels, for real.
* * *
If I could work at Maple Street Sweets every day, I think I would.
Okay, so it’s only been a week, but I’m so in love.
It’s Saturday afternoon and I’m behind the counter, taking orders and making recommendations along with Sawyer. Our cupcake of the day—vanilla bean with rosemary lilac frosting—sells out by noon. It is a line-out-the-door kind of day and at this rate it’ll be six p.m. before I blink.
Diana Davidson is behind the register and Max, her husband, is in the kitchen checking inventory.
Sawyer’s parents are the coolest. On what I thought would be my first day, I actually just met with Diana for an informal interview over coffee and cupcakes. I started to freak out, but it didn’t take long for my stomach to untangle and my hands to uncurl from fists because Diana gets it—gets me. With the help of the magical red velvet cupcake I consumed, I breezed through our chat. I showed her a few images of my One True Pastry cupcakes—shots that were never posted, of course—and that sealed the deal.
I am guaranteed at least twelve hours a week, I get a key to the shop so I can open on weekends, and best of all, I’m allowed to use the kitchen after hours, so long as it looks pristine when I leave.
The first time I saw the kitchen, I almost passed out it’s so beautiful. All the equipment is state of the art with its convection oven and cooling racks and multiple industrial cake mixers. Seriously, it’s next level.
There’s thankfully not much time for chatting with Sawyer during rush hour, so we spend most of the afternoon on autopilot. There are a lot of people in the small space, but in moments when I start to feel overwhelmed, I inhale the scent of fresh-baked cupcakes and pretend I’m in the kitchen, and everything is okay.
At last, it slows down around five p.m.
“Kitchen duty,” Diana calls and Sawyer groans.
Diana’s Mom Smirk is on fire today. “Halle can help too, after her break. Show her how we clean the mixers.”
“Fine,” Sawyer says, pushing the EMPLOYEES ONLY door to the kitchen open.
I head to the back room for my fifteen and the chance to finally check my phone.
The break room is super basic, with a row of lockers for employees and two circular tables with four plastic pink chairs at each. I spin my combination lock, swing the door open, and reach into my GO AWAY I’M READING tote bag for my phone.
What I Like About You Page 7
