What I Like About You

by Marisa Kanter

  “Dad,” I say, emotion thick in my voice.

  My parents know about One True Pastry—I just had no idea they paid attention to it.

  “Wow,” Mom says. “That was unfairly good. How do I follow that?”

  “You’re the only one who thinks a reality check is necessary,” Dad says.

  I smile. I miss Mom and Dad banter.

  “It is,” Mom says. “Halle. Listen to me. One college does not determine the course of your life. If you don’t get into NYU, you will be okay. There are other options! You could take a gap year. Just remember, you have options—and you’re lucky that you do.”

  “I know,” I say.

  It’s true. I do know.

  But knowing isn’t going to minimize NYU stress. It’s just not.

  Mom sighs into the phone. “Ugh—I’m so sorry to cut this short, but Tavi needs us for more last-minute interviews.”

  “Last minute?” I ask.

  “It’s our last day at Kinneret,” Dad says. “Tomorrow we’re heading to Naama.”

  “It’s all in the emails.” Mom’s delivery is blasé, but I hear the disappointment.

  “I’ll read them,” I promise. “I’ll answer them, too.”

  “Thanks, babe. We love you!”

  “Travel safe. I love you too,” I say.

  We disconnect and, wow, do I wish my parents weren’t an ocean away. I wish I could have an Ari Pep Talk and Mad Reality Check every time I need it.

  I wish it were enough to make me put away the practice tests.

  My eyes focus on the last one I took, blurring around the 600 math score. I am a 600. That’s me. How can I not put pressure on myself when NYU might throw my application in the rejection pile before they even read about One True Pastry? They receive a ridiculous number of applications—so many that their acceptance rate decreases every year. Before I’m a person, I’m a number.

  “Hal?” Gramps’s voice is behind me. He took Ollie out for breakfast this morning to give me some space to study. I didn’t even hear them come back.

  I can’t look at him. “I—”

  Gramps closes my laptop and tucks it under his arm. Places his other hand on my shoulder to steady me. “I think we need a day off from this.”

  Gramps heads upstairs with my laptop and locks it in his room and I don’t even protest. If Dad were here, he would’ve pulled the same thing. It’s a relief, honestly. Gramps has been so refreshingly Gramps lately. Not always. He still has days where he’d rather be alone. But his concern right now? It’s everything. When he returns, he goes straight to the freezer, pulling out a brand-new tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream. Then he pulls a bowl out of the cabinet and a metal spoon from the silverware drawer.

  “Gramps, it’s not even noon,” I say.

  His eyebrows raise. “It’s never too early for ice cream.”

  “I don’t think that’s an actual thing.”

  Gramps pauses scooping. Looks at me. “Are you rejecting ice cream?”

  I shake my head. “No. I’ll stop talking.”

  “Good.” Gramps pushes all my college stuff into a messy pile and takes a seat next to me at the table, placing my bowl of ice cream in front of me. “Do you have any plans today?”

  I take a spoonful of ice cream. “I’m helping Autumn with her portfolio piece for film school. But that’s not until later.”

  I didn’t expect to miss Le Crew while Nash and I weren’t speaking. I was so nervous returning to their lunch table after weeks of library lunches, but they acted like I’d never left. Which I’m pretty sure means they missed me too. I don’t know. I’m not exactly used to navigating these friendship feels. But I am glad to be back.

  Yesterday, I sent Autumn notes on her script, as promised, and wow, she is bad at dialogue. But her concept is amazing—and the idea of being on a film set tonight is more exciting than I’ll ever admit out loud. My college future feels so out of my control, it’ll be nice to focus on someone else’s.

  “Next Harry Potter?” Gramps asks.

  I nod.

  Gramps is such a Potterhead and he never even knew it. He resisted the hype even though Grams could not have been a bigger fan, but now we’ve been making our way through the movies, one each weekend. Now that he’s actually giving them a shot, he’s obsessed. We’re working our way through my boxed set and Gramps asks me a million questions, wants everyone’s origin stories, the whole nine yards.

  It’s kind of adorable.

  Last week, he made me take the sorting hat quiz for him.

  He’s a Hufflepuff.

  “But the only cool Hufflepuffs died!”

  Gramps has yet to come to terms with his Puff-ness.

  We transition to the living room, ice cream bowls in hand. I set up Order of the Phoenix while Gramps takes his preferred couch corner, Scout claiming her spot in the middle.

  “Ready?” I ask, popping the DVD into the player.

  “I don’t know. How much more can this poor kid be put through?”

  “Four more movies worth of sweet, sweet torture.”

  I settle into my spot on the couch and scoop a giant spoonful of ice cream. For the next few hours, there is no college anxiety, no One True Pastry, no wondering if Nash is texting Halle or Kels—or worse, both, now that we’re friends. I shut everything out and focus on Harry, whose problems are infinitely worse than mine, tbh.

  But honestly, it’s watching Gramps that’s the best distraction.

  * * *

  After Harry has defeated Voldemort once again, Autumn is filming her masterpiece at Maple Street Sweets, and it’s all hands on deck.

  Actors have been recruited from the MHS drama club—two juniors, Lil Rivera and Monique Jackson, are Autumn’s stars.

  Molly handles all aspects of design—set, costumes, hair, and makeup. Sawyer bakes two dozen cupcakes to have on standby. Nash sets up grip and electric. And I have the distinct honor of being Autumn’s AD—assistant director—as well as the resident reviser of scripts. I don’t even realize how much I miss being behind a camera until I’m holding one in my hand again. The equipment may be amateur and, okay, we’re shooting a five-minute narrative, not a ninety-minute documentary, but it’s fun using this part of my brain again.

  Autumn’s film is called Look Down, Swipe Right. “OBJECTIVE: Queer WOC on a date because WE EXIST” is written in Autumn’s handwriting at the top of the storyboard attached to my clipboard.

  If it comes out the way it looks in my head, she’s getting into USC. It is current—the use of dating apps and cell phones as both an initiating and distracting device. It is sweet (cupcakes!) and it is light (seriously, why is every portfolio piece on YouTube so dark?). Yet there’s a depth to it—not a coming-out story, but a first-date story.

  I’m trying to set the white balance on the camera when Nash jumps into the frame and strikes the most ridiculous pose.

  “Hey,” he says.

  “Not camera shy. Noted.”

  Every time I pivot to reposition the camera to focus on the white backdrop, Nash follows the lens. His lips are tinted frosting blue and I’m shaking my head like, If you’re going to eat the props, at least be more stealth about it? Maybe?

  I let the camera hang heavily around my neck and put my hand on my hip, half annoyed. “I’m trying to white balance.”

  “What’s that?” Nash asks.

  “It’s so the camera understands the lighting of the room, basically. There’s a setting for incandescent light already, but my parents taught me to never trust the presets. So I always do it manually.”

  Nash is perplexed. “You need to tell a camera that white is white?”

  “Yeah. Look.” I hold the camera up, pointing it toward Autumn and Molly, putting the finishing touches on the date-night table set. “See how everything is kind of tinted yellow? It means the last time Autumn used it, she was probably shooting outside in natural light. Our eyes compensate for this light change automatically, but the camera needs help. So …
” I point the camera back toward the white backdrop and scroll through the menu to the white balance setting. Accept the changes, and pivot back to get Molly and Autumn in the shot. “We white balance.”

  Nash looks ridiculously impressed, like I’m speaking in quantum theory or something. “That looks so much better. Why don’t I know this?”

  I shrug. “It only matters to professionals. Our phones do it for us.”

  Nash jumps back in front of the camera. “How do I look? Now that I’m properly white balanced?”

  “Your blue lips really pop now,” I say.

  “I’m going to pretend you said the camera loves me,” Nash says.

  It does.

  “The cupcakes are for the film, you know.”

  “Autumn said they’re for talent. As Hetero Boy Number Six, I’d argue I qualify as talent.”

  I turn the camera off and pop the cover on the lens. “Nash is also a diva. Noted.”

  This is what we’re like now. Behind a screen, we actively stress about NYU and gossip about the latest publishing drama. In real life, I’m still anxious and awkward, but also surprisingly good at bantering with Nash.

  In both worlds, Nash is my friend.

  It’s kind of a perfect situation as long as I don’t think about it too hard.

  Nash looks like he’s about to retort, but he’s cut off by the sharp pitch of Autumn’s whistle. She’s standing on a chair, looking authoritative AF, and announces that we’re ready to go, filming is about to commence, quiet on the set.

  “Thanks for the camera lesson, Upstate,” Nash whispers before moving to his assigned post.

  The buzz of chatter settles into quiet as everyone disperses to their designated spots. Nash’s is by the counter with the rest of the Hetero Boys. Mine is by Autumn’s side. I hand her the camera and give her the rundown of the settings I’ve selected, all based on her instructions. She double-checks anyway. I’m not offended; it’s what any good director would do. It’s her film, after all.

  She looks at me. “Am I ready?”

  I nod. “You’re ready.”

  Autumn smiles at me. “Let’s do this.”

  The next few hours are a blur of cinematography and cupcakes. First, we shoot a montage of boys for the opening scene in which the camera is Lil’s eyes. With each new boy, each new date, the shot doesn’t change—only the face at the center. Tall boys and short boys and black boys and Asian boys and multiracial boys (Nash) and blonde boys (Sawyer). In editing, I imagine these shots will be cut like a flip book.

  Cut into this montage will be shots of Lil’s phone under the table. First, we’re not sure what Lil is doing, but as the dates continue it becomes clear that she is swiping through girls on a dating app. She swipes right and matches with Monique, and after suffering through a string of boring hetero dates, we move into the final scene we’re shooting now, Lil and Monique’s first date.

  “Think about how much of our life we spend looking down,” Autumn says.

  She’s standing on the second to highest step of a ladder, her Nikon D800 pointed downward to capture an aerial shot of two heads looking at their phones—cupcakes uneaten and coffee cups full. Autumn captures cinematic angles of Lil and Monique holding their phones under the table. Lil and Monique laugh off the awkwardness as they realize okay, yeah—they’re both still swiping through Bumble. More laughter as they decide to place their phones on the table—facedown—and finally, talk.

  It’s beautiful, I think.

  The magic is going to be in how Autumn captures the moment. Whenever I have an idea for a different camera angle or a creative shot, I suggest it. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t—but it’s so fun to be a voice behind the camera again.

  But this is different from working on my parents’ docs. Those were so professional, so detailed as to be predictable after a while. Not in content but in process. Working on Autumn’s film with Le Crew is all about discovering the unknown. I learn Molly is an incredible designer—she handmade the dresses Lil and Monique are wearing. Sawyer has an unexpected eye for light design, and by the end of the shoot he’s adjusting the placement of a light for each scene without me even needing to ask. Nash is stupidly charismatic on camera even with just two lines, and I’m grateful Autumn is the one with the camera in her hand, controlling the shots.

  Three hours later, Autumn says, “That’s a wrap!”

  In my head, the final shot of Look Down, Swipe Right zooms out on Lil and Monique through the bakery window and everything slowly fades to black.

  * * *

  Less than twenty-four hours later, Le Crew is back at Maple Street Sweets after hours—this time, though, we’re off camera, eating takeout pizza and studying for the SATs. Except no one besides me is actually, you know, studying. The exam is being administered next weekend and all seniors are taking an in-class practice test tomorrow. I pretty much need to accept my 600 math section fate, but I’m stubborn. So more practice tests it is.

  “… I mean, it’s easy money and I’m building a portfolio so, like, win-win,” Nash says.

  I’m scoring practice test number three, but my focus shifts from the College Board to Nash and Molly’s conversation. It’s everything Kels already knows—Nash is turning his art skills into a business. Still, it’s cool hearing Nash talk about Outside the Lines out loud.

  “At this rate, I’ll have enough in no time,” he says.

  Molly sighs loudly and it’s extra.

  “For your applications?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “Have you heard of BookCon?”

  I almost choke on pizza crust.

  “BookCon?” I ask.

  “It’s, like, this giant epic conference for YA fandom. Every major publisher is there, there are tons of author signings, and you’re allowed to fill suitcases with books. It’s basically the Holy Land.”

  “He’s not going for fandom,” Molly says.

  “He’s going for a girl,” Sawyer adds.

  Nash throws popcorn at them. “Shut up.” He looks at me and hesitates, like he can’t believe he’s about to tell me whatever he’s going to tell me. “You know my cupcake bookstagrammer friend? We met online—”

  “Kels,” Autumn interrupts. “Her name is Kels.”

  “It’s not weird, I swear,” Nash says. “We like each other’s blogs, and we’ve been best friends for years, but we haven’t met yet. Well, we applied for this blogger panel. It’s a long shot for me, but not for Kels. She’s pretty popular. I’m, um, kind of hoping we meet there. Either way.”

  I process Nash’s words. Either way.

  It’s not like I forgot about BookCon. It’s just—clearly, I haven’t been thinking about it as much as Nash has.

  “It’s not weird, I swear,” Nash repeats.

  “It’s a little weird,” Molly says. “I mean, no one even knows who Kels really is.”

  Nash looks at Molly like this is a constant point of tension in their friendship; like he’s so tired of having this conversation. “I do, though. In the ways that matter, at least.”

  Autumn grades our practice exams.

  Molly rolls her eyes.

  Sawyer gags.

  “I don’t think it’s weird,” I say quietly.

  “Thanks,” Nash says. His ears are tinted pink with embarrassment, but his smile is sincere. The subject changes, thank God, and I’m just sitting here in silence, still pretending to work on another stupid practice test while I try to process what this means.

  “… You should! Please, Halle.”

  My attention snaps up from my test to Molly, who is making puppy dog eyes at me.

  I have no clue why, but I pity Sawyer because it’s an extremely hard face to resist.

  “Okay?” I answer.

  “Oh my God, seriously?” Molly pumps her fists and yells, “Victory!”

  “Um.” What did I agree to?

  Autumn smirks. “You just got her out of the Kung Fu Panda marathon she’s been putting off since Rosh Hashan
ah.”

  Nash shakes his head. “Now I have to watch five hours of Kung Fu Panda.”

  Molly is doing a victory dance around the bakery.

  “Molly bet that she’d get you to come bowling with us before Nash could,” Sawyer says.

  “Oh,” I say, a bit blindsided. I really wish they’d stop making bets about me.

  “It’s cool,” Nash says. “I’m just glad you’re coming.”

  Molly, high on her victory, sets a timer and insists that we settle in for an actual practice round. Pencils scratch against paper and calculators crunch answers around me but I can’t even comprehend question one. Occasionally, my eyes shift to Nash, watching him answer questions with scrunched eyebrows through my peripheral vision.

  I should cross my fingers behind my back and hope I don’t get the panel.

  But I can’t. I want BookCon to want me so bad.

  Even if it’s a complication, I can’t pretend I’d pass up this opportunity. I won’t.

  It’s been weeks and people are still engaging with my Read Between the Lies content. Fireflies and You hype has dwindled since Alanna’s been quiet, and the next YA publishing scandal has since unfolded and the discourse has moved on, for now. One True Pastry is more perfect than it’s ever been.

  Which makes me believe Kels has a shot at BookCon. For real.

  The BookCon gods are emailing me in December, either way.

  I need to tell Nash the truth, before this theoretical problem becomes a real one.

  November 15

  Elle Carter

  HI. AN EDITOR TOOK MY MANUSCRIPT TO SECOND READS

  5:28 PM

  Amy Chen

  elle. oh my GOD

  5:29 PM

  Elle Carter

  I mean, it probably won’t amount to anything. But it COULD.

  5:31 PM

  Samira Lee

  Positive thinking only, please!

  5:32 PM

  Amy Chen

  can we video chat ASAP? please? TONIGHT???

  5:35 PM