What I Like About You
Page 19
But now, we share them whenever Something Big happens. Like the morning Mad and Ari got their first nomination. Or the day last year when Ollie kissed Mark Lieberman under the bleachers after hitting the game-winning home run. Or the first time One True Pastry got a shout-out from an author on Twitter.
And now, hours after Nash said, I’m so into you.
It’s definitely a Toy Story occasion.
Ollie looks up from his screen. “Wait. What did he say when you told him? I mean, you’re glowing, so it must’ve not been terrible, right? He understood? Everything is great?”
I chew my lower lip. “Oh. I mean—”
As soon as it clicks, all enthusiasm drains from his face.
“Halle.”
“I know.”
He speaks slowly. Emphatic. Like I’m a toddler. “You’re going to BookCon. Kels got the panel. So I really think it’s time—”
“I almost did, okay?”
I figure even though I failed, telling Ollie how close I was to spilling my soul will get him off my back.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know, I tried to bring up Kels—but he shut it down and called his feelings for her, um, me, imaginary internet bullshit. I don’t know, he was all Kels isn’t real, and I just … Maybe he’s right. Maybe she never was.”
“Kels isn’t real. Not if you don’t own it.”
I ugh into a pillow. I want to ride the high of last night before reality sets in. Like, why can’t Ollie be happy for me for two seconds before the patronizing begins?
“Until you tell him,” Ollie says, “stop talking about Nash to me. You can’t have it both ways. Now you’re legit just playing him.”
“Fine,” I say, standing up and storming out of his room. “Done.”
We don’t watch Toy Story.
* * *
Instead, I’m dealing with the Fireflies and You fandom.
I can’t be on hiatus indefinitely—especially not if people think my silence is complicit. It’s not even people’s opinions who matter—it’s Autumn’s. Autumn thinks my silence is support. Yesterday, I proved to her in actions that it’s not.
Today, I want to prove it to her in words.
So I spend my morning putting together a blog post that is very much Not About Fireflies and You and shoot a tweet off into the ether before I can overthink it.
Kels @OneTruePastry 2s
it’s heartbreaking when an author you loved disappoints you. did I see fireflies & you? yes! will i be talking about it? no! instead, here’s a list of incredible authors who shout about how much they LOVE writing YA.
|
Kels @OneTruePastry 1s
my F&Y feelings are vast and complicated, but that’s no excuse to keep giving the author a platform. silence is absolutely not my brand & i’m sorry to anyone who has been hurt by mine.
It’s not enough, but it’s a start, so I mute Twitter notifications on the tweet, close my laptop, and turn my attention to the messages that have accumulated on my phone while I’ve been in OTP land. I blink at the sheer number of notifications, for Halle. I’m used to Kels’s messages blowing up—for me to have so many notifications is a relatively new concept.
Autumn Williams
Um? Why is Nash only communicating in nonsensical emojis??
11:39am
Molly Jacobson
Wtf did I miss?!?!
11:42am
Autumn Williams
HALLE
11:51am
Autumn and Molly must be dying.
Then, I see:
Nash Kim
Hey
12:17pm
Such a dork.
Then again, I am alone in my room and blushing so hard from a text that just says “Hey.”
So who’s the dork, really?
I tap out of my texts and into my OTP email, which I’ve been trying to be a lot better about since almost missing the BookCon email. If I answer their texts right now I’ll go straight down a squee rabbit hole.
I browse through until I see one subject line that reads: unique cupcake inquiry!
It’s from Ariel Goldberg’s publicist.
I read the email and the speed of my heart triples and oh my God, what even? It was one thing to host a cover reveal for her. Now Ariel Goldberg wants One True Pastry cupcakes, my cupcakes, at her book launch? And it’s in Boston.
I screenshot the email to send to Nash and Amy, Elle, and Samira.
Then I don’t send it. No one wants to geek out with Kels right now. Nash and Kels aren’t speaking. Amy, Elle, and Samira called me out literally last week for ghosting Nash. I can’t tell Molly or Autumn because they don’t know I’m Kels either. I can’t even run into Ollie’s room and scream with him. Everything is off, everything is tense—and for the first time, my phone is in my hand, and Halle’s not alone.
Kels is.
I reread the email instead. Can I do this? It wouldn’t be me in a front of a crowd, but it puts my work out there. I read the date again, hardly believing my luck. The offer, the date, the timeline—the stars have aligned and I, Kels, have an early opportunity to test the waters and make a splash in the real world before my BookCon debut.
My followers are going to love this. This is my chance to take OTP’s brand to the next level. OTP fans eating OTP cupcakes. How cool is that? It’s not for three whole months, plenty of time to daydream up which flavors to make, what the perfect cake/frosting combos would be for Ariel Goldberg’s launch party.
My phone buzzes—it’s Nash, again. For Halle.
How have I not answered his texts yet?
Nash Kim
Wake upppp
1:45 PM
I’m awake!
1:48 PM
Hi
1:48 PM
Oh hey! Finally!
1:39 PM
Are you busy before Shabbat?
1:40 PM
Nope!
1:41 PM
Nope exclamation point? I seriously have no chill.
Cool.
1:42 PM
?
1:45 PM
It’s a surprise. Pick you up in an hour?
1:51 PM
Okay!
1:51 PM
Is this going to be our first date? Do I get to go on dates with Nash now?
Instead of spiraling, I shift my focus back to One True Pastry. Edit some new cupcake cover reveals in Photoshop. Avoid Twitter and draft an email to send to Alyssa Monday morning, during business hours. It’s probably a world record for longest amount of time to type up an email one hundred words or less. I read and reread it until I am positive there are no errors, positive I don’t sound too unprofessional or use too many exclamation points.
I love exclamation points, okay?
I’ll probably rewrite it again in the morning, but I save it as a draft for now.
Then, I reread Alyssa’s email and Nash’s texts and swoon—though over cupcakes or him, I’m not quite sure.
Halle and Nash, January 3
OMG can’t stop won’t stop reading THE SAPPHIRE PRINCE. Thanks for introducing me to my new favorite series!!!
12:31 AM
And for introducing me to A Novel Idea. How does Middleton not have its own independent bookstore?
12:33 AM
It’s a tragedy I’ve been mourning for YEARS
12:35 AM
Oh! You’re still awake.
12:37 AM
Reading too?
12:39 AM
Working on REX
12:40 AM
Well, trying to anyways. It’s kind of hard to focus on anything right now.
12:40 AM
Yeah, I know what you mean.
12:41 AM
How far are you into TSP?
12:42 AM
Truth? I haven’t even started yet. I just wanted an excuse to text you
12:44 AM
LOL
12:45 AM
BRB FOREVER WHY AM I SO AWKWARD
/>
12:47 AM
Halle?
12:48 AM
Nash?
12:50 AM
I had so much fun today.
12:51 AM
Me too
12:52 AM
NINETEEN
It’s been six weeks since the first kiss.
Five weeks and six days since our first independent bookstore date.
And thirty-four days since Nash Kim became my boyfriend.
It’s such a weird word to type and think and say out loud. Boyfriend. Because nothing about my Halle life has changed. We still eat lunch in the same seats at the same table. I still sit two rows behind him at Friday night services. I still crush everyone at bowling on Saturdays, and Nash still drives.
We just kiss now. A lot.
Also, Nash and I have a dinner date with his parents every Tuesday while Gramps is teaching.
Tonight, we’re having beef bulgogi lettuce wraps—David cooks the best Korean food from scratch. The four of us sit around the table, passing food and making small talk. Well, Nash’s parents talk—about how much Middleton has changed over the years, about Nash. I listen. Chew my food slowly and sip on water and try to make my anxiety chill. Nash’s parents are nice. Really nice. It’s just, what even are appropriate topics of conversation to have with your boyfriend’s parents? I have no idea.
I mean, I have known Andrea and Dave for years, really, but only as the composites that Nash constantly complains about. In my caricature of Nash’s parents, they have clouds over their heads. But Andrea has a kind smile and loves to embarrass Nash. And David cracks basic dad jokes and loves to embarrass himself. Still, it’s easier just to nod along and answer any direct questions than introduce my own topic.
“Halle,” Andrea says, passing me a plate of lettuce wraps for seconds. The way she pauses after she says my name, I know it’s time to brace for a Casual College Talk. It happens every week. “Did Nash tell you we’re going to tour Wesleyan this weekend?”
I take two pieces of lettuce and nod. “He told me.”
Nash didn’t tell me so much as lament to me. I try to make eye contact with him, but he’s turned his attention to his food like it’s a plating challenge on Top Chef—so focused on achieving the perfect beef-to-veggie ratio. I understand. Admissions decisions loom near. The closer it gets, the more Andrea and David want to talk about it.
“It’s such a beautiful campus,” Andrea says.
“We know,” Nash says.
Wesleyan is twenty minutes away.
Painfully close, Nash wallowed. Like, live at home close.
“Clearly, Nash can’t wait,” David says. “His enthusiasm? It’s too much!”
Andrea shakes her head. “Sure, we drive by Wesleyan all the time, but it’s not a tour. You need to see the classrooms! Talk to current students about campus life! Try to imagine yourself there! At least be engaged in this process.”
“It almost feels like we’re the ones applying to college,” David says.
Andrea turns her attention toward me. “Did you go on any college tours, Halle?”
I shake my head. “Not officially, but when I was twelve, my grandmother took me around NYU. And I kind of just knew.”
Andrea crumples a napkin in her hand. “When you were twelve?”
“Yeah. I remember just having this feeling when I was there. I can’t explain it. My family has always moved around, so I have a weird relationship with the idea of home. But walking around NYU with my grandmother? That day felt like home. Or at least the possibility of it.”
Nash shoots me a look, like he’s grateful the conversation has pivoted away from him.
David points his fork at Nash. “Maybe you’ll have a feeling this weekend, Nash.”
Nash shakes his head and stands, bringing our empty plates to the sink. “The only feeling I have right now concerns finding out what happens to Eleven in the next episode of Stranger Things. I’m so stressed. Seriously.”
I drum my fingers against my thigh and count thirty-four seconds of silence.
“Very funny,” Andrea says, finishing her glass of wine.
David begins clearing the table too. “Well, I guess you’d better go do that. If you’re so stressed.”
“I truly am.”
Nash grabs my hand and leads me away from the kitchen, away from Andrea and David and their not-so Casual College Talks.
* * *
“You can’t keep doing that.”
We’re in Nash’s basement, hanging out like we do after the dinners that have become more and more awkward with each passing week. Usually, the best part about Tuesday nights at Nash’s is after dinner, because we always get at least two full hours of alone. His basement is a media room—the perfect spot to, um, binge watch a Netflix series.
“I’m not doing anything,” Nash says.
He turns on the TV and sits next to me on the floor, our backs pressed against the cool leather chair. There isn’t a couch, just four matching chairs that recline, almost like movie theater seats. We opt for the carpeted rug, padding it with blankets and a deflated beanbag because the chairs are definitely made for one-person occupancy—trust me, we tried.
“Do you even know what episode of Stranger Things we’re on?” I ask. “Because I definitely don’t.”
Remote in hand, he clicks into the series page. “No clue.”
“Nash.” I reach for his hand. Cover it with mine. “Your parents seem worried. I really think you should—”
I stop short. What? I really think you should tell your parents about NYU? Because I totally am an authority when it comes to honesty.
“I know,” Nash says. “If I get in.”
“Okay, but—”
“Halle.” Nash rotates his hand in mine so our fingers intertwine. “Please. Can’t we just watch Stranger Things?”
Then Nash leans in and kisses me and I know I shouldn’t let him off the hook this easily, but it’s literally impossible to focus when his mouth is on mine, so I do. Of course I do. Because this TV time is the only time we’re alone for, like, an entire week. I didn’t realize until I wanted to spend all my free time kissing Nash’s face that we are never, in fact, alone.
Nash breaks the kiss and stands up and I don’t know why because we literally just got down here.
“Pause. I want to show you something,” he says. “I’ll be right back.”
I sit up and wrap my arms around my knees. “This’d better be good.”
Nash runs up the stairs two at time. I run my fingers through my hair to detangle its unruly waves. Count the beats of my heart until it steadies. Then I use the moment alone to check the stats on the latest OTP post. Kels’s hiatus is over, but besides keeping up with One True Pastry’s post schedule, I’m quiet online. My NYU app is in, my numbers are maintaining, thanks to Kels’s response to the Alanna drama being overwhelmingly well received. It’s never been better to be Halle, so it seems like as long as I’m actively posting engaging content, no one really cares if I reply to every tweet.
Every day I’m with Nash, Kels feels less and less real.
I almost forget I still have a very real problem. Almost.
The basement door swings open and I swipe out of all Kels content. Nash reappears at my side with his laptop and a sketchpad.
“Hey,” Nash says.
“Hi.”
He opens his laptop and swallows before turning the screen toward me.
I freeze and breathe because I need to react in a normal way, in a Halle way.
It’s REX—the very first panel he posted two years ago. I’m so invested in the current series, I’ve never gone back to the beginning. It’s good. Of course it’s good. But it’s also cool to see the improvement from the more amateur early work to his current stuff that, well, looks professional.
It has 454K views.
“I’ve never shown you …” Nash’s ears turn pink and he lets out a nervous laugh. “Um, yeah. This is kinda why I’m online so much.
It gets better, I swear.”
“I know,” I say before I can stop myself.
Nash blinks. “You do?”
This is not an appropriate Halle reaction.
“I mean …” I stall, trying to grasp a logical explanation out of thin air. “I already read it. I found it the first day of school, after everyone was gushing about it at lunch.”
“Oh,” Nash says, closing the laptop and setting it on the floor beside him. “I forgot about that.”
I exhale.
“You never told me you read it! It’s because you hate it, right? Do you hate it? Sometimes I think dinosaurs are, I don’t know, juvenile, and no one is going to take me seriously and—”
“Nash.” I grab his hand and intertwine his fingers with mine. “It’s so good.”
He looks at me. “Really?”
I nod. “I never said anything because it reads so personal, you know? Like, especially once I knew about Nick. I guess I just figured you’d show me when you wanted to.”
“I want to.”
“I do have one question.”
“Oh?”
“Stevens?” I ask.
I’ve been wondering since the day I learned that Nash Stevens is actually Nash Kim—and I’m not about to waste an opportunity to ask.
“Oh.” Nash laughs. “Steven is my middle name. I don’t love it—not using Kim—but it’s the only way my parents would let me create a public profile to blog. Keywords from my digital youth include privacy and underage and safety.”
With everything I know about Andrea and David, that checks out. “Makes sense.”
“I’m changing it as soon as I turn eighteen, though,” Nash says.
“Even though everyone knows you as Nash Stevens?”
Nash nods. “Yeah. That’s not my name. It’s not like I haven’t thought about sticking with Stevens. A pen name is kind of a safety net, you know? But if I publish REX someday, it’ll be as Nash Kim. That’s who I want to be to the world.”
My pen name kind of feels like the opposite of a safety net right now, but I know exactly what he means. “It’s cool.”
Nash releases his hand from mine and reaches across me for his sketchbook. “This is cooler, I promise.”