I knew Nash probably still had some feelings and questions. But this is more than that. Nash came all the way to Boston to maybe meet another girl, and that hurts. Even if that girl wound up also being me—he didn’t know that.
“I can’t,” I whisper.
Nash blinks, still so confused. “Kels?”
The second time he says my name, it is twenty levels too loud and suddenly it is chaos. Random pairs of eyes flash to us, to me. A blonde girl behind Nash asks if it’s true, if I’m Kels. She may as well have screamed because it sets off a ripple effect of questioning for confirmation, of professing their fandom, of gushing over my cupcakes. People pull out their phones and start taking photos and in an instant, my face is going to be plastered all over Book Twitter. My anonymity is officially gone. And not in the Hey, you made these awesome cupcakes and have amazing book taste type of way I’d always imagined.
Nash stands. He takes my hand and pulls me through the crowd, through the noise, to the quiet outside. Away from the cupcakes and Ariel Goldberg fans asking if I am Kels, excited that I’m Kels, with absolutely zero awareness that my whole life is blowing up right in front of my face. The moment we’re away from the crowd, Nash drops my hand like it is on fire and continues straight out the door.
I push through the double doors after him and even though he’s stopped out front I don’t stop walking. I put as much space between Kels and Central Square Books as I can. I focus on speed walking in wedges that pinch my toes with every step. Cross the street and turn the corner, don’t stop. I don’t know what to feel first, who to feel it for.
Halle is freaked because she is caught red-handed in her lie.
Kels is overwhelmed by her whole online world exploding.
Halle is crushed because Nash lied too.
Three blocks later, I am sitting on an empty bench, my arms wrapped around my knees. Nash arrives and paces back and forth the length of the bench. He runs a hand through his hair and I know he’s waiting for me to speak, but I’ve never been so lost for words.
I don’t know who I’m angrier with—Nash or me.
“I’m still, um, processing,” Nash says. “This doesn’t make sense? You’re Kels.”
He needs to believe it, so I flip my phone screen to show him One True Pastry’s Twitter account. To show him my blown-up notifications, the pictures, the excitement surrounding the fact that I, Kels, showed up to the Ariel Goldberg event. Even bigger news to Book Twitter? Nash and Kels being spotted there. Together. IRL.
“Kels,” Nash repeats.
I swallow my scream. “A Nick thing?”
His mouth drops open. “Well—”
“There never was a Nick thing. It was a Kels thing.”
“Holy shit, Halle. Does it even matter? You’re the same person!”
“You didn’t know that!” I say.
“Yeah but you did. Rewind. Let’s talk about that. You’re Kels.”
He still says it like it’s another language.
I nod. “I’m Kels.”
“Kels,” he repeats. His voice cracks and I want to bury my face in my knees. He sits next to me on the bench and closes his eyes and I know he’s pressed rewind. Back to every moment I sort of slipped, every chance he had to put the pieces together. Every time he mentioned Kels and I nodded along. Every time he told me the stories of his life that I already knew. Every time he texted me, Halle, and me, Kels, simultaneously.
The sunrise.
Molly’s party.
It’s all clicking, just way too late.
His eyes pop open. “This is so messed up.”
“I know.”
“You’re so messed up,” Nash says.
His words stab me in the stomach.
“Nash,” I say.
“No,” Nash says. “This is such bullshit. I told you about BookCon. I showed you REX. I told you how I felt about Kels. God. You knew that and you ghosted me and I had no idea why. Do you even know what that was like? But you’ve been right here the whole time. How could you not tell me?”
“I was scared.” It’s the answer behind all the excuses and justifications. Really, that’s all it ever was. It was never about Nash or protecting OTP. I was just too scared.
Nash laughs, like, That’s the best you could come up with? “Of what?”
I pick the threads on my ripped jeans so I don’t have to look at him. “Honestly? Kels is way cooler than me, right? At first I thought you’d be disappointed if you knew.”
Nash blinks.
“At first? Halle. It’s April. It’s been seven months. We’re in a relationship.”
“I know.”
“All year, you lied to me. Pretended not to know me. You lied to all of us.” He clenches his fists at his side.
I cringe because I hate that word. That’s who I am to him now. A liar.
“I liked that you liked me,” I blurt out.
His fists unclench. “What?”
“Online? As Kels? I don’t stumble over my words. People care about what I say. You cared. She’s me without the anxiety that comes with being me. When we met, I didn’t even know how to friendship IRL. But you still liked me. I don’t know. I liked that. And like you said: Kels isn’t real. This is. We are.”
“Were,” Nash corrects. “We were.”
There it is.
“Nash,” I say.
“Were you ever going to tell me?” he asks. “You’re doing the panel, right? How did you think this would go down? Did you think I’d see your picture when they announce the schedule in a few weeks and go, Huh, Kels is actually Halle. Cool.”
I shake my head. “I asked if you had plans today. This was supposed to be the plan. I wanted to bring you here. I wanted to geek out together over meeting Ariel Goldberg and eat cupcakes and I wanted to tell you here. I wanted to show you.”
Nash laughs. “Right. That would have made it way less of a betrayal.”
I knew there wouldn’t be a perfect plan. That I just had to do it. But now I am Halle the Liar. Nothing I say will matter.
“I loved you,” Nash says, and my stomach falls another ten stories.
New tears fall fresh because it’s already in past tense and he’s never even said it in present.
Nash bites his lower lip. “I need to go—I need to … God, I don’t know.”
“I’m so—”
“Stop.” Nash stands so fast he trips over a crack in the sidewalk. He doesn’t fall, just stumbles forward a few steps in his whirlwind to rush out of my life.
I reach for his hand to steady him.
He freezes and I sigh because his hand is warm and it’s in mine.
It’s selfish, stupid to think he’ll stay, talk it out more, try to forgive me, but for half a second I do.
When I open my mouth again, he pulls away.
“Later, Kels.”
Before I can react, he’s gone, stomping on the pavement like he’s crushing the pages from our history underfoot as he runs down the street.
April 6
Samira Lee
KELS. WHAT IS GOING ON?
8:42 PM
Elle Carter
WE ARE SO CONFUSED. YOU MET NASH? AFTER YOU GHOSTED HIM?
8:43 PM
Amy Chen
I know we’re not supposed to be talking to you since you decided you’re over being friends with us, or whatever, but seriously?!?!
8:44 PM
Elle Carter
The photos are pretty awkward, tbh. Did you not know he was going to be there?
8:46 PM
TWENTY-FOUR
Grams is probably second-guessing my publicity career right about now. Honestly, so am I.
Publicists are supposed to fix problems, not cause them.
Photos spread through the YA Twitterverse like wildfire, and not of the cupcake variety.
Kels and Nash have gone viral. Online, our friendship is no secret. We comment on each other’s content, retweet posts, and chat in public Twitter threads. So the
entire YA online community and REX fandom are kind of losing their minds reposting the photographic evidence of us—Kels and Nash—together. One follower proclaimed in a REX subreddit that Nash and I are an OTP.
The photo is hideous, it is everywhere, and we’re both caught in the hype.
Curled up on the couch with Scout, I open Twitter on my laptop. I know it’s a bad idea. I’ll spiral down the rabbit hole, into this alternate universe where Kels and Nash are together and the book world is just happy. This is the last place I should be right now. But I have to—
Nash Stevens @Nash_Stevens27 23min
Blindsided
I click on Nash’s page. The gray FOLLOWS YOU banner is not next to his handle anymore. He’s hurt. He’s making a statement. Calling out the lie in the photo. Everything is about to get so much worse. Nothing is private anymore. Not who I am. Not who I love. Nothing.
I click on the tweet.
Sophie @unicornbooks 21min
wait. so you’re NOT with @OneTruePastry? what did she do?!
|
Olivia Brooke @livlaughlove333 15 min
are we cancelling Kels? cupcakes are overrated!!
|
Lilah Montgomery @lilahrose424 12 min
Why are we assuming this is KELS’S fault?
|
Deja Louis @dejavuwho 8min
#cancelonetruepastry
That’s only the beginning. People are taking sides. Over a one-word tweet.
Sometimes, I really hate Twitter.
“Stop.” Ollie sits next to me, closes my laptop, and swipes it from my grasp.
“Give it,” I say.
“Nope. Not happening.”
I reach for my phone on the side table and surprise, it’s not there.
“Oliver.”
He shakes his head. Nope. Gramps passes through the living room on his way to the kitchen and Ollie throws my phone to him, almost like the intervention was choreographed. Gramps catches my phone and slips it into his back pocket. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even stop walking.
Gramps knows the Nash situation and it’s the most embarrassing part of our relationship. When Nash left me on the park bench around the corner from Central Square Books, I don’t even remember how I got back to the hotel. I do remember Ollie and Gramps returning from their baseball game, high on the Red Sox’s victory, only to find me curled up in bed, hysterical. It really freaked Gramps out, I think. He tried to talk to me, but I went mute. I didn’t speak, not one word, the entire ride home to Middleton.
Ollie told him everything—in unnecessary detail.
“Ollie, please.”
Scout’s head pops up, alert.
Ollie holds my hand and I don’t even realize that it’s shaking—that I’m shaking—until he steadies me. My vision blurs. The feeds were moving faster than I could read them and being cut off sends a shock of panic through my system. I need to know what the world is saying, even if I don’t speak back. Is Nash going to tweet more information? Will everyone hate me? I don’t know how to respond. I just know I need to, well, know.
I close my eyes and count the beats of my erratic heart until it steadies.
I wipe my nose with my shirtsleeve. “I need to see it.”
“Not productive. Is now a bad time to say I told you so?” Ollie asks.
I don’t even have the energy to flip him off. He’s right.
“Twitter will die down. I give it twenty-four hours at most. Let’s face it. You’re not that interesting.”
Insert Angry Sister Glare here.
“He’s pissed. Obviously,” Ollie says. “Collecting the receipts isn’t going to help.”
“He unfollowed me,” I say.
“I’d unfollow you too,” Ollie says.
“Please. Give me. My laptop.”
“No,” Ollie says. “Take another hiatus, Hal. You seriously need it.”
Ollie takes my laptop upstairs and we are not okay.
Nothing is okay.
* * *
“I can’t do this.”
“Halle,” Gramps says, his tone even. “You’re going to school.”
We’re parked in the MHS student drop-off area, Gramps and me. Ollie’s long gone, off to lock up his baseball stuff before first period. We were supposed to walk in together, Ollie and me. But I’m frozen in my seat. I can’t. The idea of walking into school? Of seeing Nash? Facing Le Crew? I can’t do it. I won’t do it. Nope. I need more time. One pajama day with Scout was not enough. I need infinite pajamas days.
Kels is back on hiatus. Can’t Halle be too?
“I’m going to fail my calc test,” I say.
“That’s probably true,” Gramps says. “Who cares, though? You got into NYU.”
“Gramps.”
“Hal,” Gramps says, “you can’t hiatus from life. When people mess up, there are consequences. So I’m sorry, I love you, but you’re going to school. You can’t avoid him forever.”
“Not forever. Just until I figure out what to say.”
Gramps starts the car. “Isn’t that the problem? You waiting to figure out what to say?”
My eyes widen. Gramps is right. He’s also savage.
“Either you go to school today, or you come to the Jacobsons’ seder on Wednesday.”
Passover starts Wednesday night and under no circumstances will I be attending anything, never mind a seder, at Molly’s house. It’s a tragedy, because honestly, I was totally looking forward to my first proper seder. A few weeks ago, Nash explained to me how it goes down at Molly’s—less party than Rosh Hashanah, more prayer and reflection. And great food.
Defeated by Gramps’s ultimatum, I reach for the door handle. “Okay. Fine.”
The passenger door swings open and I pick my backpack up off the floor, my movements stiff. I slam the door shut and leave Gramps without saying goodbye, angry because he’s right, this is what I do. I bite my tongue. I wait for moments to present themselves, for the right words to appear out of thin air, and they never do.
Nash hurt me too, but it never would have happened if I had just told the truth. He needs to know how sorry I am. Even if it comes out all wrong, I have to at least try.
I tie my purple cardigan around my waist and push through the double doors. I have five minutes until first period. If we were still us, we’d be hanging out by Nash’s locker, sipping on iced coffees and discussing King Lear before we head off to debate act one, Socratic seminar style. I bolt toward the English wing, taking the stairs two at a time and ignoring the stares from students who are heading to first period in every direction. Because if Nash is still at his locker, I need to catch him.
A five-minute chat won’t fix us. But I won’t make it through the day if I can’t talk to him first.
I turn the corner to the English wing and exhale because it’s mostly empty, but I see Nash—he is still here; I’m not too late. He’s at his locker, rummaging through his backpack as if he can’t find what he’s looking for. He’s chewing on his lower lip and his hair falls into his eyes.
He looks awful and it rips my heart in half because it’s my fault. I did this.
I approach him. “Nash?”
Nash does not react to the sound of my voice. His bloodshot eyes do not snap up to meet mine. He doesn’t flinch. Nothing. I’m standing two feet away from him, but it’s like I’m not even here. He digs through his backpack and I’m, like, if he hasn’t found what he’s looking for already it probably isn’t there.
“Nash.”
He pulls King Lear out. Zips his backpack and tosses it over his shoulder. He turns away and starts walking down the hall toward Mr. Walker’s class. I get that he’s angry. I deserve it. But talk to me Yell at me. I know I messed up bad—but I want to fix it. He won’t even look at me. He’d rather pretend he doesn’t hear the sound of my voice. It’s like I’m nothing.
“Nash.” I wipe away the tears that roll down my cheek.
I hate how desperate I sound, how desperate I am.
He doesn’t turn around.
And it hits me.
I’m being ghosted.
* * *
At lunch, I hide in the library, in the comfort of drafting OTP posts.
Really, what choice do I have? Nash and I have not made eye contact once today. It’s kind of an impressive feat, considering we have almost every class together. Like, I was banking on accidental awkward eye contact to happen at least once—for Nash to see that my eyes are bloodshot too. He doesn’t. All morning, we move from class to class, very much not together.
Of course, Le Crew is Team Nash.
They’re by his side in all our overlapping classes, as silent as he is.
Yesterday, Molly and Autumn texted me.
Molly Jacobson
Nash is wrecked. Please tell me there is a logical explanation because this is too messed up.
3:31 PM
Autumn Williams
I always told him not to trust Kels. I never thought we couldn’t trust YOU
3:33 PM
I didn’t see the messages until Gramps handed my phone back to me this morning. I wanted to answer them, wanted to explain myself. I get it. Nash isn’t the only one I hurt. I lied to them too. But today they’re as icy as Nash and I know it’s not worth wasting my words.
Le Crew are Nash’s people.
I need my people.
But I probably lost Amy, Elle, and Samira too. Still, they deserve an explanation—Kels just ghosted them along with Nash. I became too involved in my Halle/Kels drama to see I was literally giving them up just to maintain an unsustainable lie.
After finishing my lunch, I open my DMs, type a message, and send it before I change my mind.
hi. i miss you guys so much. everything is such a mess and i’m a mess and i’m so sorry i ghosted you. it wasn’t about you it was about the nash stuff and i have a lot to explain. too much for one text but i needed to start somewhere so hello. hi. i’m halle.
12:21 PM
I stare at my screen, waiting for a response, terrified of more silence.
But like always, they start typing immediately.
Elle Carter
It is very Not Okay, Halle/Kels.
12:24 PM
i want to talk, for real. i’ll explain everything.
What I Like About You Page 23
