I dropped my spatula, contemplating. “Publicist?”
I had never even thought about it, but I liked the way the word sounded on my lips. Talking about books was the only time I felt like my words fit together.
“You should start a blog. See if it’s a good fit,” she said, wiping her hair out of her warm eyes, looking at me like she could see right through me.
I laughed. I loved reading book blogs—I got so many great recs from my favorite YA bloggers. But writing one? I was fourteen. Who would even listen? But … maybe that didn’t matter. Maybe if Grams thought it was a good idea, my dream wasn’t completely crazy.
“I could call it One True Pastry.” I laughed at my own silliness as a splatter of purple buttercream landed on the counter instead of in the bag. “Like One True Pairing. OTP.”
I thought of all my favorite forums filled with passionate debates re: OTPs and every combination of characters who were just meant to end up together.
Grams stopped mixing and faced me. There was a speck of frosting smudged on her nose and I’ll never forget the smile that burst onto her face.
“Hal, that’s perfect. There’s your hook. Cupcakes and books. What’s better than that?”
I’ve been Kels from One True Pastry ever since.
Creating a profile meant crafting an identity. It wasn’t that I couldn’t be Halle Levitt—I didn’t want to be. If I used my real name online, I wouldn’t be Halle. I’d be industry giant Miriam Levitt’s granddaughter. I’d get opportunities because I’m Miriam Levitt’s granddaughter. Or worse, people would compare me to her and tell me there’s no way I measured up. If people were going to follow me, I wanted it to be for the content.
I wanted to know if I was really good, or if Grams was just saying that.
Still, Grams presence has seeped into every part of my blog. I write my reviews the way I’d tell her about a book. And when I had to choose the name of my persona, well, that came from her too.
I wanted your parents to name you Kelsey, Grams said.
So I became Kels Roth, a combination of Grams’s favorite name and her maiden name.
With some experimentation and Grams’s guidance, One True Pastry grew. Kels was good. And I love that one of Grams’s books proved it.
Fireflies and You was the first time I re-created a full book cover with cupcakes, and it’s what put Kels on the map. Originally, the premise of One True Pastry was cupcake inspiration and I paired cupcake recipes with reviews. Then I started posting #CupcakeCovers on Instagram. The posts were simple—a close-up shot of a single cupcake on a plate. The details were in the design, the swirl of frosting colors and topping choices that were always directly influenced by the color scheme of a cover.
Then Fireflies and You happened and the book just changed something in me. It felt like I had to do more. Like I could. I didn’t talk to Grams about it at all first, like I usually would when I had a brand-new idea. I just did it and now the photo I posted two years ago has 110K likes on Instagram—a number that continues to increase.
Yeah, I check.
The buzz for the book got real. But honestly, so did the buzz for my blog. Thanks to the cupcakes, people started to read my reviews. Thanks to cupcakes, publishing began to notice me. Now publicists send me advance reader copies, with an enthusiastic exclamation point note attached hoping to connect. Beyond that, I found a whole community of people who love YA books as much as I do. I have friends.
I have Nash.
So really, this entire situation is all your fault, Grams.
“Halle!”
My eyes snap up and meet Ollie’s. He’s looking at me funny.
“Huh?”
“I said your name three times,” Ollie says. “Are you okay? You’re, like, not here.”
I shake my head. “Sorry, I just—”
Nothing I say will make sense, so I twirl too many cold noodles with my fork. Raise the fork to my mouth, and take a bite. Half the noodles land on my lap, soy sauce splattering all over my white shorts.
Awesome.
I stand up. Brush off Ollie’s concern. “I need to change. Yeah.”
Upstairs, I clean myself up in the bathroom and change into sweatpants. Sitting on the toilet lid, I scroll through Nash’s social media when my phone buzzes with a new message.
Nash Stevens
OK. I’ve waited for you to text me first long enough. Did you hear from Ariel’s fancy publicist? Did you get the cover reveal? I’m kind of dying here.
6:44 PM
I read the text in Nash’s voice for the first time. His actual vocal cords vibrating voice. It’s honestly wild.
maybe I did
6:47 PM
OKAY SO
6:47 PM
SO MAYBE I GOT IT
6:47 PM
NO WAY
6:48 PM
I mean, I totally knew you would.
6:48 PM
LOL nice save
6:49 PM
You cold emailed Ariel Goldberg’s publicist! And weren’t ignored! You’re a total badass.
6:50 PM
This is who Nash is expecting to meet. The girl who cold emails publicists. A badass.
what can I say? it’s a gift.
6:50 PM
You’ll totally get the panel now, at least!
6:51 PM
like bookcon is going to be interested in aesthetically pleasing cupcake photos.
6:53 PM
I migrate from the bathroom to the bedroom as I try to message Nash and pretend everything is normal, that I don’t know the exact color of his eyes or the sound of his voice. I settle on the most generic of generic messages.
what’s up with you?
6:57 PM
Not much. Some new kids moved into town. A sister and brother. The girl’s our age, I think. I met her at the library.
6:59 PM
She’s me. Two words have never been more impossible to type.
oh?
7:00 PM
Yeah! Seems cool. Kind of quiet, but we were in a library. I’m mostly basing my assessment off meeting her in the YA section.
7:00 PM
You know, where the cool kids hang.
7:01 PM
exactly what I was thinking.
7:01 PM
It was nice, meeting someone new under the age of 55. Most people come here for the senior life.
7:02 PM
they do NOT
7:02 PM
Swear to God.
7:03 PM
But anyways, meeting her got me thinking. Like, it’ll be cool when we meet.
7:03 PM
My pulse quickens. How would he feel if he knew we already had?
i’m a terribly awkward human
7:03 PM
I mean … mood?
7:04 PM
fair enough.
7:04 PM
but new girl is probably most definitely cooler than me.
7:05 PM
Eh, probably.
7:08 PM
He doesn’t say anything else, but I can feel his disappointment in the non-immediate response.
A knock on the door makes me jump.
“It’s me,” Ollie says and he comes into the room, Scout on his heels. She jumps on the bed and makes herself comfortable between my crisscrossed legs. Ollie takes a seat on the end, fists curled at his sides.
“You should apologize to Gramps,” he says.
“What?” I ask.
Ollie’s eyes are fire. “You couldn’t not be Kels for one day? We hadn’t even been here for an hour and—”
“Nash is here.” I blurt out. I know Ollie is pissed at me but I need someone else to know.
Ollie blinks. “What?”
I wrap my arms around my knees, letting my toes sink into Aunt Liz’s mattress. “I, um, kind of met him at the library—and I’m shook, Ollie. Seconds after I learn that I’ll be hosting Ariel Goldberg’s cover reveal, I look up and Nash is just there, like, trying
not to laugh at my reaction.”
“Wait, pause on Nash—you got the cover reveal?”
We bump fists and I smile because in the middle of this mess, I can’t forget something good happened today. Something amazing, actually. Ollie holds out his hand. I pull up The Email and he reads it and can’t stop smiling and wow, it feels so good when he’s proud of me. He repeats “This is so great!” probably half a dozen times before relinquishing my phone.
Ollie flops down on his back so he’s staring at the ceiling. Scout lies on his stomach and it’s too adorable.
But then he says, “Okay, back to Nash. What did he say?”
“Oh. I mean, I didn’t tell him.”
He turns his head toward me. “Wait. Didn’t tell him about the cover reveal?”
I stare at my knees. My eyes are burning a hole in my right kneecap and I’m silent one beat too long.
“Halle.”
“Ollie.”
“He’s your best friend.”
“You’re my best friend.”
“Nope.” He sits up so fast, Scout is startled. She jumps off the bed with a quiet yelp and retreats out my ajar door. I wish I could follow her right out and away from this conversation.
I look at Ollie, who has the sternest expression I have ever seen on a fifteen-year-old. When Ollie is disappointed in me, I forget that I’m the older sibling.
“So, what? You’re just going to spend all year pretending you don’t know everything about him?”
“I—I don’t know, okay? I haven’t exactly thought that far ahead.”
“I repeat: He’s your best friend.”
“Online—and maybe it should stay that way. IRL me will ruin everything.”
He crosses his arms. “That is literally the stupidest thing I have ever heard.”
Ollie doesn’t understand, because Ollie is braver than I will ever be. Ollie’s gut reaction would’ve been to tell Nash—and he would’ve been excited to do it. It would never even cross his mind to keep himself a secret from his best friend, not for one second.
“You’ll tell him, though? Once you know him better?”
“Yes,” I say, and it’s the second time today I lie instantly.
“You have to promise. If you become friends, you’ll tell him the truth.”
“I promise.” I pinky swear for added believability.
“Also promise you’ll apologize to Gramps.”
I nod. That, at least, is a promise I can keep.
Ollie exhales, because I’ve never broken a pinky swear.
As soon as Ollie exits the room, I stuff my face in my pillow. Attempt to suffocate the fact that I, Halle Levitt, am at a total loss.
I can’t jeopardize Kels’s friendship with Nash. I won’t. I don’t know how to friendship IRL. Behind a screen, it’s easy to talk to Nash about the possibility of meeting. It’s easy to imagine an offline friendship, us studying for midterms together at the library and going to book events in the evenings. It’s easy to imagine because it’s theoretical. We both have to get into NYU first. It’s not real until that happens, and there are so many ways it could not. BookCon feels like an even bigger long shot. One of us getting it would be insanely lucky. Both of us? Impossible. There’s every possibility none of it will ever be real.
I’m not ready for real. How can I be certain the truth that is me won’t be a total letdown? I imagine the flash of disappointment that crosses his face when I tell him who I am. His disappointment—it would ruin me. I can’t deal with that.
So for now, I won’t.
September 3
6:41 AM
Mom
WE’RE CONNECTED
Dad
omg hi
Ollie
what up
how are you? how is Israel? how is everything?
Dad
Mom
We scouted this morning … locations for b-roll, other kibbutzim to interview … it’s going to be great
Dad
awesome!
Ollie
I’ve already told all my friends that you’re going to win an Oscar
Mom
Oliver
Dad
Ollie
Just raising the stakes
Mom
If you’re going to brag about your fab parents, at least tell them something true!
Mom
How are you doing, Hal?
like socially? school starts today! so I’m not sure to whom ollie is referring to with regards to “friends”
Mom
I miss your regular uses of whom
Dad
Ollie
I don’t
FOUR
If school and I had a relationship status, it’d be it’s complicated.
Ollie and I sit in plush chairs in the guidance office, bent over the official MHS map. I oscillate between fidgeting with the hem of my black shirtdress and wiping off my cherry lipstick. I don’t know why I listened to Elle this morning when she helped pick my first-day-of-school outfit and insisted red lipstick was a good idea. Amy and Samira agreed, and so did Kels. In my room, alone, the line between Halle and Kels feels more blurred. Lipstick makes me feel like the badass Kels is online. Out in the world? It’s a calculated risk, and this is definitely not the time for it.
I should know better, honestly. It’s my fifth first day in a new school system, and as a veteran newbie, I have developed a comprehensive list of rules for the first day at a new school. It’s published on the blog, for those interested in reading the whole list; 1.2K retweets. Rule number one: Don’t draw attention to yourself.
I rummage through the front pocket of my backpack for a muted neutral lip gloss, swipe it over my lips, and instantly feel more like me, just Halle.
Ollie is fixated on the map. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “This map is the worst, Hal. Useless.”
It’s a relief, being in the same school. We may have no clue where we’re going, but at least we have no clue where we’re going together.
“Homeroom starts in ten. Do you have any questions?”
Ms. Connors, our guidance counselor, reappears and hands us our schedules. Ollie opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. “We’re good.”
She nods and escorts us out of her office. “Sophomores are in the science wing, down to the left. Seniors are in the English wing upstairs.”
“Thanks,” Ollie says.
Ms. Connors flashes a plastic smile that screams good luck before closing the guidance office door behind us.
We’re officially on our own.
I reassess the map. Ollie is right. It is the worst. It’s nothing short of illegible—the colors don’t contrast, the symbols aren’t obvious, and the typeface is tiny. The printing is so bad that the inky route is just meaningless lines connecting meaningless places.
“I’m making a new map tonight,” Ollie says. “It will be in Ms. Connors’s box in the morning.”
I snort. “Not again.”
“I want to contribute to the community, Halle. My motives are pure.”
We’re headed in opposite directions. So we bump fists, promise to reunite at lunch, and go our separate ways. Ollie will probably have his own crew by then.
For a small school, it still feels like people are everywhere. I go upstairs and down two hallways, my pulse speeding with each wrong turn. I pause against a row of lockers, giving the trash map one more pass, as though I can will some useful information to appear out of nothing. Alas, this is not the Marauders Map.
“Hey, Upstate. Need help?”
It takes me a second to look up.
Of course. My stomach can’t decide if it wants to twist or flutter.
“This map is horrible,” I say, finally.
“The worst,” Nash agrees. “We’re probably in the same homeroom, though; let me see …” He plucks my schedule out of my hand. Heat radiates from my ears. I feel it when I tuck back a lock of hair. “Yup. H113.”
Lev
itt to Stevens in one homeroom? That can’t be right. MHS is small, but it’s not that small.
“Alphabetical?”
“Mhm. K for Kim and L for Levitt. Looks like you’re stuck with me.…” He looks down, scanning my class list. “Also looks like we’re taking all the same APs. Cool.”
Wait. That’s not right. He’s supposed to be Nash Stevens.
I blink. “Kim?”
My face is on fire the moment the words spill from my lips.
“I’m so sorry. That’s not what I—”
Nash laughs. “It’s okay. Seriously, it’s not every day you meet a quarter-Asian Jewish person in semi-coastal Connecticut. My friend Sawyer calls me a unicorn. I like the term enigma, personally.”
Nash thinks everything is an enigma. That’s literally his Twitter bio. An enigma, tbh.
“I’m the worst.”
I don’t tell him the truth. I know Nash is a quarter Korean. Of course I know that. It sounds like I’m shocked his last name is Kim. But really, I’m shocked that it’s not Stevens. And that maybe I, Kels, don’t know him as well as I thought I did. So now he’s going to think I sputtered Kim like I’ve never seen a multiracial human in my life.
Where is backspace when you need it?
My stomach muscles constrict. Day one at Middle-of-Nowhere High, and I, Halle, have already made a complete ass of myself. To Nash. Before homeroom, nonetheless. The day hasn’t even started yet!
“Most people are surprised.” Nash shrugs. “Because I’m definitely white passing. Long story short, my grandpa is Korean. My dad is half. And now, here I am. Boom, math.”
We stop in front of H113. I’ve never been more relieved to get to class.
Middle back. That’s my first day of homeroom seat. Front is too eager. Back corner is too angsty. Middle back is just right, a place where I can sink into my chair in humiliation, open a blank notebook, and start brainstorming titles for a fall roundup post. Nash will be distracted enough by all the talking heads around me that he won’t even notice I’ve slipped away.
“Nash! Hey!”
I turn to the voice, but all I see is raven-black hair. Tight spiral curls cascade down her back. She waves to Nash and points to the two empty desks behind her. Middle right. Nash motions for me to follow with a head nod, and I do because all the middle back seats are taken and I can’t ghost after that. At least middle right is an okay alternative, and we only have homeroom on the first day of school. It’s not like I’ll be stuck next to Nash all year.
What I Like About You Page 4