What I Like About You

by Marisa Kanter

  Before long, the sky is illuminated in iridescent shades of orange and it’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Like, there are no words. I don’t even think to take a photo with my phone because Instagram is not going to do this sky justice.

  How do we spend every day sleeping through this sky?

  Nash shifts so he’s facing me better, one shoulder pressing against the back of the seat. His smile is so big and I am a puddle. He looks at me like … like I don’t even know, and I lose my words. Something has shifted, though, I can tell. He looks at me from behind his glasses, like he’s trying to form the right words to say next. I adjust in my seat, mimicking his sideways position, ignoring the lace sleeve scratching against my skin, but his eyes don’t move from mine.

  He’s going to kiss me.

  Nash is going to kiss me.

  I want him to kiss me.

  “I’m sorry about Molly,” he says.

  I blink, confused. “I mean, I think it worked out okay.”

  “Yeah, but what she did wasn’t cool. I forget sometimes how controlling she can be.” Nash pauses. “I just—”

  Something has shifted, again. And not in the Hey, let’s kiss each other’s faces under a romantic sunrise kind of direction. Nash chews on his lower lip and runs a hand through his hair, smile gone.

  What did I say? He’s the one who brought up Molly, not me.

  “It’s Kels.”

  My heart plummets.

  “I’m sorry,” Nash says. “It’s just—I feel. I don’t know how to say this in a way that makes sense.”

  I lean back in the seat and stare straight ahead, straight through the windshield. I can’t look at him. I can’t. I need to know what he’s going to say next. What he’s trying to say.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, like, lead you on or anything,” Nash says.

  “We’re watching the sunrise.”

  “Right,” Nash says. “I can’t believe—look, I like you. I really do. That’s why I’m so pissed at Moll right now. Because it’s not you, it’s just … there’s someone else.”

  “Kels,” I say.

  Me, I don’t say.

  “I just—I can’t explain it, okay?” Nash says. “I am so sorry.”

  “Stop apologizing,” I say. It comes off sharper than I intend it to.

  “I think I might love her. Maybe,” Nash says.

  “You don’t even know her,” I say.

  If you did, Nash, you’d know she’s me.

  Nash shrugs. “I don’t expect you to get it. No one does.”

  I want to scream that I’m the only one who would get it. The whole stupid truth, but it’s too late. The magic of the sunrise has faded into the typical morning sky. Reality punches me in the stomach. He doesn’t like me, Halle. Not like Kels. I was right this whole time.

  “Can you just take me home?” I ask.

  “Halle—”

  “Don’t.”

  We drive back toward Middleton through the morning haze, the sunrise in the rearview.

  Nash’s fingers fumble through the radio stations, unable to settle on a song.

  I close my eyes because I can feel it coming, the panic that starts in my stomach and rises up through me. I hear Ollie’s voice in my head telling me to breathe, imagine the pressure of his hand. You will not cry in front of Nash right now. You will not cry in front of Nash. He thinks I’m embarrassed or hurt or whatever because he rejected me. But really, I feel so stupid. Stupid for thinking I could split myself like this. Stupid for romanticizing sunrises. Stupid for thinking anyone would like me as much as they like Kels.

  Stupid for thinking that I, Halle, could just be Nash’s friend.

  Kels’s Inbox

  Tori DiVitto

  LILAH ROSE LIVED HERE: a twisted psychological thrill …

  Dec 12

  McBride, Alissa

  Sadie Thompson Interview Confirmation

  Dec 12

  BookSparks

  12 Winter Romances for Perfect Fireside Reading

  Dec 12

  Maria Trapp

  THE DISTANCE BETWEEN US cupcake cover reveal pitch

  Dec 12

  Nash Stevens

  REXXXXXXXXX

  Dec 12

  Becca Holloway

  Re: BookCon Bloggers IRL Panel Application!

  Dec 12

  [1-50 of 1,044]

  FIFTEEN

  I hear Michael Scott’s voice the moment I enter Gramps’s house.

  Ollie only watches The Office when he needs to shut off his brain. He has every episode memorized, I swear.

  I find him stretched out on the couch, eating a bowl of Rice Krispies in neon orange sweats and his Voldemort T-shirt. He has something to tell me.

  “You look terrible,” he says.

  “You too,” I say on my way upstairs to change.

  I put on leggings and my THE BOOK WAS BETTER T-shirt. Wash all the makeup and residual mascara away. Brush out my knotted curls and twist my hair into messy bun. Remove my contacts and put on my plastic frames. I feel infinitely better.

  I still look pretty rough when I catch my reflection in the mirror, but at least I’m comfortable. I’m not planning on leaving the house today. Being friends with my boss’s son has its perks—Sawyer got us the day off. Bless him.

  Scout pokes her head out from Gramps’s cracked door.

  “Morning, girl,” I whisper. “Come on.”

  She follows me downstairs.

  Ollie hasn’t moved, and he’s not laughing at any of the jokes.

  “Okay. What’s up?” I sit on Gramps’s leather recliner chair, legs crossed, and reach for the remote to pause the TV. Scout jumps onto my lap and curls herself into a tiny ball of floof. “Something is definitely up.”

  Ollie sits up. “You’re not the only one who had a date last night.”

  “What?”

  Ollie goes to every school-sponsored social event ever created, but he never goes with anyone. He prefers to fly solo—it’s more fun with friends, he usually says.

  Ollie shrugs. “Everyone paired off, and Talia asked me if I’d go with her. As friends.”

  “Whoa,” I say. “I just thought—”

  Ollie cuts me off. “Yeah. I know. You kind of just think a lot lately.”

  I flinch. “Ollie.”

  He scrolls through his phone. “So, is Nash a good kisser?”

  It’s so Ollie to make a passive-aggressive quip and then segue, leaving me feeling like trash. Ollie needs to know that I want to hear all about his friend date with Talia. But I’m also dying to talk about Nash, to let all my confusing feelings spill out of me all over the living room floor.

  So I take the bait.

  “I wouldn’t know,” I say.

  Ollie looks up at me. “Wait. Is he mad?”

  “No kissing ensued—and I didn’t tell him.”

  “But … you were out all night. What happened?”

  “There’s someone else,” I say. “Kels.”

  Ollie uggggghhhhs into his pillow—the only appropriate response, honestly. I tell him what happened, every detail. The music, the chai, the stories. Falling asleep in the car and waking up to the sunrise. The moment I wanted to tell him—and all the reasons why I didn’t.

  “I … don’t understand. A sunrise?”

  “Ollie.”

  “He’s so into you!”

  I shake my head no. “He’s into Kels.”

  “Exactly. You are Kels—or did you forget that?” Ollie says. “I’m sorry, but you officially make zero sense.”

  “I’m not Kels.”

  “Whatever, Hal. You’re literally both sides of this love triangle. You win. But you’re determined to sabotage yourself.”

  He un-pauses Netflix and now I want to scream into a pillow. Ollie doesn’t get it because a) he’s a hopeless romantic; and b) he’s totally jaded. He’s barely even on social media—his universe revolves around baseball stats and his multiple, simultaneous crushes. He do
esn’t understand the nuances of building a brand. He doesn’t understand I’m Kels online, for One True Pastry—to build a reputation in the industry separate from Grams. But I’m not Kels.

  Not really. She’s a version of me, a narrative, not truth.

  Nash loves a narrative.

  I pick up the remote and re-pause in the middle of a Dwight monologue.

  “So,” I say.

  “So,” Ollie says.

  “Don’t pretend there’s not more to the Talia story and you’re not dying to tell me. I’m sorry I’ve been distracted. Spill.”

  Ollie crosses his arms and we have a stare-off.

  The tension is killing him, I know it. Even if he’s annoyed with me, he wants to spill.

  Ollie breaks. “Fine. Okay, don’t freak out.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Talia kissed me,” Ollie says.

  My brain is all exclamation points at this information.

  “I kind of kissed her back,” he adds.

  “Oliver! What!”

  “And … I liked it? I think. I don’t know, we were dancing and then out of nowhere her mouth was on my mouth. And then her tongue was in my mouth. And I didn’t hate it. At all.”

  “Wait, your first lady kiss was PDA?” I ask.

  Ollie snorts. “A truly hetero moment.”

  “You don’t have to, like, know what this means,” I say.

  “If you give me one more ‘sexuality is fluid’ spiel—”

  “It is!”

  “I know. It’s still confusing, though.”

  “Fair,” I say.

  “Talia is super cool, I just never thought of her like—like that. But now that it happened, I can’t stop thinking about it,” Ollie says.

  “Theory: You’re attracted to Davidsons. Exclusively.”

  Ollie laughs. “Shut up.”

  “At least one of the Levitt siblings got some action last night.”

  Ollie launches a pillow at my face and everything else in my life is a mess, but we are okay again. We watch a couple of episodes of The Office together, quoting the lines of our favorite characters in real time. Ollie is a Dwight stan. I’m Pam forever. It feels good, just hanging out with Ollie. It feels like I need to do this more.

  After one too many that’s what she said jokes, I head upstairs to OTP and midterms. Ever since the Fireflies and You drama resurfaced, I’ve turned off my social media and email notifications. It’s easier to conquer the trolls when I’m in the right headspace rather than letting them sneak up on me whenever. It’s always the worst in the twelve hours following a new post. I’m trying to stay neutral for Grams—but it’s hard.

  First, I check my email, scanning the fifty-four unread messages for anything important, not really expecting to find anything. Until I see it. Re: BookCon Bloggers IRL Panel Application!

  I stare at the subject line, unsure I’m reading it correctly. It’s from two days ago. The BookCon gods popped into my inbox and … I didn’t even know it? How is this possible? I should’ve been obsessing over this email, like I did when I was waiting for the Read Between the Lies cover reveal. Now it’s just here and my brain is not prepared. My heart hammers against my chest, anxiety coursing through my veins.

  Oh my God.

  I click.

  From: rebecca.holloway@bookcon.com

  To: kels@onetruepastry.com

  Re: BookCon Bloggers IRL Panel Application!

  Dear Kels,

  Congratulations! We are so excited to formally invite you to be on the Bloggers IRL panel to represent your blog, One True Pastry.

  This panel brings together the most popular young adult book bloggers for a Q&A moderated by

  Bustle’s Stella McQueen. Blogger panels have been in demand for years, and we’re so excited to offer you a spot on our very first one!

  A much more detailed email regarding the panel and BookCon itself will be emailed to all confirmed panelists this spring! To confirm your spot, please follow this link and RVSP via the Google form by no later than January 15th.

  All the best,

  Rebecca Holloway

  BookCon Panel Coordinator

  Congratulations.

  BookCon.

  RSVP.

  I stare at the email for five minutes, overwhelmed by the validation. One True Pastry is good. I’m good. As far as the BookCon gods know, I’m just a teen who loves pairing cupcakes with books—and they still decided One True Pastry is worthy of being featured on a panel, that Kels is worthy of being a Blogger IRL.

  BookCon wants me. I can put this on my NYU application.

  Grams would be so proud.

  I can’t believe I went two whole days without checking my OTP email. Was I that distracted by the concept of going to a school dance with Nash? Definitely.

  Oh my God, Nash. Where is he? How did he not immediately burst into my DMs when the email came in? That’s not like him. This isn’t like us. We’ve been talking for weeks about the inevitable BookCon decision coming soon. So where is he? Has he been just as distracted as I have? By what? Me?

  No. He made it pretty clear last night where he stood. There’s someone else. Kels.

  My phone buzzes on my desk with a DM and my stomach twists.

  Nash Stevens

  Huh. So cone of silence, but I heard via Samira that Annaliese de la Cruz got a spot on the Bloggers IRL panel.

  12:31 PM

  I guess notifications went out to panelists a few days ago?! I didn’t get anything. I’m assuming you didn’t either.

  12:32 PM

  I’m still planning on going, I think. So if you still wanted to meet up, I like wouldn’t hate that.

  12:33 PM

  I stare at the messages from Nash, totally at a loss.

  Nash has no clue I got the panel. But he’s going to find out.

  Which means he’s going to find out everything.

  I type and delete and type and delete.

  Turn down the panel. He never has to know. Can you even handle speaking on a panel?

  The reality of being on a panel, of speaking on a panel, hits me all at once. What if Stella McQueen asks me a question and I totally freeze up? Or what if I say the wrong thing and embarrass myself and ruin everything—for Kels, for OTP, for Halle?

  Turn it down. It’s smart. It’s safe. Protect yourself.

  Except … I can’t. I might be an anxious mess, but I’m a proud anxious mess. I worked on my application for weeks. I genuinely love books and the YA community. I was chosen. I am enough. If there’s anywhere I can be Kels, for real, it’s BookCon.

  Also? If I turn down BookCon for Nash and don’t get into NYU, I’ll never forgive myself.

  My phone buzzes with another string of messages.

  Elle Carter

  Hey, Kels. Not sure where you’ve been lately, but we heard that BookCon panel emails have gone out. Here for you if you need it

  12:45 PM

  Samira Lee

  I’m honestly shocked. I mean, Annaliese is ridiculous, but you’re totally at her level.

  12:46 PM

  Amy Chen

  do we know who else got it?

  12:46 PM

  Samira Lee

  Nah. Everyone else is being pretty hush. Annaliese and I just go way back from our fanfic days.

  12:47 PM

  Elle Carter

  I’m sure we’ll know soon enough.

  12:49 PM

  I stand up from my desk chair and fall backward onto my bed. I can’t tell my friends I got the panel without Nash finding out. Which means this is real. BookCon is happening.

  Nash is going to find out I’m me. It’s stupid to delay the inevitable, right?

  What will he think? How will he feel?

  He thinks he loves Kels.

  I definitely like him.

  He doesn’t hate me.

  I tap back into my messages with Nash. All questions of love aside, I’m just so tired of lying to him. But it’s not like I can tell him the
truth via a DM.

  My phone buzzes. Three new messages.

  I lock the screen and place it facedown on my night table, leaving all messages unanswered. I don’t want to lie anymore. Every single time Kels texts Nash, it’s a lie. I won’t tell him about the panel from behind a screen, where I’m going to have to match his enthusiasm about meeting and pretend like we haven’t already. I can’t do that.

  Until Kels can be honest with Nash, it’s probably better she doesn’t say anything at all.

  Nash to Kels, a week in December

  Sat, Dec 14, 1:14 PM

  Rumor has it Celeste Pham also got a panel spot. So I guess maybe we shouldn’t feel so bad that we’re not BookCon adequate.

  Also, I have more REX. Whenever you’re ready for it.

  2:31 PM

  I’m going to assume you are intensely studying for midterms. Which is probably what I should be doing tbh …

  8:34 PM

  Sun, Dec 15, 11:31 AM

  link: If Alanna LaForest is against F&Y, So Am I.

  lol so now it’s actually pro-alanna to NOT see the movie? This is becoming more and more absurd …

  I’ll be working on my portfolio (read: questioning everything) all day. Have you finished your application yet?

  Mon, Dec 16, 3:37 PM

  … Is everything okay? I don’t think we’ve gone a whole weekend without talking in literal YEARS? i don’t even think i’m being hyperbolic here.

  Tues, Dec 17, 6:37 PM

  Okay. I’d be legit concerned, but I know you’re fighting with trolls on twitter right now. What’s going on?

  Thurs, Dec 19, 4:45 PM

  So. Alanna tweeted and we’re not talking about it and that’s just fundamentally wrong.

  Sat, Dec 21, 10:31 AM

  I’m going back through our most recent messages and I’m just really confused? Are you mad at me?

  Is it about Halle?

  I HATE that I’m even asking that. But the last time we really talked was before the dance …

  Sun, Dec 22, 4:54 PM

  Kels … ?

  SIXTEEN

  December is a blur of midterms and awkward Nash. We’re not exactly avoiding each other. It’s more like we try too hard to pretend everything is fine. He’ll sit next to me at lunch to prove a point, but every time his arm accidentally brushes against mine, I am electrocuted. It’s a miracle I’m still alive, honestly.