Love, Creekwood
Page 7
Nope. It’s not working.
FROM: SIMONIRVINSPIER@GMAIL.COM
TO: LEAHONTHEOFFBEAT@GMAIL.COM
DATE: MAR 31 AT 9:14 PM
SUBJECT: RE: TOP SECRET
Leah,
I know this email is three months late. More than three months. I don’t even have a good excuse to give you. I just dropped the ball. And I guess I kind of dropped it on purpose. But your honesty here was such a huge fucking gift, and I just took it and never gave you any kind of honesty back. I’m really sorry. And I’m really grateful for your questions.
I’m going to try to answer every single one of them, okay?
I want to have sex with Bram for seventy years. I want to change diapers. I don’t even want to think about taxes or health insurance, but if I HAVE to, Leah, then yeah. I want that with Bram. He’s absolutely the person I want to spend my life with.
And I know this right now.
Though, I don’t think I want it to happen right now.
But it’s not like I don’t want it to happen. And if he asked me tomorrow? I’d say yes. I wouldn’t hesitate for a second. Okay, maybe tomorrow I’d hesitate (my inner goddess trusts NO ONE on April Fool’s Day anymore. Nope).
Leah, I don’t have a clue why I told Luke it was a marriage proposal. And I don’t remember how it felt when I said it. Saying it out loud wasn’t some kind of revelation for me. It already felt out loud. It’s always felt out loud.
I hope I’m making sense (probably not). But I just want you to know how much your email helped me do this thing I need to do (something scary and exciting and extremely inevitable).
You’re a fucking gem, Leah Burke, you know that?
Love,
Simon
FROM: HOURTOHOUR.NOTETONOTE@GMAIL.COM
TO: BLUEGREEN118@GMAIL.COM
DATE: MAR 31 AT 11:17 PM
SUBJECT: I MUST REALLY LIKE YOU.
Dear Blue,
I have to tell you something. And I’m so nervous about it, which is why I’m doing this in an email. I don’t want to put you on the spot or forget to say stuff, and I really don’t want to make anything weird. Which is probably a lost cause, but I’ll give it a shot. COMMENCING: OPERATION SIMON SPIER DON’T BE WEIRD. (Welp. Going great already, I see.)
So I did a thing. And I guess I’ve been working on it for a couple of months now. But I’ve been really unsure if it’s the right thing, or if YOU would think it’s the right thing. And it might not even work out in the end. It’s pretty much out of my hands now.
Bram, I applied to transfer next year. To NYU. I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. But I wasn’t sure I was going to go through with it. And B, I didn’t want you to feel bad or guilty, or like you should be looking into transferring here. So yeah. I just wanted to do it and put it out into the universe, and we’ll see what happens. It looks like I’ll find out in May.
But, okay, the first thing you should know is this: If I get in, we’re making this decision together. I don’t want to crowd you (I know it’s New York, lol, but you know what I mean). I know it would be a big change for us, and maybe it’s too much. I don’t know. I’m just saying, nothing’s set in stone yet.
And I also want you to know that I don’t see this as a sacrifice. Because I wouldn’t be giving anything up. The only year that’s been even partially written is this one. Everything else is wide open. It’s the weirdest thing, B, because now I don’t even know where I’ll graduate. But this is my freshman year, you know? And I think it was supposed to be here. My tiny little Philadelphia nerd school with my weirdo roommate who, god help us, will probably be in our wedding one day. Bram, you wouldn’t believe how much I fell in love with this place the minute I knew I wanted to transfer. I know that sounds completely absurd, but it all just feels so precious right now. Like it’s not a place that’s keeping us apart. It’s just a place. And it’s a place I get to keep, no matter what. It’s in my nesting doll now.
And maybe NYU will be too. It was really fun to go back there. I took all these selfies in front of the arch, just to try and see what NYU Simon would look like (he looks a lot like regular Simon with a giant zit, if you were wondering). It’s so different from Haverford. Like, it’s different in every single way, to the point where I can’t even imagine what living there would feel like. Maybe I’d just spend three years missing Haverford. But at least I wouldn’t have to miss you.
So now you know. And, Bram, you don’t have to respond anytime soon. Just think about it, and sit with the idea, and then whenever you’re ready, we can talk about it. And I promise, B, I promise you can tell me if you feel weird about it. We can pretend I never even applied. We don’t have to mention it ever again, okay? I know how to be in love with you from Philly. Easy peasy. I could do it in my sleep.
Love,
Jacques
FROM: BLUEGREEN118@GMAIL.COM
TO: HOURTOHOUR.NOTETONOTE@GMAIL.COM
DATE: MAR 31 AT 11:20 PM
SUBJECT: RE: I MUST REALLY LIKE YOU.
Pressing pause. Saving the game. Calling you now.
Love,
Bram
Acknowledgments
I’ve spent five years swearing I’d never write this story, and here we are. All I can say is this: Maybe it’s a good thing, the way we never stop surprising ourselves.
This project has been pure joyful chaos, and I’m so grateful to the MVPs who dove in with me headfirst:
Donna Bray, Holly Root, Mary Pender-Coplan, Anthea Townsend, Ebony LaDelle, Sabrina Abballe, Jacquelynn Burke, Tiara Kittrell, Shona McCarthy, Mark Rifkin, Alison Donalty, Jenna Stempel-Lobell, Chris Bilheimer, and my teams at Balzer + Bray/HarperCollins, Root Literary, UTA, and Penguin UK. I’m in such awe. You made publishing miracles happen.
Isaac Klausner, Temple Hill, and everyone involved in Love, Simon and Love, Victor—especially Isaac Aptaker and Elizabeth Berger, who changed the course of Simon’s life in a single email.
Caroline Goldstein and Emily Townsend, for the Haver-wisdom.
Aisha Saeed and Olivia Horrox, who watched me stare at my Word document on many trains and planes.
Adam Silvera, Nic Stone, Angie Thomas, and Mackenzi Lee, who let me borrow their universes.
Jasmine Warga, David Arnold, Dahlia Adler, Jenn Dugan, Matthew Eppard, Katy-Lynn Cook, and everyone else who kept my panic at bay during the deadline-homeschool two-punch.
Jaime Hensel, Sarah Beth Brown, and Amy Austin, who proved that Creekwood kids never lose touch.
My family, especially Brian, Owen, and Henry (funny how the love letters write themselves when it comes to you guys).
The Trevor Project, for giving my readers a shore worth swimming to.
And the readers who, after five years of no, still showed up for my yes.
An Excerpt from Kate in Waiting
TURN THE PAGE FOR A SNEAK PEEK AT
Overture
It really feels like an ending, in every way possible. With the curtains pulled closed, the stage might as well be another planet. A well-lit planet full of giant foam set pieces, inhabited only by Andy and me—and Matt.
Coke-Ad Matt.
“It’s now or never,” whispers Andy. He doesn’t move an inch.
Neither do I.
We just sort of stand there, in the shadow of a papier-mâché Audrey 2.
There’s nothing sadder than the end of a crush. And it’s not like this was one of those distant-stranger crushes. Andy and I have actually talked to this boy. Tons of words, on multiple glorious occasions. No small feat, since Matt’s the kind of gorgeous that usually renders us speechless. He’s got one of those old-timey faces, with blond hair and pink cheeks. Our friend Brandie collects Coca-Cola merch, and I swear the vintage ad in her bathroom looks exactly like Matt. Thus the nickname. The ad says “Thirst stops here.” But in our case, the thirst doesn’t stop.
It’s basic Avril Lavigne math. We were the junior theater counselors. He was our cute townie vocal consultant. You truly could
not make it any more obvious. And for a full six weeks, he’s been the sun in our solar system. But he lives up the road from camp, in Mentone, Alabama.
Which is just about a hundred miles away from Roswell, Georgia.
So Andy’s right. Now or never.
Deep breath. “Hey. Uh, Matt.”
I swear I can feel Anderson’s surprised approval. Damn, Garfield. Just going for it. Get yours.
I clear my throat. “So. We wanted to say goodbye. And. Um. Thank you.”
Matt slides a sheet of music into his tote bag and smiles. “Thank me?”
“For the vocal consultation,” I say. “And everything.”
Andy nods fervently, adjusting his glasses.
“Aww, Kate! You too. So cool meeting you guys.” Matt hoists his tote bag over his shoulder, shifting his weight toward the door, just barely. Exit posture. Crap. I’m just going to —
“Can we take a selfie?” I blurt. I’m already cringing. You know what would be cool? If my voice would stop shaking. Also, Anderson. My dude. Anytime you want to step up, be my guest.
“Oh, sure,” Matt says. “Let’s do it.”
Well then.
We squeeze into the frame, curtain tickling our backs, and I stretch my arm out at the up angle, just like Anderson trained me. And we smile. I mean, I’m trying to. But I’m so flustered, my lips are trembling.
It’s worth it. Even if I come out looking like a dazed fangirl, it’s worth it. Raina and Brandie have been begging for photographic evidence of Coke-Ad Matt’s cuteness, and God knows Instagram’s yielded nothing.
But this picture isn’t for the squad. Not really. Honestly, they’re both just going to make fun of us for having yet another communal crush. According to Raina, Anderson and I are enmeshed, which basically means we’re codependent. Apparently some people believe falling in love is a thing you’re supposed to do on your own.
And yeah, Raina aced AP Psych so hard, she’s practically a licensed psychologist already. But here’s the thing she doesn’t get. It’s not about Matt. Or Josh from last summer, who had very strong opinions about breakfast. Or Alexander from the summer before, who was really into being from Michigan. It has nothing to do with any of them.
It’s about Anderson and me. It’s about scheming in the prop closet and reading way too much into every flicker of eye contact. It’s about brushing our teeth six times a day, always prepared for the unexpected makeout scenario. And in the end, when the makeout scenarios never materialized, it hardly mattered. It didn’t matter. Because the makeouts weren’t the point.
The giddiness was the point.
And I feel like this all sounds like A Bit Much, but that’s just Andy and me. We bring it out in each other. And truthfully, summer crushes make for a surprisingly fun and robust team activity.
Less fun now that summer’s over. Now it’s just that sinking-boat feeling of a crush lost too soon. A crush cut down in its prime.
But that boat’s so much less lonely when your best friend’s on board.
About the Author
Photo by Decisive Moment Events
BECKY ALBERTALLI is the author of William C. Morris Award winner and National Book Award longlist title, Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda (now a major motion picture, Love, Simon); the acclaimed The Upside of Unrequited; and the New York Times bestsellers Leah on the Offbeat, What If It’s Us (cowritten with Adam Silvera), and Yes No Maybe So (cowritten with Aisha Saeed). Becky lives with her family in Atlanta.
You can visit her online at www.beckyalbertalli.com.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
Books by Becky Albertalli
Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda
Leah on the Offbeat
Love, Creekwood
The Upside of Unrequited
What If It’s Us (with Adam Silvera)
Yes No Maybe So (with Aisha Saeed)
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www.epicreads.com
LOVE FOR THE SIMONVERSE NOVELS
SIMON VS. THE HOMO SAPIENS AGENDA
William C. Morris YA Debut Award Winner
Longlisted for the National Book Award
Now a major motion picture, Love, Simon
“Worthy of Fault in Our Stars–level obsession.”—Entertainment Weekly
THE UPSIDE OF UNREQUITED
Seventeen Magazine Best Book
“I have such a crush on this book! Not only is this one a must-read, but it’s a must-reread.”—Julie Murphy, New York Times bestselling author of Dumplin’
“Heart-fluttering, honest, and hilarious. I can’t stop hugging this book.”—Stephanie Perkins, New York Times bestselling author of Anna and the French Kiss
★ “A fresh, honest, inclusive look at dating, families, and friendship.”—SLJ (starred review)
LEAH ON THE OFFBEAT
#1 New York Times bestseller
★ “Albertalli has a fantastic ear for voice, and it’s beautifully on display in Leah’s funny, wry, and vulnerable first-person narrative.”
—ALA Booklist (starred review)
★ “A subversive take on the coming-of-age romance that will leave readers feeling like witnesses to a very special moment in Leah’s life and filled with gratitude for sharing it.”
—Kirkus Reviews (starred review)
Copyright
The author is donating 100 percent of her royalty advance to The Trevor Project, the leading national organization providing crisis intervention and suicide prevention services to lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer & questioning (LGBTQ+) young people under twenty-five.
Balzer + Bray is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
LOVE, CREEKWOOD. Copyright © 2020 by Becky Albertalli. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
www.epicreads.com
Cover art © 2020 by CHRIS BILHEIMER
Cover design by JENNA STEMPEL-LOBELL
* * *
Library of Congress Control Number: 2020937095
Digital Edition JUNE 2020 ISBN: 978-0-06-304814-0
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-304812-6
* * *
2021222324PC/LSCH10987654321
FIRST EDITION
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