I’m my own antagonist.
“He’s next after the break,” Chloe says in a hissed whisper.
I wipe my hands down my black leggings and take a deep, cleansing breath.
It doesn’t real y matter. I might not even be able to tel . And that’s okay.
He knows I’m watching tonight. Maybe I can bring it up again, casual y and—
Oh God. He’s on. It’s the same back porch, with the same evergreens, but this time its covered in blue and green twinkle lights. His back is facing the camera, but he spins, doing this kind of slow reveal, and I let out a high-pitched shriek.
He’s wearing my mask. The one I made for him from my prom dress.
Oh my word, it’s HIM.
IT’S JUDE.
He’s standing in front of a mic stand, mask in place, and it’s then that I hear the song that’s playing. He tugs off the mask, tucking it into his jacket pocket. A jacket that looks like it’s black velvet. His mic is one of those giant old-fashioned ones, and the song? It’s “Love, You Didn’t Do Right by Me” by Rosemary Clooney.
“Is it him?” Chloe screams.
Al I can do is nod.
“Holy crap!”
I watch the entire performance, my face hot in my hands, and my heart in my throat. He’s so good-looking and so sweet and he’s mine. Judah MacKenzie is my Jude. And he’s singing me a song on TV.
When the song wraps, he pul s something out of his pocket, and with a secretive smile, he pul s it over his face. Another mask. This one with a message written across the front.
It says I CAN BE YOUR DANNY KAYE.
Sweet Jesus.
“I have to go there,” I say to my best friend once I’ve finished screaming internal y.
“Hel yes, you do. Where is that exactly?”
I gesture wildly at the television screen in front of me. “There! There! To his house! I have to go there and see him and tel him I want him to be my Danny Kaye!”
She rol s her eyes on the screen. “Right. I know. I got that. Everyone got that, but Gray. Where is his house?”
Oh my gosh, I have no idea. Jude lives in Ann Arbor, but so do a hundred thousand other people.
I surge from the couch and shout at the phone between my shaking hands. “I need Colin DuBois’s phone number. Do you stil have the theater department phone tree?”
“Yeah. Hanging right here next to me. I’l snap you a pic.”
“Okay. I’l cal him and beg for Jude’s address. And…” I take a deep, calming breath. “And I’m going to put on real pants. And then I’m gonna tel him how I feel.”
“Quarantine!” my best friend reminds me.
“Right. I’l just have to get creative.” My mind is already whirring with possibilities. I can think of something on the way.
“Good luck! I love you! Cal me later!”
I hang up and sprint up the stairs to my room to change. I pul on a pair of skinny jeans and pul down my hair, brushing out the waves and spritzing perfume like an optimist. Chloe sends over the screenshot of Colin’s phone number and it takes me two tries to put the numbers into my phone. He answers on the first ring.
“Colin! This is—”
“Gray Archer!”
I’m caught off guard. “How’d you know?”
“I put your name in my phone after the musical. Never know when you’l need a tailor.”
“Oh! Right. Thank you.” I shake my head. “Um. Anyway, it’s him, isn’t it? Jude is Judah?”
“Ah. You watched.”
“Of course I watched! I always watch! I need to get over there. Can you send me his address?”
“I knew that Danny Kaye thing had to be something between you two. So mysterious. Already the interwebs are aflutter with speculation…”
“Colin. Focus. Address.”
“Calm down, Lover Girl. I’m sending it now.”
I hang up and tap on my parents’ door. “Is it okay if I take a little drive?
I’ve got my hand sanitizer and mask.”
“No stores,” my mom reminds me.
“Cross my heart.”
I’m in the car and reversing out of my drive in an instant, stil not entirely sure what I’m going to do. My eyes graze the clock and I realize with a start that it’s barely 8:45. American Famous is stil on. Jude is stil in his backyard
for the live shots. I slow down, but he doesn’t live that far. I pul into his neighborhood just minutes after nine, but when Siri tel s me I’ve arrived, I drive past his house. I’m too scared to pul up. It takes me twice more around the block before I pul in.
I get a text from Colin, my ultimate wingman.
Colin: His bedroom is the front, right, second story with the balcony.
Holy poop, I can’t believe I’m going to do this.
I reach into the backseat and grab a cardboard box, left over from my face mask deliveries. I pul it apart to create a square. On the board, I write a message.
For a minute, hot panic surges in my chest. What if his performance wasn’t for me? What if the whole mask–White Christmas–Danny Kaye thing was just a coincidence?
Welp. Then I guess I’l just have to change my name and disappear forever. I don’t have time to worry about that right now.
I pul my car forward, directly under the streetlight outside his balcony. I real l ly hope Colin’s not messing with me.
I pul out my phone and scrol through al my playlists for a song. I find one I’ve had on repeat every day for a week. “Delicate” by Taylor Swift. It’s kind of dramatic to play him his own song, but so is this entire gesture that I’m attempting. Go for broke. Desperate times cal for desperate measures, and it doesn’t get more desperate than a worldwide pandemic.
Plus, it’s kind of perfect for us. You must like me for me is real y hitting home, now that I know his secret. And I real y, real y do like him.
I glance up at the window and see it’s lit. Opening my messages app, I type:
Gray: Hey Romeo, come to your balcony!
I’m staring at the curtains at his window when he pul s them aside and pokes his head out.
I open al the windows and my door, turn my stereo al the way up, and hit play.
Then I reach for my sign and stand with it raised over my head in the streetlight, my face burning but unmasked. I watch him climb out onto his balcony. In my periphery, I can see more lights turn on, probably everyone in the neighborhood wondering who’s blaring Taylor Swift, but I ignore them, singularly focused on his handsome face. His ful beaming smile, dimple and sparkling eyes, al for me, as he reads my sign: I DON’T NEED DANNY, I JUST WANT YOU.
He looks so happy.
I made him that way.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and he gestures over the blaring music with his in his hand.
Jude: You have me if you want me. I’m just Jude, though. Just the guy from the texts.
Gray: That’s all I want. Just Jude.
Jude: Just Jude and Just Gray.
Jude: I wish I could kiss you.
I hold up a finger, reaching back in the car for a receipt. I write on it: IOU One Hel of a First Kiss and I crumple it up in a bal , tossing it up to him on the balcony. He opens it, grins, and tucks it into his jacket pocket.
The song ends and the silence is so loud. Al these things we aren’t used to saying in person, ringing in the air between us.
“I have to go,” I say.
He nods in the soft yel ow light. “Quarantine won’t last forever,” he says.
“I know. I can wait for you. You’re worth it, Jude.”
“Until then?” He holds up his phone.
“Until then.” I blow him a kiss. Then I pick up my sign, get in my car, and drive home.
And that night, before I fal asleep, I cast a thousand votes for my boyfriend, Jude MacKenzie. He’s earned every single one.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Erin A. Craig is the New York Times bestsel ing author of the House of Salt and Sorrows. She has always loved
tel ing stories. After getting her BFA in theater design and production from the University of Michigan, she stage-managed tragic operas fil ed with hunchbacks, séances, and murderous clowns, then decided she wanted to write books that were just as spooky. An avid reader, a decent quilter, a rabid basketbal fan, and a col ector of typewriters, Erin makes her home in West Michigan with her husband and daughter.
erinacraig.com
@Penchant4Words on Twit er and Instagram
© Nadja Tiktinsky
Auriane Desombre is a former English teacher currently pursuing an MA in English lit at New York University and an MFA in creative writing for children at the New School in New York. I Think I Love You is her debut novel.
aurianedesombre.com
@AurianeDesombre on Twit er
© Hilary Nichols
Erin Hahn is the author of You’d Be Mine and More Than Maybe. She teaches elementary school, would rather be outside, and makes a lot of playlists. So many playlists, in fact, that she decided to write books to match them! She married her very own YA love interest, whom she met on her first day of col ege, and has two kids who are much, much cooler than she ever was at their age. She lives in Ann Arbor, Michigan, aka the greenest place on earth, and has a cat named Gus who plays fetch and a dog named June who doesn’t.
erinphahn.com
@erinhahn_author on Twit er and Instagram
© Alyson Derrick
Rachael Lippincott is the number one New York Times bestsel ing author of Five Feet Apart. She holds a BA in English writing from the University of Pittsburgh. Original y from Bucks County, Pennsylvania, she lives in Pittsburgh with her wife and their dog, Hank.
rachael ippincot .com
@rachael ippincot on Instagram
© Krystina Moran
Bill Konigsberg is the award-winning author of six young adult novels, including The Bridge. In 2018, the National Council of Teachers of English (NCTE)’s Assembly on Literature for Adolescents (ALAN) established the Bil Konigsberg Award for Acts and Activism for Equity and Inclusion Through Young Adult Literature. Prior to turning his attention to writing books for teens, Bil was a sports writer and editor for the Associated Press and ESPN.com. He lives in Phoenix, Arizona, with his husband, Chuck, and their Australian Labradoodles, Mabel and Buford.
bil konigsberg.com
© Kariba Jack Photography
Brittney Morris is the bestsel ing author of SLAY. She holds a BA in economics from Boston University because back then, she wanted to be a financial analyst. (She’s now thankful that didn’t happen.) She spends her spare time reading, playing indie video games, and enjoying the rain from her house in Philadelphia. She lives with her husband, Steven, who would rather enjoy the rain from a campsite in the woods because he hasn’t played enough horror games. Brittney is the founder and former president of the Boston University Creative Writing Club, and she’s a four-time NaNoWriMo winner.
authorbrit neymorris.com
@Brit neyMMorris on Twit er and Instagram
Sajni Patel was born in vibrant India and raised in the heart of Texas, surrounded by lots of delicious food and plenty of diversity. She draws on her personal experiences, cultural expectations, and Southern flair to create worlds that center on strong Indian women. Once an MMA fighter, she’s now al about puppies and rainbows and tortured love stories. She lives in Austin, where she not-so-secretly watches Matthew McConaughey from afar during UT footbal games. Queso is her weakness, and thanks to her family’s cooking, Indian/Tex-Mex cuisine is a real thing. She’s a die-hard Marvel Comics fan and a lover of chocolates from around the world, and she is always wrapped up in a story.
sajnipatel.com
@SajniPatelBooks on Twit er and Instagram
© Gavin Smith
Natasha Preston is the #1 New York Times bestsel ing author of The Cel ar, The Cabin, Awake, You Wil Be Mine, The Lost, and her latest novel, The Twin. A UK native, she discovered her love of writing when she shared a story online—and she hasn’t looked back. She enjoys writing romance, thril ers, gritty YA, and the occasional serial kil er.
natashapreston.com
@AuthorNPreston on Twit er
@authornatashapreston on Instagram
Jennifer Yen is a Taiwanese American author who lives with her adorable dog in Texas. She spends her days healing the hearts of others and her nights writing about love, family, and the power of acceptance. Jennifer believes in the magic of imagination, and she hopes her stories wil bring joy and inspiration to readers. Her debut novel is A Taste for Love. If you find her wandering around aimlessly, please return her to the nearest milk tea shop.
jenyenwrites.com
@JenYenWrites on Twit er and Instagram
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Document Outline
Title Page
Copyright
Contents
Love, Delivered
The Socially Distant Dog-Walking Brigade
One Day
The Rules of Comedy
The New Boy Next Door
Love with a Side of Fortune
The Green Thumb War
Stuck with Her
Masked
About the Authors
Together, Apart Page 20