“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.