Page 123 of What I Like About You

Ten anxious eyeballs stare at Autumn’s phone. It’s the fifth time this has happened.

“I mean.” Autumn swallows. “It’s probably another false alarm.”

“Autumn,” Molly says, her voice level, “if you don’t check your email right this second and give us some good news, I’m going to have an existential crisis. Right here.”

Autumn inhales a deep breath and opens her email. My eyes dart around the table, from Nash to Molly to Sawyer to Autumn. We’re all holding our breath. I’m positive. Autumn’s eyes are glued to her phone and for a moment she’s expressionless. Like a total statue. But then her eyes widen and her lips curve up and I almost burst into tears. Which, like, this isn’t evenmynews. Pull yourself together, Halle!

“I got in,” Autumn says.

Then she bursts into tears and it’swildbecause I’ve never seen Autumn cry.

“I’m sorry.” Autumn wipes her nose with her shirt sleeve. “I don’t know how to processthis. I prepared myself for ano. I didn’t think—like, I guess I never thought I’d actually—God, Molly, I’m so sorry.”

Molly stands up from her seat, walks around the table to Autumn, and wraps her arms around her. “Why are you apologizing? You freaking got into USC! My existential crisis has to wait.”

We’re all freaking out and congratulating Autumn, who is absolutely glowing. The emotional whiplash is unreal.

Once Molly lets go, Autumn turns and wraps her arms around me. “I literally couldn’t have done this without you. Thank you.”

I shake my head. “Not true.”

Autumn raises her eyebrows.

“Okay! Maybe just the dialogue part.” I laugh.

“Director, Autumn Williams,” Nash says. “Has a pretty sick ring to it.”

“It really does,” Molly says.

“Remember us when you’re famous,” Sawyer adds.

The bell rings, interrupting the celebration and reminding Le Crew that we are, in fact, at school and we do, in fact, still have AP tests to prepare for. Nash and I have calculus next and I don’t even know how I’m going to process free-response questions. It’s enough of a struggle on a normal day.

Le Crew splits off into every direction. Nash and I walk to calc and he asks—no,insists—that we check our email.

“Please. I need to know. Please. Please.Please,” he begs.

He doesn’t need to ask me twice.

Your NYU Admissions Decisionappears in bold at the top of my inbox.

This is not a drill.

“It’s here,” I say.

“Mine too,” Nash says.

We freeze in front of the English wing lockers. My heart is racing and my palms are sweating because in a matter of moments, I willknow. And it’ll either be the best day of my life or I will be commiserating with Molly for the rest of the year. That’s probably what will happen, too, because of the SATs and I don’t have any fancy leadership titles, only tiny film credits anda blog and a spot at a convention that hasn’t even happened—

“Halle,” Nash says. “On three.”

One. Two. Three. I tap the email open, holding my breath.

On behalf of the admissions committee, it is my honor and privilege to share with you that you have been admittedto the College of Arts and Sciences at New York University.

Nash and I look up from our phones and lock eyes.

He nods.

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