Page 141 of What I Like About You

We’re nothing. I have no right to ask.

Online life is otherwise surprisingly fine. It seemed likesuch a big deal—deciding not to split myself anymore, to tell the internet I’m Halle. To take ownership of my identity—and my mistakes—before BookCon.

In the end, no one really cared.

Kels, my persona, is something I built up in my head the whole time. The content is the same, and besides a few trolls, everyone has just accepted it. As Ollie predicted. They’re over the Nash-Kels drama now that we’re both back to posting regularly and haven’t said anything else.

The online world keeps turning, though, and buzz builds on Twitter re: all things BookCon. There are pre-con giveaways, raffles for tickets to exclusive events, and all the swag promotions. I tweet cupcake promises I might not be able to keep. With each new tag, my heart flutters with a combination of excitement and anxiety.

But the panel is called Bloggers IRL, right? I want to be honest, to bemyself, at BookCon.

Plus, last night the BookCon gods released the full schedule for panels, ARC drops, signings, everything—and wow, planning the weekend is more of a process than I ever imagined. I spend most of my study period mulling over the schedule, writing the priority events in a notebook, and fitting the puzzle pieces of this weekend together. I’m planning to live tweet the weekend as much as possible from the One True Pastry account while I’m there and write recap posts when it’s over, so I haveto think about what will be most exciting for my followers, too.

Nash sits two rows in front of me, and I watch him doing the same thing.

It’s the first time hope flutters in my stomach inweeks, but as soon as I see a panel called Are Pictures Literature? On the Modern Consumption of Graphic Novels, moderated by best-selling graphic novelist Michael Yoon—I know why Nash is going to BookCon.

It isn’t for me.

Part of me can’t stop hoping he checks out my panel.

Even if he doesn’t love me anymore, I want him to see the full picture ofmejust once.

I’m trying to salvage too-liquid frosting with more powdered sugar when Ollie enters the kitchen and asks if we can talk.

“Not about Nash,” I say.

He opens his laptop and scowls at me. “Um, no. About me? And my life?”

Seriously, how long am I going to be the worst sister on the planet? I can’t remember the last time I asked how he is, how he’s doing. I’ve been so in my Nash feelings that I never even asked him how baseball season is going or when he and Talia became a thing.

I leave the frosting bowl on the counter and sit next to Ollie at the table.

“I’m sorry. Really sorry. What’s up?” I ask.

“I kind of did a thing.”

He turns his laptop to face me and it’s opened to an email.

Subject:Re: Junior Counselor Candidacy at Camp L’Tovah

Eyebrows raised, I read.

Hi Oliver,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to the junior counselor program at Camp L’Tovah. We were impressed by your application, and after we spoke last week it is evident that you are a perfect fit. Attached is all the necessary start paperwork, important dates, and camp handbook to read at your convenience. Please confirm that you are accepting the position by May 30th. Orientation begins June 15th.

Welcome to Camp L’Tovah!

Sincerely,

Abraham Ben-Yehuda

I reread the email three times before reality hits. Ollie Levitt. My brother, who can’t keep akippahon his head if his life depended on it, is going to Jewish summer camp? Ollie barely knows theshemaand he … is going tojunior counselora group of tiny Jewish kiddos? This isincredible.

“How did you even—?”

“Molly,” Ollie says.

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