Page 151 of What I Like About You

Recognition flashes in her eyes—thank goodness—and she takes my hand. “Oh! You did Grace Tran’s cover reveal last year. Your cupcake cakes areamazing. It’s so nice to meet you!”

“Thank you,” I say. “Seriously.”

“Can I get a selfie for Instagram?” Kristen asks.

I blink, processing the fact that aliterary agentwants to take a photowith me. “Of course.”

Now that Kels has a face, there’s really no point in hiding it. We pose for the photo and Kristen tags me in her Insta story before we part ways. Wow. That wassocool.

Iwas so cool.

The Javits Center is overflowing with book lovers on a mission to attend their top panels, to meet their favorite authors. Everyone is so hyperfocused on their carefully curated schedules.I continue to explore the show floor as just a teen who loves YA, like everyone else.

But Nash, the boy who is always everywhere, isn’tanywhere.

At noon, I attend the Superheroes in YA panel because I’m certain he’ll attend. The conference room is packed with more than two hundred people—but as far as I can tell, not Nash. I slip out of the room before the panel starts.

I text Sawyer.

He is here, right? This isn’t a joke?

12:05pm

Sawyer Davidson

No but that’s a good idea for next time!

12:07pm

I double back to the Empire Publications booth, since it’s in the center of everything. On one side of me, a large group of hopeful teens and aggressive parents are battling for a box of ARCs. On the other side, people are receiving exclusive tote bags.

It’s chaos.

I am surrounded by chaos.

Breathe.

“… I can’t believe he drew a panel for you!”

“… you better save that for when he’s famous …”

I turn toward a group of tweens squealing at a piece of folded- up notebook paper. The girl holding the paper has long red hairand is in aNIMONAT-shirt. The other two are taller, both in graphic tees featuring their favorite comic book characters.

Red holds the piece of paper to her chest and sighs. “He’s so cool.”

“Chill, Lana. He’s just a blogger.”

Lana’s face turns as red as her hair. “Shut up and be jealous.”

“Hey,” I say, without quite thinking about it too hard. Idon’tinsert myself into other people’s conversations. But when I see the sketch, I see the swirl signature.

It’s a Nash original.

“Can you tell me where you met him?”

The tweens eye me suspiciously.

“I’m his friend.”

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