Page 155 of What I Like About You

TWENTY-EIGHT

Ihave one final question for Kels before we start taking audience questions.”

Stella bats her eyelashes at me—which means whatever comes next will slay me.

“In this community, there’s a lot of discussion of maintaining a brand identity and authenticity in these online communications. We all know youand love youas Kels—so I think a lot of people are wondering, who is Halle Levitt, and why share your identity now?”

Silence reverberates throughout the conference room.

Before the panel, Stella assured me that she’d avoid any questions regarding the Halle/Kels situation. I should’ve known she was full of shit. I guess in a way I kind of did, as I had an answer prepared on my crumpled-up notecards just in case. But Celeste was right: I don’t need them.

“The way I look at it, Kels is my pen name. I don’t regret that—I never have. Lots of people create under pen names. Blogging as Kels gave me a platform and a community that never would’ve existed, I don’t think, if I’d created my blog as Halle Levitt, because it would’ve tied me to my grandmother. Nobody in the universe was a bigger Miriam Levitt fan than me. Iworshippedmy Grams. But I needed to know if people thought my content was good. I’d never know, not for sure, if I started my blog as Halle. Also, while the internet has given me so much, it can be a cruel place. I wanted to shield myself from that.”

I swear the entire audience hears my heart beating through the microphone.

I look up at them and pause because leaning against the back wall, his arms crossed, is Nash.Nash is here.

Breathe.

“For the record, I love being Kels from One True Pastry. I will still post all the cupcake aesthetics on Instagram and write all the YA reviews. The only thing I regret, if I’m being totally honest, is letting One True Pastry overtake my life. Nash, I am so sorry.”

Stella McQueen’s jaw drops to the floor.

My fellow panelists’ jaws follow suit.

If I’m speaking in clichés, it’s because I just became one.

Nash stares at me, his eyes wide.

Then he bolts toward the back door. The exit.

Stella blinks. “On that note, I believe it’s time for audience questions!”

Microphones are set up in both aisles, and those who want to ask questions stand and move toward the microphone closest to them. I look at the clock—in the fifteen minutes between nowand the panel’s official conclusion, Nash could be anywhere. He will be gone—the magic of BookCon will fade, and he will without a doubt never forgive me. Especially after the tweets that are sure to surface re: my very public apology.

I should go.

“I have a question for Kels and Annaliese.”

My eyes shift away from the exit, back to the Q&A. A girl stands at the microphone, wearing an#AMWRITINGT-shirt. “Hi. My name is Mel and I’m a teen writer. Both of your brands rely heavily on being teen voices. So I’m curious—what’s the plan when you’re, you know, not teenagers anymore?”

I laugh. “I ask myself that question every day.”

“You should,” Annaliese says. “It’s your problem before it’s mine.”

The audience laughs and I’m grateful for a question that pivots away from Nash. “I guess the plan is to stay on the path to becoming a publicist and being sure to advocate for teen voices in-house when I do. I’ll always read and love YA. But it won’t always beforme, you know? So then I have to make sure to advocate for the teens itisfor, like my grandmother always did.”

The heads in the audience nod and I relax into my seat.

I can’t make Nash forgive me.

Icanfinish this panel strong.

After the panel concludes, I bolt. Down the hallway of conference rooms to the food court. I’m starving and somehow it’s the only place I can think he might be.

I spot his neon blue sneakers first.

He’s sitting at one of the food court tables, furiously texting—so focused on his phone he doesn’t even hear me say his name, doesn’t even notice me sit down.

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