Page 16 of What I Like About You

I don’t know how to explain it so it makes sense.Nash. It’s me, Kels. We were just talking about how I’ve never seenLord of the Ringsand oh, by the way, I got the cover reveal! I’m Kels—except I’m not Kels, I’m Halle. But … you can call me Kels. Though everyone else will probably call me Halle, so that could get weird. But yeah! Wow! Hi!

It would be a catastrophe. I would be a catastrophe.

He’s soboyishin person. Without the thick black hipster glasses he wears in his Twitter picture, he looks younger. His dark hair is longer, too, falling into his eyes. Hiseyes. I knew they were brown, but they also have specks of gold—I had no idea. I don’t think I’ve ever thought of him as a height, but he’s tall and all limbs. I mean, Kels knows he runs track. But now Iseeit, you know? I see how all the pieces fit together and become Nash IRL.

“I’m Nash.”

His voice is a melody I never imagined I’d hear. And I almostdon’t understand why he’s introducing himself, but of course he has no clue who I am. Why would he? My current picture is an artsy photograph of the back of my head, my hair long and blowing in the wind. My face is always obscured in posts. It helps to mold my persona, a version of me that is cooler and more mysterious than I am in real life.

I’m Kels.That’s what I should say.

“Halle” is what comes out.

It’s the truth, but it feels like a lie.

“Cool.” He smiles, and my God, it’s so much better than the smiley-face emoji. “Are you just visiting?”

I shake my head no because words are stuck in my throat.

“Wait—”

Oh, thank God. I don’t have to tell him. He knows.

“—you’re Professor Levitt’s granddaughter, right?”

Professor Levitt? Nash knowsGramps?MyGramps. What?

“It’s not weird that I know that, I swear. I’m in his art history class. First class was supposed to be tonight, but he postponed it. Said his grandchildren were moving in. We don’t get too many new people in Middleton, so I kind of put two and two together.”

I exhale, not sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed.

Wait. Nash is in high school, I thought. We’re working on college applications—notin college classes. Next year it’s supposed to be us, meeting as freshmen at NYU, spending time in every bookstore downtown between classes and exploring the rest of the city on the weekends. If Nash takes classes with Gramps at UConn, if Nash isin college—well, that calls into question prettymuch everything I know about him. Oh God, what if Nash is a catfishing liar?

“So … you commute?” I ask.

He looks at me funny and I can already feel my neck flush pink.

“To UConn,” I clarify.

“Oh. No, I’m not—MHS doesn’t have any art history classes, so your grandfather offered to let me into his. But yeah, high school. I am in it.”

Breathe. Nash is just perfectly nerdy and not a creep.

“Me too,” I say, which is when it hits me.

MHS. Middleton High School. As inmynew high school.

“Cool. Where’d you move from?”

“New York. Upstate,” I lie without flinching, the words flying out of my mouth before I can even think them through. I have never been to upstate New York in my life. I don’t know why I say this. As far as Nash knows, Kels is moving from an army base in Georgia to North Carolina. Kels is comfortably in the South—hundreds of miles away from Nash.

“Well, welcome to Middleton,” he says. He looks down at his watch and frowns. “I have an ungodly stack of books to check out before the library closes, but I’ll see you around?”

He stands up as I nod, swoops his messenger bag over his shoulder, and is gone with a wave.

Oh my God. I knew Nash was from Connecticut but—I never thought to askwhere.

I didn’t think it mattered, because it’s not like I planned ontelling him that I—well, Kels—moved to Connecticut. Never did I ever think he’d behere, with me, in Middle-of-Freaking-Nowhere, Connecticut. Because who really lives here? No one I’ve ever talked to has evenheardof this place.

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