Page 5 of What I Like About You

First, you’re wrong. Second, you can’t let The Hobbit ruin the whole experience!

12:54 PM

but it’s PART of the experience.

12:55 PM

YES AND IT’S AMAZING TOO.

12:56 PM

12:56 PM

“Halle.”

Mom’s voice makes me jump, and my phone slips out of my hand, clattering on the granite.

“Sorry. I …” I look around. The kitchen has been vacated. We’re the only two people left. “Wait. Where is everyone?”

Sometimes, being in a Nash phone zone is so intense, everything around me ceases to exist.

“Scout needed to go out.” Worry lines wrinkle Mom’s forehead. “It’s not too late to change your mind, you know. I mean, I don’t think we were expecting Gramps to be so …”

I flinch. “It’s only been six months.” Mom’s trying to give us an easy out, but there is no way I’m leaving Gramps. More than ever he needs us not to bail. Mom is good at chasing down truths, but she’s not so good at witnessing the ones that find her instead.

Her expression softens. “Oh, I know, babe. Of course he’s sad, we all are. I mean, well, your dad talks to him almost every day and, well, we just thought he’d be more—together. And the house … Look, all I’m saying is I know you wanted to be here, but you can still come with us. We’ll hire the best tutors. You’ll graduate on time. This time next year, we’ll be moving you into NYU. Besides, this trip is going to be life-changing. Think about how much closer we’ll be to our culture.”

Mom doesn’t get it. We’ve always been A Levitt Family Production, whether we were investigating the ethics of cattle farming in the Midwest, examining the effects of climate change on the beaches of the Outer Banks, or exposing the realities of gentrification in major cities.

I love chasing stories with my parents, but Ican’tgo to Israel with them. It isn’t even about graduating on time. It’s about having a senior year that’smine—I have big plans for OTP and building an NYU-worthy resume, a resume that screamspublishing.

If I say yes, I’ll get caught up in A Levitt Family Production—distracted by long days on location, switching out camera lenses to capture the perfect headshot, proofreading interview questions—the familiar, comforting chaos of filmmaking. It’s a chaos I haven’t felt since my parents moved us to Charlotte for theirraising teenagers sabbaticalthree years ago, devastated by Oscar loss number six. Being on location and behind a camera is the closest thing tohomeI’ve ever had—until Kels.

If I go, OTP will take a back seat to my parents’ demanding schedule and fitting school in.

I can’t afford to go on hiatus for a year.

My presence will evaporate. NYU will have nothing to look at. Kels will disappear.

“I’m staying. For Gramps.”

Forme.

Mom nods. “I get that. It just might be harder than you think, okay?”

“Every day is already hard.”

Mom’s arms open and I fall into her embrace. She strokes my hair like I’m a little kid again. It used to be identical, our hair. Long and medium brown. Whatever Mom’s chosen hairstyle was for the day, she’d replicate it on me. If Mom braided her hair, she braided mine. Crown braid days were my favorite. Alongwith matching green eyes and the same small mole above our lip. Everyone on set used to call me Mini-Mad.

Now, I keep my hair shoulder-length and styled in layers.

Mom’s is still as long as ever because, quote,screw ageism.

I’m going to miss her so much.

Mom lets go first and glances at her smart watch. “We need to get going.”

Still chewing my cheek, I nod.

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