Page 83 of What I Like About You

Molly is so dramatic, I almost start laughing. I cover my mouth with my hand to stop myself from bursting into a fit of hysteria. It’s as ridiculous as the time my phone blew up with ship names. Amy decided ours isKash, which is so bad I let her have it.Love?That is such a loaded word. Nash really hopes to meet Kels at BookCon, sure. But Nash can’t bein lovewith Kels? Can he?

I believe one thousand percent you can be friends with someone you’ve never met.

Butin love?

“Anyways,” Molly says, “he wants to take you and I think you should say yes. Please say yes.”

We meet face-to-face at the end of the size nines.

I cannot say yes.

“I don’t have a ticket,” I say.

“Please. I’m student council treasurer for a reason.”

I want to say yes.

“I don’t dance,” I say.

“You don’t have to!” Molly says.

She’s getting close and she knows it.

The idea of going to a dance with Nash, who wants to go to a dance with me, Halle, is breaking me. There are a million—abillion—reasons why I should say no. But the idea of going on a date with him? Once the possibility is out there it’s impossible not to think about.

I want to more than I even realized. Because the whole internet says Nash is into Kels, but that can’t be true if he wants to go with me. He wantsme. In this moment, thinking about being at a dance with Nash, Kels has never felt further away.

Maybe this is what we need. Maybe if we do this, he’ll figure it out without me having to say anything.

“Fine,” I say, before I can change my mind. “Okay, I’ll go.”

Molly sucks in a breath. “Really?”

I nod.

She throws her arms around me.

Molly has an impossible way of always getting her way.

Ollie raises his eyebrows when I show him the dress.

“You’re going?”

“Molly coerced me.”

He sits up on his bed, closing his laptop and sliding his headphones down so they’re around his neck.

“But how? I, your own flesh and blood, have yet to achieve such a feat.”

“Nash wants to take me.”

Ollie narrows his eyes at me. “Halle.”

I sit on the end of Ollie’s bed, legs crisscrossed. “I know. How do I do this?”

“You don’t?” Ollie says.

“Thanks,” I say. “Really supportive.”

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