Nash as Kels, it’s easy to forget that he has people, real people, outside of Book Twitter and blogging.
He’s my best friend. I’m his best internet friend.
I hate that distinction.
Nash and Molly swap schedules and discuss The Situation. AP overlaps, study blocks. Important details, like who’s where when. They’re calculating how many minutes they can possibly spend with their core crew until the final bell rings at two-fifteen.
Meanwhile, I’m counting down the minutes until I can go home and update my blog and message my Nash, not the actual human sitting a foot away from me.
“I have the second lunch block,” Nash says.
“Me too!” Molly says.
“Third period study?”
“Fifth.”
“Damn.”
Molly glances at her cell. “Sawyer is second lunch too—and, hey, so is Autumn!”
“Sweet, Le Crew lunch is complete.”
I pretend I’m studying my Welcome to Middle-of-Nowhere High School! pamphlet. Then pretend there’s someone on the other side of my phone, not just the overwhelming amount of OTP emails I already have at eight in the morning.
“Halle,” Molly says, “what lunch block are you?”
I look up. “Second,” Nash and I say.
Molly swats Nash’s arm.
He shrugs. “What? We have, like, the same schedule.”
“Dude, it still sounded creepy.”
“Whatever.”
Molly looks at me. “Nash’s creepiness aside, you can totally sit with us. We can introduce you to everyone.”
I should say no. Given our near-identical course load, it looks like Operation: Avoid Nash is already a no go. He’s going to be a part of my Middleton life whether I like it or not. But if this morning’s disaster showed me anything, it’s that I should keep things strictly academic between us. I shouldn’t socialize with him. I shouldn’t get to know Le Crew. I shouldn’t get to know him, IRL.
Still, lunch is always, without a doubt, difficult on day one. I see myself standing in the cafeteria, frozen, with no choice but to crash Ollie’s sophomore table. So despite my self-imposed No-Nash Policy, I nod, and Molly smiles.
I’m grateful I have some sort of place, any sort of situation that does not involve a massive panic attack. Now Ollie and I can pretend not to know each other at lunch, like normal siblings do.
And it’s just lunch. It doesn’t mean we have to be friends. It’ll be great.
* * *
It’s not great.
I’m the seventh seat at a six-person table, which is uncomfortable in an infinite number of ways.
In dropping my fork on the floor and awkwardly trying to decide if I should squeeze out and maneuver my way back to the cutlery station or say Screw it, I didn’t want my salad anyway.
In being wedged between Molly and Nash.
In brushing shoulders with Nash multiple times—and feeling like all my secrets are going to spill out of my soul every time I do.
In checking and rechecking that I’ve silenced my cell, just in case Nash sends a DM to Kels.
In everyone talking all at once, but being unable to access any of the conversation.
“… having Weisner for English blows …”
“… dude, yeah, I have McAlister and she’s amazing. Her book list is exclusively women and people of color …”
“… I didn’t think it was possible to screw up cheese pizza, yet here we are …”
“… Sawyer, if you make a that’s sexist against men comment I’m breaking up with you …”
“… right? It’s so bad …”
“… If you have that little faith in me, maybe I should break up with you …”
“… I actually think it’s pretty good …”
My eyes flicker in circles, my eardrums bounce from conversation to conversation, attempting to piece together the web of relationships. Nash. Molly. Sawyer. Autumn. Taylor. Beth.
Nash + Molly = BFFs
Molly + Sawyer =
Sawyer + Nash = Bros
Autumn = Molly’s other BFF
Taylor + Beth = Autumn’s theater friends. Not Le Crew, but clearly lunch regulars—unlike me.
Overwhelmed by my total inability to naturally insert myself into the conversation, I look down at my phone. It’s the only place I never feel out of place. The home screen displays a string of texts from Amy.
Amy Chen
Happy LAST first day of high school, Kels + Elle!!
12:05 PM
Amy Chen
And happy FIRST first day of high school Samira, our freshman child!!
12:06 PM
I lock the screen. I can’t even respond to the string of texts from my friends, because Nash is here. Next to me. He knows my friends. They’re his friends too.
“So what is your thing, Hal-lee Levitt?” Sawyer asks.
My eyes snap up to meet Sawyer’s. “Huh?”
Could I be any more eloquent?
Sawyer Davidson is Molly’s other half. We met this morning in AP psych, when I took