Ollie pats Gramps on the shoulder. “Alas, the life of a director is unpredictable, Gramps. You’d hate it.”
Gramps nods. “I would.”
Mom shakes her head. “You’d think that, Ben. But it’s the best kind of unpredictable. It’s following—”
I take a few steps backward, toward the free plug above the countertop. Now that Mom is officially in follow the story wherever it leads you mode, I can charge my phone. Finally. I can’t make dead flowers bloom or make the kitchen look like my memories of it. But I did make small talk without bursting into tears. A small victory.
I plug my phone in and tap my fingers absentmindedly on the granite, waiting for it to come back to life. I count the seconds so they pass: 152, 153, 154 …
At last, with a series of vibrations and notifications, Kels—YA book blogger and founder of One True Pastry—is back on the grid.
It’s overwhelming, the amount I’ve missed. Forty-two new emails. Sixty-five Twitter notifications. Hundreds of DMs.
And zero messages from Ariel Goldberg’s publicist.
I exhale anxiety because I didn’t miss it.
I inhale anxiety because it hasn’t happened yet.
Grams introduced me to Ariel Goldberg, one of my favorite YA authors, when I was twelve. So it feels fitting that today is the day I find out if I’m chosen to host the cover reveal of her newest book, Read Between the Lies. Fitting, but also ten times more nerve-racking.
What if the rejection email is no email at all? What if I’m not even worth responding to? What if Ariel’s publicity team read my pitch and laughed?? Now that Ariel’s a best-selling author on her fourth book, now that her books have “critical and commercial success,” she doesn’t need my cupcakes. Hosting an Ariel Goldberg cover reveal is for sophisticated platforms now. Real magazines with subscribers. Literary reviewers. Adults.
I’m just a kid who bakes cupcakes that match book covers and has an opinion, like everyone else on the internet.
And 20K Twitter followers who care about those opinions, I remind myself.
With my elbows resting on the countertops, I work through the process of clearing my notifications. It’s calming. Halle’s reality is complete chaos; nothing feels familiar. But Kels’s world? Besides waiting for this email, it’s so wonderfully the same.
I created Kels when I was fourteen, and Kels created One True Pastry, a blog dedicated to the two greatest things on Earth—YA books and cupcakes. She’s pretty much the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
Once all my notifications are cleared, I check in on the IRL conversation. Gramps is asking more questions about the documentary. Mom and Dad respond with enthusiasm, all we haven’t been to Israel since birthright and this is such a cinematic opportunity and the Academy will have to, and I am definitely okay to dip my toes into my DMs before going back.
I tap the first message I want to respond to.
WHAT.
10:39 AM
w h a t ?
10:40 AM
You’ve NEVER seen lord of the rings? like ever?
10:40 AM
I am speechless.
10:41 AM
Actually no I’m not. HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?
10:41 AM
… Kels?
11:20 AM
I hope you know that while you dropped a bomb like this and disappeared, your lord of the rings initiation marathon is already in the works. 20 hours. Extended editions. You’re not ready.
12:34 PM
I smile. Nash picking a Lord of the Rings fight is easily the best conversation I’ve had all day. I’m so grateful for the dose of normal.
hey.
12:49 PM
sorry, phone died. (it’s true!)
12:50 PM
okay, so hear me out. the hobbit was assigned reading the summer before freshmen year and just? so many descriptions of rocks? idk. i DNF’d it.
12:52 PM
The response is immediate despite my long lapse. Like he’s waiting for me.
WOW
12:54 PM
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