to production to distribution, á la the Schoolhouse Rock “I’m Just a Bill” song. Yes, of course she knows Junie B. Jones. And if I want to be an editor, great—but there are so many aspects to publishing that I can explore, like publicity or marketing.
Tears splash against my keyboard.
Breathe.
I can’t write an essay about One True Pastry and not write about Grams. But I’m not sure if I’m ready to.
The words might not flow out of me today—but they will.
Decision made, I close my laptop to take a much-deserved break from my emotions. I stand to stretch my legs and reach for my phone on the nightstand, just as Gramps knocks. His knuckles rap against the door four times, evenly, so I know it’s him before the door swings open.
“Hal?”
I plaster a smile on my face and tell Gramps to come in.
“How’s it going?” he asks.
I’m instantly suspicious. Gramps has never, not once, asked me, How’s it going?
“Okay. I’m just working on blog stuff, you know. The usual.”
Gramps knows about One True Pastry because he did, in fact, threaten to take my laptop away and I freaked out. Take away my miniscule social life, I said. Take away my driving privileges, I said. You can even take away my phone if you really want to But I need my laptop. I typed in onetruepastry and showed him what it is, who I am. The website, the Twitter account, Kels.
I told him none of it would even exist without Grams.
This is why you’re always online? he asked.
I nodded.
It’s amazing, Hal. Seriously.
I retained my laptop privileges. Thank you, OTP.
“You’re on parole, kiddo,” Gramps says. “Honestly, this doesn’t even feel like a punishment anymore. You, Halle Levitt, are free.”
I’m frozen, unsure what to do or if I even want to be free. It’s like now that I’ve gone back behind the screen, I’m not ready to burst the bubble again.
“Free as in, get out,” Gramps clarifies.
I reach for the oatmeal cardigan draped over my desk chair. “Are you that sick of me?”
“Yes,” Gramps deadpans. “No, I just have a house project I need to work on today. I kicked Ollie out too—he took Scout to the dog park with Talia.”
“Project?” I ask.
“Don’t worry about it,” Gramps says.
“Thanks?”
Gramps nods. “You have thirty minutes to vacate the premises.”
He disappears down the hallway and I’m not sure what he’s working on, but I’m just glad he seems excited about something. Grams had to leave the house during Gramps’s project days too, so this feels like more movement in the right direction.
I’m free. What to do with this freedom? I should go to the library and continue working on my essay. Instead, I send a message to my group text with Le Crew.
I’M FREE
12:32 PM
Molly Jacobson
OMG FINALLY
12:33 PM
Autumn Williams
12:35 PM
Molly Jacobson
??
12:37 PM
So I spend my first hours of freedom dress shopping at the Middleton Mall.
Winter formal is two weeks away, and I don’t know how many times I have to tell Molly I’m not going before it sinks in. She’s had her dress for weeks, of course, but Autumn still needs one. I agree to tag along because I need to get out anyway, and for the first time in almost two weeks, I can.
“In and out,” Autumn says. “I need to pick up Marcy and Max at four.”
“Dogs have no concept of time, Autumn.”
“Marcy knows when I’m late.”
Autumn is the most popular dog walker in Middleton, with a client list that continues to grow. There is a winter chill in the wind—signaling that Autumn’s peak season is about to begin. At thirteen, she started the business when no place else would hire her because, well, child labor laws. She managed to charm most of the neighbors into paying her to walk their dogs with USC fliers and her perfect smile.
If Autumn is on a mission to be in and out, Molly’s mission is to take her sweet time. She scours H&M’s sales racks and pulls no less than half a dozen dresses for Autumn to try on in a variety of colors and styles. Autumn rolls her eyes but takes the stack of dresses into the nearest fitting room.
“You’re not wearing black,” Molly says to Autumn’s only pick, a trademark black A-line cut with lace sleeves.
“Why not?” Autumn asks.
“You always wear black!” Molly says.
“Is senior year really the time to go off-brand?” Autumn counters.
Molly holds out a fitted jade dress. “Just try this one.”
Autumn takes the dress. “That is going to be way too tight.”