have a choice. But I can love Fireflies and You as Halle and criticize Alanna as Kels. That’s supposed to be the whole point of Kels! Clearly, Halle has influenced One True Pastry just as much Kels has complicated my real life.
We’re not the same—but maybe we’re not as distinct as I’ve always believed.
So it’s clear to me now that Kels would never see this movie.
And as for me, I can love the book that Grams helped create, but that also doesn’t mean I have to see the movie either.
“Autumn is right,” I say. “If Alanna doesn’t think her teen audience is valid, why are we throwing the little money we, as teens, actually have at her?”
“I guess I don’t think about it like that,” Nash says. “I think I loved the book, the creative team behind the movie is awesome, and I want to support them—not Alanna.”
“I know,” I say, digesting this.
Our phones simultaneously light up with a text from Molly.
Molly Jacobson
There’s an 11:30 showing of the Barry Jenkins movie at the Omni. I can’t see F&Y when A’s like this. You coming?
10:57 PM
Tonight is supposed to be sharing popcorn and staying out too late with Le Crew. Part of me wants to stay, to be with Nash, to pretend like it’s a date. But it’s not. And I know now I can’t give my money to this film, not when Autumn slayed me with the truth like that. I’ll deal with the Kels consequences in the morning.
I look at him. “I’m going to go.”
His eyebrows rise, surprised. “Really? Okay.”
I shoot Molly a text before I change my mind. “Yeah. Let me know if Grams would’ve approved, okay?”
I walk away from Nash before he responds, heading toward the front of the theater, my arms wrapped around myself because it’s so cold. Molly says they’ll wait for me at the curb and, wow, I am having a Feeling—because I’ve never had people like this, people who will wait up for me.
“Halle. Wait!”
I turn around at the sound of Nash’s voice. He’s here, not in his spot in line. And it was a decent spot, too, only maybe a third of the way back. He’s here, his hood fallen in his haste to catch me, revealing a green-and-white knitted Celtics hat. Under the streetlights, his nose is bright red, and I see his breath every time he exhales.
“I’m coming too,” Nash says.
Now it’s my eyebrows that rise. “Really?” I think back to his offer to see this with Kels. The Kels who isn’t speaking to him. The Bye, Kels.
“Let’s go,” he says.
“Are you sure?”
Nash stuffs his hands in his jacket pockets and nods. “Yeah. I want to see a movie with my friends. I want to see a movie with you.”
I want to see a movie with you.
We wave to Molly to go ahead and I follow Nash to his car, processing what this means, thankful my face is already red from the bitter cold.
* * *
Damn you and your beautiful movies, Barry Jenkins.
Seriously, the way he’s able to capture the smallest moments is breathtaking.
How I’m even paying attention when Nash’s arm keeps brushing against mine is a testament to his cinematic skills, honestly. It keeps happening—every time Nash whispers an observation in my ear or offers me more popcorn or a sip of his cherry slushee. During a tense moment between the main character and his father, Nash’s arm is against mine for ten whole seconds.
Yeah, I counted.
Ten-second arm touching is not an accident. It’s definitely a lot more than not awkward.
To my right, Molly and Sawyer are holding hands. Autumn is on the end crying into her popcorn and thank goodness I’m not the only one wiping away tears.
By the time the credits role, we’re up to thirty-two arm-brushing incidents.
We exit the theater, Autumn, Nash, and I trailing behind Molly and Sawyer. They’re always holding hands, and I hate how much I want that. Despite all the friend zone conversation, I would reach out and hold Nash’s hand right now if I could. I hate that in an alternate universe, I could.
Nash bumps against me on the way to his car and my God, why can’t he stop touching me? I’m going to pop a blood vessel before this night ends. My heart rate spikes and my palms start to sweat and it’s a rush of blood to the head every time Nash’s skin brushes against mine.
I know he’s not going to take my hand, even if he’s feeling