why Nash is going to BookCon.
It isn’t for me.
Part of me can’t stop hoping he checks out my panel.
Even if he doesn’t love me anymore, I want him to see the full picture of me just once.
I’m trying to salvage too-liquid frosting with more powdered sugar when Ollie enters the kitchen and asks if we can talk.
“Not about Nash,” I say.
He opens his laptop and scowls at me. “Um, no. About me? And my life?”
Seriously, how long am I going to be the worst sister on the planet? I can’t remember the last time I asked how he is, how he’s doing. I’ve been so in my Nash feelings that I never even asked him how baseball season is going or when he and Talia became a thing.
I leave the frosting bowl on the counter and sit next to Ollie at the table.
“I’m sorry. Really sorry. What’s up?” I ask.
“I kind of did a thing.”
He turns his laptop to face me and it’s opened to an email.
Subject: Re: Junior Counselor Candidacy at Camp L’Tovah
Eyebrows raised, I read.
Hi Oliver,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to the junior counselor program at Camp L’Tovah. We were impressed by your application, and after we spoke last week it is evident that you are a perfect fit. Attached is all the necessary start paperwork, important dates, and camp handbook to read at your convenience. Please confirm that you are accepting the position by May 30th. Orientation begins June 15th.
Welcome to Camp L’Tovah!
Sincerely,
Abraham Ben-Yehuda
I reread the email three times before reality hits. Ollie Levitt. My brother, who can’t keep a kippah on his head if his life depended on it, is going to Jewish summer camp? Ollie barely knows the shema and he … is going to junior counselor a group of tiny Jewish kiddos? This is incredible.
“How did you even—?”
“Molly,” Ollie says.
I nod. “Of course.”
“I just … needed something to keep me here. The camp runs for six weeks and it’s right outside New Haven, so it’s kind of perfect. We’ll visit Mom and Dad in Israel for a few weeks like we promised, then I’ll bestow my wisdom on third through sixth graders for the rest of the summer while living with Gramps. It’ll be great, and I’ll get to stay. Do you think it will work?”
“I don’t know. But it could help Mom see how serious you are,” I say.
“Every time I bring it up, she shuts me down. I know she misses us. I miss them too. It’s not about that. It’s about staying in one place so I can take baseball seriously. I want to play in college, like Sawyer, you know?”
“That makes sense. Mom and Dad will get it, I think. They let us stay here when I explained my blog stuff to them. They’re all about chasing dreams, you know?”
Ollie nods. “I hope so.”
“I’ll talk to Mom,” I say. “If you need backup.”
Ollie closes his laptop. “I think you mean when I need backup. Thanks.”
“Of course. How did you bamboozle Abraham Ben-Yehuda into hiring you?”
“I, um, pretended to be a Yankees fan.”
I gasp. “Ollie.”
“I know. Don’t tell Gramps.”
“We both know I’m going to tell Gramps.”
I forgot how good it feels, laughing with my brother—laughing in general.
“Whatever. I got assigned to sports and rec. So basically, I’m getting paid to teach kids how to throw a baseball. I’d do that for free, dude.”
“Did you tell Talia?”
“We broke up weeks ago.”
What? Did I seriously not notice that my brother was also going through a breakup? Now that I think about it, I haven’t seen Talia around the house in … a few weeks.
“You didn’t—”
“With all the Kels stuff, I don’t know. It didn’t seem important.”
I shake my head. “It’s so important.”
“It’s no big deal, honestly. We’re better as friends.”
“You’re okay?”
He stands. “I’m awesome. I am a camp counselor. Well, assuming the parents let me. Still, I … need to ask Gramps if he has an extra kippah. Or five.”
“I’ll be here with the bobby pins and backup support.”
Ollie pauses at the bottom of the stairs. “Thanks, Hal.”
“I’m sorry I’ve been a mess. I’m sorry I made the mess. You were right. You told me so.”
He pulls out his phone and opens an Instagram story. Presses record.
“Let Halle Levitt state for the record that I, Ollie Levitt, am always right.”
I return to my cupcake batter. Because it’s definitely true, but there’s still no way I’m letting Ollie get that sound bite on the record.
* * *
Gramps comes