existed, I don’t think, if I’d created my blog as Halle Levitt, because it would’ve tied me to my grandmother. Nobody in the universe was a bigger Miriam Levitt fan than me. I worshipped my Grams. But I needed to know if people thought my content was good. I’d never know, not for sure, if I started my blog as Halle. Also, while the internet has given me so much, it can be a cruel place. I wanted to shield myself from that.”
I swear the entire audience hears my heart beating through the microphone.
I look up at them and pause because leaning against the back wall, his arms crossed, is Nash. Nash is here.
Breathe.
“For the record, I love being Kels from One True Pastry. I will still post all the cupcake aesthetics on Instagram and write all the YA reviews. The only thing I regret, if I’m being totally honest, is letting One True Pastry overtake my life. Nash, I am so sorry.”
Stella McQueen’s jaw drops to the floor.
My fellow panelists’ jaws follow suit.
If I’m speaking in clichés, it’s because I just became one.
Nash stares at me, his eyes wide.
Then he bolts toward the back door. The exit.
Stella blinks. “On that note, I believe it’s time for audience questions!”
Microphones are set up in both aisles, and those who want to ask questions stand and move toward the microphone closest to them. I look at the clock—in the fifteen minutes between now and the panel’s official conclusion, Nash could be anywhere. He will be gone—the magic of BookCon will fade, and he will without a doubt never forgive me. Especially after the tweets that are sure to surface re: my very public apology.
I should go.
“I have a question for Kels and Annaliese.”
My eyes shift away from the exit, back to the Q&A. A girl stands at the microphone, wearing an #AMWRITING T-shirt. “Hi. My name is Mel and I’m a teen writer. Both of your brands rely heavily on being teen voices. So I’m curious—what’s the plan when you’re, you know, not teenagers anymore?”
I laugh. “I ask myself that question every day.”
“You should,” Annaliese says. “It’s your problem before it’s mine.”
The audience laughs and I’m grateful for a question that pivots away from Nash. “I guess the plan is to stay on the path to becoming a publicist and being sure to advocate for teen voices in-house when I do. I’ll always read and love YA. But it won’t always be for me, you know? So then I have to make sure to advocate for the teens it is for, like my grandmother always did.”
The heads in the audience nod and I relax into my seat.
I can’t make Nash forgive me.
I can finish this panel strong.
* * *
After the panel concludes, I bolt. Down the hallway of conference rooms to the food court. I’m starving and somehow it’s the only place I can think he might be.
I spot his neon blue sneakers first.
He’s sitting at one of the food court tables, furiously texting—so focused on his phone he doesn’t even hear me say his name, doesn’t even notice me sit down.
“Nash,” I say.
He jumps and looks up. “What was that?”
“Um—an apology?”
He shakes his head. “It’s a PR move.”
I blink. “What?”
“To Book Twitter, I’m now the asshole who walked out on your extra public apology.”
I blink, shook by Nash’s anger. “No. That’s not—how could you even think that? I said I’m sorry because I am sorry. I know you don’t believe me, and I promise it’s the last time I’ll say it. But I need you to know that I am so, so sorry. I never should’ve lied to you, especially when things got real between us. There were so many moments where I almost said it—but then you said something or I got scared and … I couldn’t find the words. So I kept waiting for the right time, but I’d already missed it. The second I met you? I should’ve told you. The second I knew I loved you, I wanted to. But I didn’t.”
My words hang in the air, the weight of the rambling mess crashing on my shoulders.
“I can’t believe I said that out loud.”
“I can’t believe you said that out loud,” Nash says, his expression softening.
The scent of freshly made French fries wafts through the food court and my stomach moans, reminding me that I haven’t eaten today. I want fries, and wow, I want them now.