Love, Creekwood (Simonverse #3.5)(21)
Bram, I applied to transfer next year. To NYU. I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. But I wasn’t sure I was going to go through with it. And B, I didn’t want you to feel bad or guilty, or like you should be looking into transferring here. So yeah. I just wanted to do it and put it out into the universe, and we’ll see what happens. It looks like I’ll find out in May.
But, okay, the first thing you should know is this: If I get in, we’re making this decision together. I don’t want to crowd you (I know it’s New York, lol, but you know what I mean). I know it would be a big change for us, and maybe it’s too much. I don’t know. I’m just saying, nothing’s set in stone yet.
And I also want you to know that I don’t see this as a sacrifice. Because I wouldn’t be giving anything up. The only year that’s been even partially written is this one. Everything else is wide open. It’s the weirdest thing, B, because now I don’t even know where I’ll graduate. But this is my freshman year, you know? And I think it was supposed to be here. My tiny little Philadelphia nerd school with my weirdo roommate who, god help us, will probably be in our wedding one day. Bram, you wouldn’t believe how much I fell in love with this place the minute I knew I wanted to transfer. I know that sounds completely absurd, but it all just feels so precious right now. Like it’s not a place that’s keeping us apart. It’s just a place. And it’s a place I get to keep, no matter what. It’s in my nesting doll now.
And maybe NYU will be too. It was really fun to go back there. I took all these selfies in front of the arch, just to try and see what NYU Simon would look like (he looks a lot like regular Simon with a giant zit, if you were wondering). It’s so different from Haverford. Like, it’s different in every single way, to the point where I can’t even imagine what living there would feel like. Maybe I’d just spend three years missing Haverford. But at least I wouldn’t have to miss you.
So now you know. And, Bram, you don’t have to respond anytime soon. Just think about it, and sit with the idea, and then whenever you’re ready, we can talk about it. And I promise, B, I promise you can tell me if you feel weird about it. We can pretend I never even applied. We don’t have to mention it ever again, okay? I know how to be in love with you from Philly. Easy peasy. I could do it in my sleep.
Love,
Jacques
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected]
DATE: MAR 31 AT 11:20 PM
SUBJECT: RE: I MUST REALLY LIKE YOU.
Pressing pause. Saving the game. Calling you now.
Love,
Bram
Acknowledgments
I’ve spent five years swearing I’d never write this story, and here we are. All I can say is this: Maybe it’s a good thing, the way we never stop surprising ourselves.
This project has been pure joyful chaos, and I’m so grateful to the MVPs who dove in with me headfirst: Donna Bray, Holly Root, Mary Pender-Coplan, Anthea Townsend, Ebony LaDelle, Sabrina Abballe, Jacquelynn Burke, Tiara Kittrell, Shona McCarthy, Mark Rifkin, Alison Donalty, Jenna Stempel-Lobell, Chris Bilheimer, and my teams at Balzer + Bray/HarperCollins, Root Literary, UTA, and Penguin UK. I’m in such awe. You made publishing miracles happen.
Isaac Klausner, Temple Hill, and everyone involved in Love, Simon and Love, Victor—especially Isaac Aptaker and Elizabeth Berger, who changed the course of Simon’s life in a single email.
Caroline Goldstein and Emily Townsend, for the Haver-wisdom.
Aisha Saeed and Olivia Horrox, who watched me stare at my Word document on many trains and planes.
Adam Silvera, Nic Stone, Angie Thomas, and Mackenzi Lee, who let me borrow their universes.
Jasmine Warga, David Arnold, Dahlia Adler, Jenn Dugan, Matthew Eppard, Katy-Lynn Cook, and everyone else who kept my panic at bay during the deadline-homeschool two-punch.
Jaime Hensel, Sarah Beth Brown, and Amy Austin, who proved that Creekwood kids never lose touch.
My family, especially Brian, Owen, and Henry (funny how the love letters write themselves when it comes to you guys).
The Trevor Project, for giving my readers a shore worth swimming to.
And the readers who, after five years of no, still showed up for my yes.
An Excerpt from Kate in Waiting
TURN THE PAGE FOR A SNEAK PEEK AT
Overture
It really feels like an ending, in every way possible. With the curtains pulled closed, the stage might as well be another planet. A well-lit planet full of giant foam set pieces, inhabited only by Andy and me—and Matt.
Coke-Ad Matt.
“It’s now or never,” whispers Andy. He doesn’t move an inch.
Neither do I.
We just sort of stand there, in the shadow of a papier-maché Audrey 2.
There’s nothing sadder than the end of a crush. And it’s not like this was one of those distant-stranger crushes. Andy and I have actually talked to this boy. Tons of words, on multiple glorious occasions. No small feat, since Matt’s the kind of gorgeous that usually renders us speechless. He’s got one of those old-timey faces, with blond hair and pink cheeks. Our friend Brandie collects Coca-Cola merch, and I swear the vintage ad in her bathroom looks exactly like Matt. Thus the nickname. The ad says “Thirst stops here.” But in our case, the thirst doesn’t stop.