I love cooking for Ethan. But he’s so determined to stick to the list that he hardly lets me anymore. Even when I make something that’s on the list, he only eats half the amount he used to. And we can’t have our fun dinners and snacks at Shake Shack after school anymore because his schedule is so crazy.

“That sucks.” Miles takes a huge bite of chocolate cake. “I bet cake’s not on the list, huh?”

“Not so much. My trainer would kill me.”

I know Ethan’s training is super important. He has a grueling tour coming up. Zeke decided Ethan should take things to the next level with this big tour. There will be choreography for some songs. There will even be backup dancers. Ethan is nervous, even though he’s an amazing dancer. He wants to make sure the choreo is perfect. Staying in maximum shape is crucial. But if I hear him say “my trainer” one more time, I’m going to lose it.

“You guys looked so cute on GMA,” Reyna says.

It was a total surprise when Good Morning America flashed a picture of me and Ethan. They asked him about his girlfriend and he told them my name and there we were. Filling up the TV screens of millions of people.

Ethan leans up against me to whisper in my ear. “You looked beautiful. Just like today and every other day I’ve known you.”

Melting. Into. My chair.

The girl at the end of the table keeps sneaking glances at me. I recognize the look in her eyes. I’ve been seeing it more and more. The longing. The jealousy. Wishing she could switch places with me. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to being on this side of that look.

But I’m happy to be here.

18

[5,619,320 FOLLOWERS]


The first week of November means one thing in my town. It’s Harvest time.

The Harvest Festival is an annual event on the river. We just call it the Harvest. It’s kind of a festival with booths selling treats and clothes and knickknacks, mostly made by people who live here. There are games and contests. Everyone comes out for it.

I’ve been baking for the Harvest since seventh grade. Gram ran our booth back then. Now I run it. Gram says I’ve outdone myself this year. That’s because I suddenly have all this free time. The time I’d normally be spending with Ethan is like this gaping void in my life. I’ve been filling the void by baking enough cookies, cupcakes, brownies, and pies to feed a small country. According to Gram, my baking is legendary. She insists that my heart cookies are famous. She likes to exaggerate. But my favorite coffeehouse does stock them when I have enough time to make a few large batches.

My heart cookies are abundant today. They’re wrapped in opalescent cellophane and tied with different colored ribbons. It’s kind of my signature style. I used to hang the cookies from skinny tree branches I assembled over the table. This year I wanted to do something different with their presentation. The cookies are gathered in cute heart baskets I bought from another local entrepreneur.

Georgia is working the booth with me. After we arrange all the treats in groups, we sit on rickety folding chairs to await customers seeking sugar. We don’t have to wait long before a group of girls from school comes over.

“Hey, Sterling!” Kelsey goes. As if we’re friends.

“Hey.”

“You know Markita and Ravyne, right?”

I give them a weak smile. These girls have a seriously twisted view of the world. They think that just because they’re on cheer squad that gives them the right to torment anyone who dares to be unpopular. I once saw Kelsey put a Godiva truffle on Lynn Sweitzer’s chair in class before she sat down. That poor girl sat right on the chocolate. Kelsey and Markita snickered all through class. Lynn had no idea what was happening. I had to pass her a note to break the news. I couldn’t stand the thought of Lynn getting up when class was over and walking out with a rude chocolate smear on her butt. So yeah. These girls are not my friends.

Not that it’s stopping them from acting like they are.

“Are you so excited for Ethan’s tour?” Kelsey gushes.

“Of course,” I say.

“Why isn’t he doing a show in Connecticut?” Markita asks.

“Yeah,” Ravyne chimes in. “I thought he’d be hitting Hartford. Since he’s from here and all.”

“Ethan doesn’t decide where he goes,” I explain. “The production company and his manager arrange the schedules.”

“Oh.” Kelsey sniffs. “Well, I guess I’ll go see him at Madison Square Garden. It’s so hot he’s playing there.”

“So hot,” Ravyne confirms.

“Wouldn’t it be awesome if we could get comped tickets?” Kelsey fishes. “Let’s see . . . who do we know who knows Ethan?”

These girls have never talked to me before. Now they’re asking for free tickets to a show that will probably be sold out?

“Sorry, I can’t get you in,” I say. “I have no control over that.”

“Really? You can’t pull some strings?”

“Why should she?” Georgia, who has been watching in silent disgust this whole time, can’t stay quiet anymore. “You’re not even friends.”

“Whatever, freak. Don’t you mow my lawn or something?”

Markita and Ravyne laugh nastily. Georgia has an internship with Marisa’s Aunt Katie, who has her own landscaping company. She’s not interested in mowing lawns. She’s learning how to transform any yard into a beautiful landscape. Which is a lot more than these beeyotches will ever do.

“Did you want to buy something?” I ask. “There’s a line.”

“We don’t eat desserts,” Kelsey informs me. “We’re on cheer?”

“Have fun with that,” Georgia says.

The girls huff off.

“Where does Kelsey get off thinking she can manipulate everyone?” Georgia seethes.

“Profound ignorance will do that to you.”

Mrs. Kennedy, who was standing behind the girls all oblivious to their snark, swoops up to the table. She’s one of my best customers.

“Sterling! I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you.”

“Hi, Mrs. Kennedy. This is my friend Georgia.”

“Nice to meet you, Georgia. Do you know how delicious Sterling’s baking is?”

“Totally. She’s my sugar mama.”

“Everything looks so good!” Mrs. Kennedy has been buying from me since my first year at the Harvest. She bought from Gram for years before that. Mrs. Kennedy is probably tired of doing her own baking. She has four kids.

“You should run a catering business, Sterling,” Mrs. Cherski tells me as she passes by my table on the way to her own. She knits the most adorable hats.

“I’ve been telling her that for years!” Mrs. Kennedy says. Which is true. She tells me every year. Feedback like theirs makes me think about how I could do more with my life. Ethan’s success is pushing me to be more ambitious. I had this idea for a cooking video series. It would be a fun way to share recipes and tips. Maybe I could gear the videos toward cooking advice for teens and college students.

“We can only hope,” Mrs. Cherski says. “I’ll stop by later, hon. Did you make some of those chocolate peanut butter fudge brownies your grandmother was telling me about?”

“Right here.” I point to the tray.

“Those look incredible,” Mrs. Kennedy says. “I’ll take half a dozen. You know what? Let’s do a dozen. And I’ll take two cherry pies, two blueberry pies, and a dozen heart cookies. Oh, and a vanilla cupcake. That one’s for me.”

Georgia raises her eyebrows at me. She starts lifting brownies out of the pan with a spatula to place in a pink pastry box.

“Wow,” I say. “Thank you.” Mrs. Kennedy just ordered twice what she normally does.

“Thank you for the delicious treats. College is so expensive these days. I’m happy to contribute.”

Georgia and I put the order together. We pack the pink pastry boxes into a shopping bag.

“Thanks again,” I say.

“I hate to ask you this, but . . .” Mrs. Kennedy pulls a folded piece of paper out of her bag. “Could you give this to Ethan from my daughter? She’s eleven now, if you can believe that. She’s such a big fan.”

I’m shocked that Mrs. Kennedy is slipping me a note for Ethan. She’s a classic soccer mom. I thought she would be one person I could count on not to get crazy-stalker-fangirl on me.

“Sure.” I take the note from her.

“Oh, you’re the best.” Mrs. Kennedy picks up the shopping bag. “Have a good day, girls!”

“Bye,” Georgia says.

We watch the activity at the other tables for a minute. Then Georgia says, “Can I talk to you about something?”

“Of course. Why are you even asking?”

“It’s kind of . . . complicated.”

“What?”

“Remember when—”

“Hey!” A group of four middle-school girls comes rushing up to the table. “You’re Sterling, right?”

“Yeah.”

“OMG it’s her,” one girl says. “Can we get a picture?”

“Of what?”

“We want pictures with you!” she giggles. “Is that okay?”

“Oh. Um. I guess.” Why would anyone want a picture with me?

She comes around the table and bends down next to me. Her friends snap photos.

“Now me!” another girl shouts. They all take turns getting pictures.

After they run off in a squealing herd of giggles, I ask Georgia what she was going to say before.

“Can’t talk now,” she says. “We have customers.”

The line is so long at one point that I don’t even notice Miles and Reyna until they’re next. Georgia takes the next person in line while I talk to them.

“You guys didn’t have to wait in line,” I tell them. “You could have just come around.”