Exclusive: Excerpt From Auriane Desombre’s Debut Queer YA Romcom, I Think I Love You
Shakespearean fans and romantics unite!
The Mary Sue is happy to present an exclusive excerpt from Auriane Desombre’s debut novel, I Think I Love You. Pegged as “a pitch-perfect queer rom-com heavily inspired by Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing and Jane Austen’s Emma,” I Think I Love You follows Emma and Sophia: two rivals competing for the chance to win a trip to a film festival in Los Angeles—and unexpectedly falling for each other along the way.
Sure to be a new fan fave perfect for lovers of Adam Silvera and Becky Abertalli, check out the exclusive first chapter excerpt below! Enjoy!
CHAPTER ONE
Emma
I delete emails from school, unread, on principle (especially the ones they send out at the start of summer break), but I’ve already read this one four times. I scroll through it once more, my eye lingering on the phrases that made my heart jolt. NYC–LA Film Festival, emerging student artists, and my personal favorite, fully funded trip to Los Angeles.
The guy walking behind me huffs as I commit the cardinal New York sin, stopping in my tracks in the middle of a busy sidewalk. I ignore him, scanning the email one more time. Kate, my cousin, peers over my shoulder curiously, but I can’t tear my eyes off it. I’ve been putzing around New York with my uncle’s camera for years, but I’ve never shown my stuff to people who aren’t related to me. This film contest is a chance for me to show it to industry professionals—people who will take my work seriously.
This could be my chance to tell the gay rom-com story of my heart, the kind I’ve never seen on-screen before, despite the hours of my life I’ve spent glued to the Netflix romantic comedy section, falling in love with the idea of love even as I yearned to see myself in the stories about it. Just because the straights in Hollywood don’t know how to tell my story doesn’t mean it’s not out there.
“Look at this.” I tilt the phone screen so Kate can get a bet- ter look, and read it one more time along with her.
Dear Students,
We hope you are having a lovely summer break! Here is a wonderful opportunity from the NYC–LA Film Festival. The festival supports emerging student artists and has opened a high school division within its student contests.
The contest entry requires a fifteen-minute short film in a genre of your choice. The grand prize– winning team will receive a scholarship to be used for tuition toward an undergraduate degree related to film, and a fully funded trip to Los Angeles, where the team will attend networking events and have the option to interview for summer internships at high- profile film production companies. The winning student film will also be presented at the NYC–LA Film Festival alongside the winning entries from the undergraduate and graduate student contest divisions, and winning filmmakers and their guests will be invited to the screening.
We hope you will represent Messina High School with your fabulous work! Click here to find out more.
Best,
Jennifer Austin Dean of Student Life
When she finishes reading, Kate smiles at me, dimples crinkling into her cheeks as her face lights up with the kind of gentle support she always gives me. “That sounds so perfect for you.”
“We have to enter this contest.” I stow my phone back in my tote bag. “We could make a whole short film.”
Not to mention the scholarship money, which I know would go a long way in convincing my parents to let me go to film school. So far, their response has been Choose a degree that has more return on investment, rather than the Yes, we support your dreams unconditionally approach I’ve been hop- ing for.
Plus, how many high school students get to interview for internships at actual production companies? (None, if I go by the many polite emails I’ve gotten in response to my applica- tions, emails inviting me to reapply when I’m in college.) If I win this competition the summer before my junior year of high school, that will definitely help me stand out.
Kate raises her eyebrows. “I’m not sure how much help I’d be. I don’t know anything about film.”
I twist my thick dark curls into a messy bun to get my hair off my sweat-soaked skin. It’s only June, but the classic New York summer humidity has already thickened the air. Even my strappy floral dress isn’t light enough to save me.
“Let’s get to Georgie’s,” I tell Kate. “We can talk about it in the AC.”
She nods, and we jog across the street, sidestepping an overflow of trash on the opposite corner, and pull open the door to the café. The sweet, sweet cold air rushes over my skin, raising goose bumps on my arms. I breathe a sigh of relief. It smells like coffee and vanilla from the candles burning along the windowsill. None of the hot garbage stench from the street has made it inside.
I wave to Tom, who’s already staked out our usual table in the corner. Kate wanders over to him. They hug awkwardly, Kate blushing at the contact with him. I watch them, forc- ing myself to ignore the twitch in my pulse. I want Kate to be happy, more than anything else. At least one of us might find love.
Just not me. I’ve been holding out for my sweeping love story, one that’s exactly like the way my parents met after they’d been anonymous hall rivals all of their freshman year of college. I want the longing, the butterflies, the staying up late at night replaying our most recent kisses, all the beautiful things they had. Instead, all I have is stress about telling my parents that I’m bisexual.
That, and exactly zero suitors. At least I have a cat to get me set up for my looming spinster days.
I swallow hard against the feeling and force myself to smile as I join Myrah at the counter. She’s wearing the gold eyeliner I got her for her birthday, which looks incredible against her dark skin, even if the matching gold necklace clashes horribly with the puke-green apron her boss makes her wear.
“Can you believe them?” I ask Myrah. “I don’t know how much more of this mutual pining I can take before they get together already.”
She grimaces at me, leaning against the cash register. “Welcome to Georgie’s. How can I help you?” she asks in a deadpan.
“It’s only”—I glance at my phone screen—“ten-thirty. You can’t be that dead inside already.”
Myrah blinks at me, her flat expression unchanged, and I laugh.
“Bet you wish you’d just worked at JCPenney with me during the year so we could have the summer off together,” I say.
“If you say ‘I told you so’ one more time, I’ll—” Myrah starts, but I hold up my phone, cutting her off. She leans over the counter to scan the email, her apron bunching at her hips.
“Is this for real?” she asks when she finishes.
“Yeah, the school just sent it,” I tell her. “You would defi- nitely get into that screenwriting course next summer if we won this.”
“And if I did that, I couldn’t work here anymore,” she says, glaring at the coffee shop at large.
In its defense, it’s the cutest coffee shop in the Village. Rows of little wooden tables line the white walls, and the arched windows are framed with plants. Plus, there’s enough room to maneuver without crashing into someone else’s cup of tea, which is more than I can say for anywhere else in the city.
“Okay, I’m in,” Myrah say. “I think we should— So, an iced tea for you?” she adds loudly as her boss walks by.
I stifle a giggle and take the drink she passes me, and then make my way over to Kate and Tom. Setting it on the table be- tween us, I slide into the empty chair next to Kate.
“Where’s Matt?” I ask. We agreed to meet here this morn- ing to offer Myrah moral support during her shift, but now I want to get everyone on board for the movie.
Tom shrugs. “He should be here soon. Why?”
I slide my phone over so he can read the email. As he scans my screen, I round on Kate.
“You could do costume design,” I tell her. I’ve always ad- mired her work. Her focus has been on body positivity in de- sign ever since she got serious about fashion, and her clothes always look amazing. “Besides, it’s a trip to LA. Look, you can even bring a plus-one.”
I fish through my bag for my notebook, and turn to a fresh page to start scribbling down roles. At the top, I write in bold lettering Untitled Rom-Com of My Heart.
Making a rom-com that acknowledges that there are bi girls in the world feels like the perfect start to my film career. I write my name next to director, give Myrah the screenwriter title, and list the rest of our squad down the page.
“Maybe you should wait until people agree to work on it with you before you start assigning roles,” Kate says as she scans the page over my shoulder.
I nudge her out of the way. “You all better do it with me.”
Tom is already nodding. He’s the biggest movie nerd in our group (aside from me, of course).
“Put me down for director of photography,” he says. Dim- ples dig into his cheeks, which are scuffed red at his insistence on shaving even though he doesn’t really need to. “I need a cinematography reel for college applications.”
I scribble that into my notebook and look expectantly at Kate, tapping my pen next to her name.
Kate fidgets in her seat. “I don’t know, guys. I’m working at the teen center this summer, so I’ll be busy. And you were all in TV Production together, and I know nothing about cameras. You don’t need me.”
I scoff. “I always need you. Plus, think how great being a costume designer for a movie at a film festival would look on your college apps. And this would definitely help me get into NYU.” A smile tugs at the corner of her lips, so I keep going. “And again, I cannot emphasize this enough, but if we win, we get to go to LA. For free. To be part of a super-professional film festival.”
“And interview for internships,” Tom adds. “And get college money.”
I glance over at him. The excitement shining in his eyes mirrors mine. He needs this as much as I do.
His smile wins Kate over. “Fine, you win. I’ll design your costumes.”
I squeal and throw my arms around her shoulders. “You’re the best.”
This is true. Despite her constant rants that the brands she loves never carry cute clothes in her size, her love of fashion has made her the best-dressed person I know. Even now, in the thick of summer when absolutely no one ever looks cute, she’s made her sunny-yellow-sundress-and-flower-hair-accessory combo truly stunning. Her fashionable touch will make the movie special.
She digs her sketchbook out of her bag and opens it on the table. The door swings open, and Matt walks in. After a pause at the counter, where Myrah gives him the same dead- inside greeting she treated me to, he joins us.
“How are you drinking hot coffee?” I ask, glancing at his steaming mug. “I sweated my body weight off on the walk over.”
“Thanks for that image,” he says as he raises his mug to his lips.
“You’re welcome,” I say primly. “Read this.”
Matt leans across the table to read the email. The strong scent of his overapplied body spray prickles my nose as he nudges me out of the way to finish reading. “Emma, the dead- line is three weeks away. You know I want to help you, but we can’t make a whole movie in three weeks. That’s too much work.”
“The student entry only has to be, like, fifteen minutes long,” I protest. “We can put together fifteen minutes of foot- age, easy.”
Matt winces, his eyes fixed on the screen to avoid meeting my gaze.
“Come on,” I say, nudging his shoulder. “It’ll be fun. We hang out all the damn time anyway; we might as well do some- thing useful. And everyone else is already in, so you basically have to.”
Matt, heavily outnumbered, sighs. “Fine.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. Making this movie is the first step into the film industry. I can’t imagine anyone I’d rather take that step with than this bunch of awesome nerds. Thinking about it makes my heart light up with warmth.
It’s moments like these when I’m truly grateful that So- phia Kingsley, Tom’s best friend, moved away to Paris. Now that she’s been gone for a whole year, I’m finally free to do the things I love alongside the people I love, without her hanging around and making everything awkward.
“What can I do to help?” Matt asks.
He was in TV Production too, but unlike Tom and me, he’s not looking to work in film. It was the only elective that fit into his AP-laden schedule.
“You can be in charge of snacks,” I say.
“As long as I get a fancy title for the credits.”
“Chief Officer in Charge of Sustenance and Morale,” I tell him.
“And making sure I don’t faint,” Kate adds as she rips open a granola bar. She has mild syncope, and her mom is always filling her bag with snacks so she doesn’t pass out.
“All we need now is an idea,” Tom says.
I nod. “I want to make this a gay rom-com.”
I live for the cheesiness of rom-coms, for the size of the love stories they portray, blown up to fill a whole movie with the depth of the romance. I’ve seen every rom-com I’ve come across, even the bad ones, and I’ve loved every single one of them. Especially the bad ones.
“I love that idea,” Kate says quickly.
The warmth returns to my heart. Ever since I came out to the group as bi two years ago, she’s tried her best to find little ways to be supportive. Especially since I haven’t told my par- ents yet, or anyone in our family except her.
“I think it could be sweet and funny,” I say. “We don’t see a lot of gay representation in the rom-com sphere, and it would mean a lot to people.”
Me being the people in this scenario.
Myrah joins us, bearing a croissant on a plate. “I think that’s for someone else,” I tell her.
“I know,” she says. “But I wanted to talk to you guys. How’s the movie going?”
I show her the notebook. “We’re thinking a gay rom-com.”
Myrah grins. “Sounds good. I’ll write about whatever you want, but only if you find me a date for Kate’s dance.”
The teen center that hired Kate is planning a summer fling dance for its campers, and even though we all privately agree that it sounds as lame as shit because most of the campers are in the eleven-to-twelve age group, Kate is organizing it, so we all have to go.
“I would do that either way,” I say. “But what about Colin?”
She swallows, her gaze dropping to her fingers as she traces the rim of the croissant plate. “I broke up with him.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” I lean over the back of my chair to hug her waist. Colin was her sixth relationship in the two years we’ve been in high school, so we’re all familiar with the Myrah breakup routine. Especially Myrah.
“It’s fine,” she says. “We were only together for, like, a month. He was barely my boyfriend.”
“What happened?” Kate asks, getting up to wrap her arm around Myrah’s shoulders.
“We didn’t want the same things,” Myrah says. “I don’t know. I’m not that sad about it per se. It would be nice to date someone long enough to call it a relationship. I’m sick of this short-term dating cycle I’m stuck in.”
She swallows, and Kate tightens her grip on Myrah’s shoul- ders. Matt wraps her in a hug. He’s the best hugger in the squad—despite his tendency to lean into the body spray too hard—on account of his broad shoulders. She buries her head in his chest for a moment, and her shoulders shudder. It’s im- possible to tell if that’s from crying or from struggling to not inhale Matt’s cologne.
“You’ll find someone,” I say, but the words feel hollow on my tongue. I know how useless they feel when I’m the one hearing them, when Kate tries to comfort me in moments when my yearning for my own great love story takes over.
“Everyone has their own path,” Tom says. “Finding love doesn’t mean it’ll last forever.”
The corners of his lips turn down as he speaks, and my lips twist in sympathy as I realize he’s thinking about Kendra Lyman, his first girlfriend, who cheated on him at homecoming with Chris Doyle after she and Tom had been together for al- most two years. It took us a week to get Tom out of his room after that. He hasn’t dated anyone since.
Though he sure has been making eyes at Kate a lot. “Whatever,” Myrah mumbles. She lifts herself from Matt’s
chest and rubs her eyes with the heels of her hands. Her mas- cara smudges. “Let’s focus on this movie. I can write you a rom-com.”
We back away from the huddle we’ve formed around Myrah, returning to our original seats. Myrah drags an empty chair over from a nearby table and shoves it between Matt and me. Tom scoots his chair closer to Kate, who’s sitting on my other side, and traces the outline of one of the fashion designs in her open sketchbook.
“This is so cool,” he says, looking up to meet her eyes.
I don’t need to glance at Kate’s face to know that it’s glow- ing red.
“Thanks,” she says. “But you’re the one who’s going to make the movie. Your stuff is always so impressive.”
I watch them out of the corner of my eye, not bothering to hide my smile. I might be nauseous with envy, but I can’t help smiling at the way they look at each other.
Even if their little romantic moment means I’m left sitting here alone, twiddling my thumbs.
“Aaaall byyyy myyyseeeeelf,” I sing under my breath. Myrah hears me and glances up at Tom and Kate. She snorts, but Kate doesn’t get it.
“What’s up?” she asks, shifting in her seat to face me.
I smile at her. “Nothing. Go back to flirting.”
“Wh—” Kate blushes, her cheeks turning a steep red. “I wasn’t—”
Before I can answer, the door swings open again. I glance over at the movement, not expecting to see anyone we know. The whole squad is already here.
So when I spot a sleek crop of blond hair, my heart ices over.
Sophia Kingsley is standing in the doorway.
I stare at her, my brain blanking as white static panic noise fills my ears.
She left. She was gone. The day she moved to Paris factors as one of the top four days of my life because it meant the end of awkward silences and transparent attempts to distance my- self from her so people would stop shipping us just because we’re the only two out-at-school gay girls in our grade.
Why is she back?
The rest of the group freezes around me, and I can feel their collective shock. Kate’s eyes grow wide, Matt inhales sharply, and Myrah’s jaw drops.
Tom screeches and shoves past me to bounce across the room and throw his arms around her.
“You’re here,” he says, his voice breaking with excitement. “You’re back.”
She hugs him, her grip tight around his shoulders. “I’m back.”
Matt and Myrah jump out of their seats to join the lovefest. They pile into a giant group hug, their surprise and enthusiasm pouring out of their traitorous mouths. I turn to Kate, whose face turns red when she sees my expression.
“Why is she back?” I ask. “Let’s go ask her,” she says.
I grab her wrist to stop her from moving toward them. “Kate, you know how I feel about her.”
“What has she ever done that was so bad?” Kate folds her arms across her chest.
I slump down, my spine digging into the back of my rickety chair. Sure, Sophia’s constant anti-love rants rub me the wrong way. But the truth is, Sophia has never done anything so ter- rible to me. When I came out as bi, I could tell that Sophia was everyone’s first thought. Like, just because I’m bi and she’s a lesbian, everyone assumed we’d end up together.
I hate the assumption more than I hate her. So I keep her at arm’s length.
“Well?” Kate says.
I shrug. Shaking her head at me, she gets up to join the rest of the squad, and wriggles into their group hug.
I pointedly cross my legs away from the group as they make their way back to the table. Then I fold my arms and stare at Sophia with what I like to think is a cool, aloof expression.
She’s taller than when she left, so she towers over me even more. At least she’s built like a twig—I could totally take her in a fight. She’s wearing thin dangly earrings, skinny jeans, a flowy French blouse, and what I’m pretty sure is an actual beret pinned to her head. She looks like Paris vomited onto her.
Sophia looks me and my basic blue floral dress up and down. I shrink under her gaze. She comes with a healthy side of overconfident I came out to my parents years ago and they still love me vibe that rattles my nerves every time I see her. The sleek new Parisian haircut she’s sporting doesn’t help either.
Before either of us can say anything, Tom turns to Sophia with a giant smile on his face.
“Hey, we’re making a movie. What do you want to do?”
And just like that, Sophia, avowed relationship-hater, pops my happy gay rom-com-making bubble. It’ll destroy the movie if she’s on set, dragging us all down with her horrible love-is- stupid vibes.
“Direct, obviously,” Sophia says. “I learned loads about film while I was in France. We could do something really artsy and cool.”
I wrinkle my nose. Artsy is the last thing I want for my rom-com.
“I’m the director,” I say. “It was my idea in the first place, so you can’t fight me on it.”
At least she respects dibs. “Fine. I’ll be the screenwriter.” “Myrah’s already writing it.”
“I’ll act, then,” Sophia says flatly. I swallow. I’m out of excuses. “That’s perfect,” Tom says.
“We needed an actress,” Kate says, pursing her lips at me. “You chose the perfect day to come back, Soph.”
I turn away from Sophia, looking back down at my note- book, but my mind stays stuck on her. Now that she’s back, she’ll ruin everything. How am I supposed to win this contest
with a sweet love story when she complained all of freshman year about love? She spent the whole time shitting on Tom for being in a relationship, and teasing me whenever I mentioned a favorite rom-com. I can’t have that kind of energy on my set.
“How did you even know we were here?” I mutter.
“I called Tom’s, and his dad told me,” she says. Her shoul- ders slump forward, and for a moment I feel bad.
But then I remember that she’s already threatening my movie, and I’m going to end up a single mess who never gets to go to LA. And die alone with Lady Catulet and all her future kittens.
Damn. Even in my wildest fantasies, my cat’s love life is more exciting than mine.
And with Little Miss France on my set, it’s gonna stay that way forever.
(featured image: Underline)
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