Free She Laughs in Pink (Sheridan Hall #1) by Jessica Calla Page A

exit.
    “You aren’t mad at me, are you? About earlier in the week?”
    I am. I was. I hate him. I love him. But now, at this moment, I’m just sort of…whatever. “I can’t really talk now—”
    “I know. You have to go. It’s just…I’ve barely seen you since Monday night.”
    Guys are so confusing . “We’ll hang out soon, okay? How about tomorrow? Dinner?” I continue to creep toward the exit.
    “That sounds good. I’ll text you.”
    I run out of Sheridan, through campus, and to the train while texting Chase. He says he’s in the city and offers to meet me at the station.
    On the other side of the river, I see him first but almost don’t recognize him. Dressed in a grey suit and a white dress shirt open at the collar, he looks, well, awesome. He’s Movie Star Chase, leaning against a wall near the giant map focused on his phone. In contrast to the dark, dirty train station, he’s a shining beacon of light. It’s odd he’s so dressed up, but I appreciate the image.
    His face lights up when he sees me. “Hey, gorgeous.” I remember his, “I like you” speech and grin. I beeline for him and he touches my hair, which is rolled on top of my head in a bun. “You look so cute.”
    I smile and scrunch my nose. “My ballet look. In an hour, I hope to be a ball of sweat and tears. You, though…wow. What’s going on? Got a prom to go to?”
    He shakes his head and scoffs. “Ha. No. Art gallery stuff. We’re hosting a new artist, so I thought I’d check out how it works. My first big boy gig. You’ve inspired me to try the grown-up thing.”
    “I’m sorry I pulled you away…I had no idea.”
    He takes my hand. “It’s okay. I wanted to see you. Let’s go.”
    Chase leads me into the city. Even at sunset on a weekday, people swarm downtown. Chase expertly maneuvers through the streets and gets me to the dance studio in minutes. He stops at the door and touches my bun again. “Enjoy your first class. When you’re done, come across the street and I’ll show you around.”
    I stand on my toes and tousle his hair. “Have fun being a grown-up.” He waves without turning around, and I watch him walk across the street. From the back, in his suit, I can’t help but think he looks the part of the grown-up—all man, no boy.
    One step into the dance studio, and I feel like I’ve come home. Miss Stephanie pays extra attention to me, adjusting my positions, testing my knowledge and skill level. Even though it’s my first class, I’m light as a feather. The weight of the world has been lifted off my shoulders. The music, the company, the movements settle me, mentally and physically. As I do barre work, I look out the window down to the lights of Chase’s art gallery. I watch people enter and exit, wondering what he’s doing in there.
    After class, I text Chase that I’m too gross to step foot in the gallery. I assure him I’m fine getting back to the dorm, and I’ll catch up with him later. He texts me back instantly.
     
    Let me know when you’re on the train .
     
    I smile at my phone. He’s worried about me.
    On weeknights, after a certain hour I’ve yet to figure out, the trains run only on the half hour. As I hop down the stairs to the tracks, I watch my train speed away from the empty station. Dammit. Alone on the platform, I wonder if I should be worried. I wrap my pink cardigan tight around my waist and drop my ballet bag at my feet. I text Chase again.
     
    Just missed train. Ugh.
     
    Again, his response is instant.
     
    On my way.
     
    I text him back.
     
    No! Stay at your grown-up stuff. I’m okay .
     
    I ignore the solitude of the train station and think about ballet. I pace up and down the platform with endless energy, physically sore but mentally high from class. I hum the music and think through the choreography I’d learned.
    Miss Stephanie is a genius. With some cyberstalking, I’d learned of her past with the New York City Ballet and her award-winning performances. I