Free Survive the Night by Danielle Vega Page A

SAYS.
    I try to laugh, but it sounds hollow. Blue paint drips from Sam’s T-shirt and stains his jeans. I lift my hand to wipe a smudge of yellow off his chin, but Sam clears his throat and looks over his shoulder before I can touch him. Frowning, I let my arm drop back to my side.
    I glance down at myself instead. Red and green handprints cover my black T-shirt and jeans, and there’s blue paint splattered over my feet.
    â€œThink there’s somewhere we can clean up?” Sam asks.
    â€œDon’t think you’re going to find a bathroom down here.” I wipe my paint-covered hands on my jeans, but there’s nothing I can do about my feet. I slip them into my flats, leaving blue smudges on the leather.
    â€œCome on,” Sam says, nodding at a keg sitting in the corner. “Let’s find something to drink.”
    I hesitate. “Beer’s probably not a good idea. For me, at least.”
    â€œWater, then.” A real smile crosses his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. It’s enough to calm the butterflies in my gut.
    Sam grabs his sneakers and takes my hand, pulling me into the crowd. His skin feels chalky from the dried paint, and a little sweaty. I don’t want him to let go, but he releases his grip when we shuffle to the end of the drinks line.
    â€œIsn’t that Shana?” he says, nodding at a blond head in the crowd around the keg. I cup my hands around my mouth.
    â€œShana!” I call, and she whips around, holding two bright red Solo cups.
    â€œHey! I was looking for you two,” she says. She hands me a Solo cup. “It’s soda ,” she says when I make a face. “Don’t get your panties in a twist.”
    â€œYum,” I say, taking a sip. “This is perfect. Thanks.”
    Shana shifts her eyes to Sam. “Woody was looking for you,” she says. “He found some guys who want to jam. You in?”
    Sam glances at me. “I didn’t bring my guitar.”
    â€œThey had stuff,” Shana says.
    â€œUh, sure.” Sam crosses his arms over his chest. “You coming?” he asks. He stares at my chin instead of meeting my eyes.
    â€œYeah.” I bite my lip to keep from frowning. Shana grabs Sam’s arm.
    â€œHere, let me show you where they’re all set up,” she says, and pulls him into the crowd.
    â€œWait, didn’t you want a drink?” I shout. Sam turns and lifts a hand to his ear, frowning.
    â€œDidn’t you . . .” I start again, but he shakes his head to show that he can’t hear me over the music. “Never mind,” I mutter, tagging along after them.
    We hop off the platform and follow the tunnels deeper underground. Shana balances on one of the thick rails, holding her arms out to either side.
    â€œWhy don’t people run off to join the circus anymore?” She wobbles but catches herself before she loses her balance. Beer sloshes over the rim of her Solo cup. “I’d be insane on the tightrope.”
    â€œYou just want an excuse to wear a sparkly leotard.” I avert my eyes as we walk past a couple making out by the side of the tracks. Shana spins on her rail.
    â€œI’d look great in a leotard,” she says. She wobbles again. I grab for her arm, but Sam reaches her first. He holds her elbow until she regains her balance.
    I grit my teeth and kick an empty PBR can. It ricochets off a rusted rail and rolls to a stop in front of a silver subway car. Graffiti covers the windows, making it impossible to see inside. Woody’s voice echoes down the tunnel, screeching the words to a popular Feelings Are Enough song.
    Sam pulls himself onto the platform, then leans over to offer me a hand.
    â€œThanks,” I say, hopping up next to him. A dull ache shoots through my knee. I wince and scramble to my feet, trying to stretch my leg as we walk.
    We join a line of people trying to push through the narrow subway car door. The