I squeeze his hand. “Thanks for walking me back.”
“I had a great day today,” he whispers, leading me to the door.
“Me, too. Way better than the library.” On autopilot, I say the words before I think about them. “Thank you.” Thank you for saving me. Thank you for being you. Thank you for trying us out and for kissing me under the tree in the rain.
“Talk to you later? About everything?”
I nod. “Yes. Everything.”
I have to find Chase. I have to tell him about Ben and make sure what he’d said to me last night is true…that he doesn’t want me the way I thought he might.
* * *
I dream of the Mexican restaurant my parents used to take Justine and I to when we were little. I wake up to the smell of chili—very spicy chili. I open my eyes and check the time on my phone. Someone’s clanking around in the kitchen.
Frank’s voice sings, “I throw my hands up in the air sometimes.” He’s shouting. I just know he’s dancing. It’s his favorite song, and we hear it about a hundred times a day—when he’s getting ready, when he’s working out. We’re all about ready to kill him, or at least throw his iPod in the river.
I’d almost forgotten he’d offered to cook dinner for all of us tonight. He wants to start a Sunday tradition on the floor in honor of Pooja’s “unity” advice, where we can talk and laugh and be honest. In other words, we can vent.
I wake Pooja, who’s slower to rise. By the time we hit the lounge, the table is set and the chili is being served. There’s not enough room, but we move some furniture around and make due with what we have. I kiss Frank and thank him before I sit. Each day I live at Sheridan, I love it more. It’s becoming my home, and these people my family.
Tonight, we’re down by three. Poppy and Darcy are in Boston for the weekend, and Chase is missing. Megan seems less than thrilled to be here, which I’m guessing is because of Ben and me, but everyone else is excited and smiling.
We all dig in and compliment Frank on his chili and his new tradition. We joke and say it’s dynamite, like his theme song.
Rodrigo’s the first one to vent. “The only problem with this idea of a ‘unity’ dinner is there’s no unity on this floor. You’re all coupled off.” He points to Pooja. “You and Rocco,” then to Maggie, “you and Winston,” then to me, “you and…who are you with, anyway, Kiki? Chase or Ben?”
“A-Rod!” Ben passes a giant bowl of guacamole to me and catches my eye. “In modern times, boys and girls can be friends.”
I giggle and scoop some guac onto my plate. The question is valid, and I’m not prepared to answer it. Not until I find Chase.
Rodrigo continues complaining as he pulls a store-made cake out of a bag. “The Fives are hardly ever around. When they are, I think they’re hooking up with each other.” I raise my eyebrows. I’d never considered that possibility, but it makes sense. “It’s ridiculous here, like there’s something in the water.”
Yesterday I felt the same way about this floor, but now, as I glance toward Ben, I don’t care. I sigh as I pick up a knife to slice the cake.
“Chill out, Rod.” Rocco telling anyone to “chill out” is a sight. “Keep drinking the water, and you’ll find someone, too.”
“Really, Rocco? You’re an ass.”
Rocco’s nostrils flare as he eyes Rodrigo. Thankfully, Frank intervenes. “Cake time! Everyone has to have cake.”
“Got room for two more?” I tear my gaze from Ben at the sound of Chase’s voice. He’s dripping wet, standing next to a tiny girl with dyed red hair, also drenched to the skin. She can’t weigh more than eighty pounds soaking wet. Water flies off his hair as he shakes his head.
“It’s BYOC—bring your own chairs,” Pooja says. “We do have cake, though.”
We all stare at the girl, waiting for an introduction. She grabs Chase’s hand, but he, apparently, doesn’t realize he’s being rude. I stare at their entwined hands until finally, she introduces herself. “I’m Sara, and I love cake.”
Sara? “You have got to be kidding me,” I mutter under my breath.
Chase
After cake, Sara, Ben, and Megan take over the television for Sunday Night Football, and Juliet corners me in the hallway.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?”
I take a deep breath and face her, propping myself up on the wall to steady my shakiness. “Sure.”
“How’s Gram?” she asks.
“Dying, and in denial.”
Juliet frowns and reaches out to me, but I twist away. “I’m so sorry about Gloria, Chase.”
“Me, too.” I make the mistake of looking into her warm, brown eyes, and fight the urge to bury my face in her neck. I want her to put her arms around me, like she did the night before, and tell me everything’s going to be okay.
“Chase?” she whispers. “This morning. Did you mean it? About us being friends?”
I nod. I can’t make my mouth form the words. “I think it’s best for both of us if we don’t get…involved.” My emotions are all over. I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want her, but at the same time I know it can’t work. It won’t work for us. Not with Ben. Not with Gram. Not with everything that’s going on. Sara’s easy to me. Juliet’s work—work I don’t have the energy to take on.
She bites her lip, just like she did the first time I’d met her. How quickly things change. “So you want to be involved with Sara? What about your New Life Plan? I thought you wanted to move forward with your life,” she whispers, glancing down the hallway.
I whisper back, “You’re not exactly an expert on the topic of moving past your first love.”
She frowns and squints. “Wow. Did drinking and backsliding to your ex make you feel better?”
I shake my head. “Sorry Sara and I aren’t as perfect as you and Captain America.”
“Whatever, ‘Coop’,” she says. When she turns away, I look down her body remembering that first day in the train station. Who knew it would lead to this?
* * *
After I walk Sara to the train—Juliet’s train—I quietly open the door to room six hoping Juliet isn’t in Ben’s bed. She’s not. I don’t know how I’m going to handle it when she is. I try to sleep, but my eyes stay wide open.
I toss and turn. Trying to sleep is useless. I give up and pick up my phone to text Juliet.
Hi.
I lay on my back and hold the phone over my chest so I’ll feel it vibrate if she responds. I don’t have to wait long. She texts me back in seconds.
Hi.
I’m sorry I’m an asshole.
I hit send and hate myself.
Eh.
“Eh” isn’t much of a reaction, so I try another tact.
Wanna sext? Get naked and send me a pic.
Yeah, I’ll get right on that.
Huh? Not what I was expecting.
Really?
NO FUCKING WAY.
Ah. There’s the reaction I was expecting.
Why not?
You already saw too much of me.
You’re beautiful.
I think about Juliet in my bed, how her hair covered my pillow, how she’d arched her back when I’d touched her, how she’d felt around my fingers, and…I’m hard. She didn’t even send me a damn picture and I’m hard. I tap the phone.
I don’t need pics anyway. I have it all in my head.
Fantastic.
I grin, hearing her sarcasm through the phone.
For me, yup.
A few minutes go by and I think she must have fallen asleep. Then my phone buzzes again.
You were right about Ben.
He’d be an idiot to let you go again.
A few minutes go by.
I thought you and Sara were a disaster.
We were.
My turn for a topic change.
Tomorrow’s Monday. Can I walk you to class? Just us?
I hold my breath as I wait for her answer.
Yes.
I exhale.
I’m glad you’re getting what you want from Ben.
She doesn’t respond, so I do.
Are you touching yourself?
Really? Goodnight, Coop.
Chase, please. Coop is another life. Or Sexy Train Man works, too.
Goodnight, Chase, Sexy Train Man.
I miss you already.
Chapter Fifteen
Juliet
The next few weeks fly by rather uneventfully, except for the fact that I have Ben. We start dating, finally, and I sink about ten notches down the anxiety meter. The Magic of Ben works its charm on me. I’ve never felt so…simple. Everything is so easy with Ben. He’s exactly how I thought he would be as a boyfriend. He’s busy with football, so I have plenty of time to dance and study. We don’t obsess with each other. We go with the flow and our lives fit together perfectly, like puzzle pieces.
Everything with Ben is great—except that I think about Chase—constantly.
I worry about his grandmother. I wonder what’s going on with him and Sara. When Gram moves into the hospital, Chase spends more and more nights away from the dorm, away from me. I try to forget the first week of school, but each minute I spend in Ben’s room, with Chase’s empty bed next to us, I miss him.
One day after Ben left for early practice, I locked the door behind him and crawled into Chase’s bed just to feel close to him. At dance class I look out the window during barre work, hoping for a glimpse of him or a clue into his life. Only once did I see him through the window, painting on an easel set up in his living room.
In a way, Chase being gone so much makes things easier with Ben. I hope as Ben and I progress, I’ll be able to channel my feelings for Chase more toward friendship and away from my-heart-beats-like-a-drum-at-the-sight-of-you. After all, Chase seems perfectly content with just being friends. There’s no reason I can’t do the same.
Except, I can’t.
Despite his elusiveness, Chase walks me to class every Monday. I try not to think too hard about that. I’m afraid if I question it, it will stop. Every Monday, I wake up early, shower, and wait for him to knock.
Even Ben knows not to bother me on these mornings. “Jules, really,” Ben says. “I understand. You guys are friends. He needs you.” That Ben trusts me completely both calms and irks me. In a way, I wish he’d be jealous.
Regardless, the fifteen-minute walk to my Monday morning history class feels like five minutes. Chase and I chat the entire time. His Gram’s disease is progressing, and our talks are becoming more and more serious. But sometimes, emotionally drained from the weekend with his uncle and grandmother, he acts super silly—teasing me about Ben, about the train, about ballet, about the night I hung out with his friends.
When I beg him to stop teasing, he says, “I like to see your laugh.” I don’t know what he means. How can you see a laugh? But I’m glad I can make him smile.
Despite our new friend status, I still have to fight to keep from touching him. My hands are like magnets, and he’s the metal. So I jam them into the pockets of my sweater to keep from reaching for him. I wonder how he keeps himself under control around me, even though I know it’s for the best. Even without touching him, I always fight a pang of sadness when he drops me off at my class and turns to walk away.
When I tell Pooja about the magnet hands problem, she says, “Hmm,” and tosses me a Diet Coke.
“Oh, no.” Sometimes her gift annoys me, especially when she says something cryptic. “Do I want to know?”
Pooja crawls to the foot of her bed and opens her top drawer. She throws a candy bar at me to go with my soda. Diet Coke and chocolate is her favorite combo and she’s turning me into a fan, too. “You’re still muddled.”
I don’t know what to say. “I’m happy, Pooj. How can I be happy and muddled?”
“Be honest with yourself, Juliet. Follow your heart. It will take you where you need to go.” More Pooja fortune cookie talk.
When I explore Pooja’s “follow your heart” advice, I end up at the dance studio. Always, my heart tells me to dance. One night after class, something, maybe my heart again, makes me trot across the street and fling open the door to the art gallery.
Inside, I see myself. All over the place.
“Juliet! What are you doing here?” Chase’s Uncle Rob asks, walking toward me.
I can’t speak. My mouth opens but no words come out, so I point at the wall.
Rob shrugs. “Chase doesn’t know I hung them. I pulled them from his closet. They’re pretty great, huh?”
I study the wall of ballerinas. All brunette, all en pointe, with Chase’s name scribbled in the corner of each. I count ten paintings before Uncle Rob stands next to me.
Each is more gorgeous than the next. In one picture, the ballerina—presumably me—is holding an arabesque. Her arms and legs are so long and extended, they reach the entire length and width of the canvas. Pink swirls surround her, dancing around her body. “They’re amazing.”
“The purple one is my favorite.” Rob points to the painting of the ballerina lying on a bed in a black leotard and toe shoes, toes pointed and arms crossed, eyes closed peacefully, surrounded in purple swirls. “Chase is not going to be happy if he finds out. Gloria wanted to feature him. I took pictures and a video to show her.”
I step down the line and study the paintings, trying to place where Chase found the inspiration for each of them. The almost-naked torso painting is no mystery. There’s the view of the ballet studio from his living room window. It’s foggy, but the ballerina is seen twice, once through the window and also in the mirror’s reflection. Another shows the ballerina stretching her arches, looking down at her feet, smiling as her hair falls out of her bun. I love how he sees me, so confident and beautiful. He sees me the way he makes me feel. It’s kind of amazing.
“He’s really going through a tough time about Gloria,” Rob says. “The only time I see him smile is when he’s painting. And on Monday mornings.” He grins knowingly.
“I wish he’d let me do something more for him.” I trace a finger over a frame, and my heart aches for Chase.
Rob gestures to the walls. “Apparently you’re helping him without even trying.”
Hearing Rob’s words and seeing the paintings of myself, of my naked torso, my head resting on a pillow, my arms wrapped around myself, something happens inside of me. Something clicks. Ben or no Ben, despite our short time together, Chase and I connected.
“I won’t tell Chase you hung the paintings if you promise to keep a secret for me, too.” I ask Rob where Chase’s grandmother is hospitalized. I write down the address and room number and head back to NJU.
The next day, I bring a bouquet of flowers to the hospital. I sign in under a fake name and spend time with Gloria. I make her promise not to tell Chase. I don’t want him to think I’m stalking his life or inserting myself where I’m not wanted.
That night, I tell Pooja that I’m trying to follow my heart but it’s bringing me all over the place. “It’s not telling me what to do,” I complain.
“It’s telling you, Juliet. You just aren’t listening,” Pooja answers.
Chase
My Monday morning, the last day of October, Juliet greets me with a smile. Not a minute of a day goes by that I don’t want to beg her to be mine, but on Mondays especially the feeling becomes almost overwhelming. I want to tell her how sorry I am for pushing her away. I don’t though. She’s happy with Ben.
Ben. He’s the kind of friend I want in my life—the kind that’s supportive and truthful, not destructive. I love the guy as much as I love his girlfriend. Well, not quite that much. Still, Juliet’s happy with Ben. I know from her colors. Her colors raged with me during that first week. With Ben, she has become a sea of blues and greens. I remind myself I’m okay with it—I can do the friend thing if it’s good for her. Still, I live for Mondays.
Today, on our way to her class, she’s quiet. “What’s up, gorgeous? You seem far away.”
/> Juliet stares at the ground and kicks fallen leaves as we take our usual route to her classroom. She’s wearing tight jeans, high boots, and a long sweater. The autumn breeze catches her hair, lifting it off her back, and I think about the brush strokes I’ll use to portray it on canvas. “Can I be honest with you?” She scrunches her nose.
“Always.”
She peeks at me, rosy cheeked, then looks quickly back at the ground. “I miss you.”
I wait for her to explain, but she doesn’t. I stop walking. “I’m right here.”
“I know.” The early morning sunlight shines through the changing trees that line the path to Juliet’s history class. The light makes her beautiful eyes flicker. She pulls a few strands of wayward hair away from her face.
She purses her lips, and I fight the urge to lean in and kiss them. I fight urges all the time, things like keeping calm with Juliet, staying sober, and staying sane. Juliet has Ben now. I’ll have to continue fighting the urges if I want to make my bright idea of “friendship” work. It’s friends or nothing with Juliet, and I can’t let her go completely.
“I have this feeling about you,” she says.
I frown. “A feeling?” It’s not like her to stumble over words, and now I’m worried.
“I’m sorry. I sound like Pooja now. Okay, well, it’s more like…an ache.”
I raise my eyebrows, wishing I understood. “About me?”
“I ache for you, Chase.” Her eyes meet mine, and suddenly I know what she’s saying.
I pull her into a hug. Her voice shakes against my chest. I want to keep her here forever. “It’s like a big hole. I know I have Ben now, and you have a dying grandmother, and I know you only want to be friends, but I…Pooja keeps telling me to follow my heart, and I keep following it to you.”
She Laughs in Pink (Sheridan Hall #1) Page 14
