She Laughs in Pink (Sheridan Hall #1)

by Jessica Calla

  I’m not going to do this. I’m not going to turn Chase into Ben. This is my history, my life. As bad as it was, it’s part of who I am. Just like the shooting at Sheridan. I pull away from Chase and stand. He follows, but I take a step back. The distance helps me continue as I search for words.

  “Ever since Justine died, I’ve been trapped in the grave with her. Maybe because we’re twins. Maybe because she was my best friend. I don’t know. But when I was buried there with her, nobody tried to pull me out. My parents let me die with her, you know? The only air I got was from dancing. So I danced my ass off.”

  Chase harrumphs and grins.

  “Then I met Ben.” Chase stiffens next to me, but I continue, “He was so out of the grave, up in the world doing his thing. He was like the sunshine in the dark sky, you know, beaming down at me.”

  I smile thinking of Ben, his goodness, his glow. Chase relaxes and grins back at me, taking my hand.

  “He found me in that hole in the ground, and he offered me a boost, but still, he couldn’t pull me out.” Chase squeezes my fingers, and I shift to face him. “Then I met you.”

  He stills.

  “Ben? He likes me. He tolerates me. Maybe he loves me, but he thinks I’m crazy and…what’s the word he used that night in the lounge? Exhausting?”

  “He called you driven and motivated, too,” Chase adds and touches my knee.

  “He never really got me. I didn’t realize that until I met you. With you, I feel understood. You accepted me. You told me that I wasn’t crazy. I thought you would be the one who’d finally pull me out of that hole.”

  Chase opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. I hold my hand up to stop him. “With this horrible stuff happening, though, it makes me see. You’re not the one who’s going to pull me out of the grave. You’re stuck in your own hole. We’re similar that way. But we’re different, too, because I’m trying so hard, Chase. I’m going to keep trying to get out of my grave.” The sun beats down, and I pull off my hat to get some air. It’s time, I hear Pooja say.

  “I think about those parts of you that I love—your passion, your creativity, the way you loved your grandmother and how loyal you are to your friends. I think about how you knew me for a day, one day, and found me a ballet studio because you knew I needed it the way you need art. I think about how, with one look, one word, you make me feel like I’m the center of your universe. Nobody’s ever made me feel like that, Chase.”

  “Juliet—”

  “But all that great stuff about you—those amazing purple eyes, the train station, the night we shared—it’s overwhelming, but it’s not enough. I want to claw myself out of this. I’m going to claw myself out, but I can’t save you, too. What I’ve learned since you, since Gloria, since Frank, is that nobody can save us. Not Ben. Not Sara. We need to save ourselves.”

  I step away again as Chase falls to the ground next to Frank’s grave.

  He hides his head on his bent knees. “I love you, Chase. You’re the first person I’ve loved for the right reasons, and I’m sorry it didn’t work out. But I’m not staying in the grave. And I’m not pulling you out of your hole either.”

  When I walk away, I half expect him to follow me, to protest, to argue—anything. But he doesn’t.

  Maybe that means he listened.

  Chase

  I sit at Frank’s graveside for hours, digesting what Juliet said, thinking about how beautiful she looked saying it. I feel sorry for her, for me, for Frank. I’m a fucking basket case by the time I leave and drive back to the city.

  At home, I fall into my bed, fully clothed, shoes and all, and don’t wake up until the following morning when someone’s banging on the front door. Juliet, I automatically think. I race down the stairs.

  It’s not Juliet though, it’s Ben.

  I haven’t spoken to him since the night I spent with Juliet. He’s growing a beard, but other than that he looks like he’s back to normal, physically at least.

  “C. C.,” Ben says.

  I open the door wider and invite him in, but he waves me out. “I don’t want to come up.” I step outside and follow him to the sidewalk. “I just stopped by to say I’m sorry about your grandmother, man. I would have come to the funeral, but with the surgery and stuff I couldn’t make it.” He grabs me into a hug.

  “Thanks. Of course I understand. How’s your shoulder?”

  Ben pulls his arm back, and before I can react, he punches me in the face.

  “Fuck, Ben!” The pain moves from my jaw to my ear, and my cheek numbs.

  Ben shakes his arm. “It’s feeling better, thanks. That’s for stealing my girlfriend.”

  In a split second, he balls his fist and hits me again, this time in the gut. My stomach rises to my throat as I double over. “Shit,” I sputter, spitting onto the ground.

  “And that’s for being a dick to her after.”

  I straighten and lift my arms to defend myself. “Are you done now, asshole? Jesus Christ.”

  “I’m done.” His tone is aggravated but his eyes relax. “Are you going to hit me back? Is this going to turn into a fight?”

  “No. I deserved that.” I cough, spitting, looking for blood or teeth, but nothing falls out of my mouth.

  “That was my bad arm, too.” He brags as he circles it, but he grimaces and starts to walk away.

  “Gee, great,” I mutter, scooping a handful of snow and rubbing it across my cheek. Feeling the pain satisfies me on some level.

  “Get your shit together, C. C.,” he yells over his shoulder.

  I stare behind him. I don’t want to watch another person—another good person in my life—walk away. “Hey, Ben,” I call out.

  He stops and turns around.

  “You want to grab a coffee or something?” He stares as I walk toward him. I ready myself for another punch.

  He crosses his arms over his chest, which I interpret as a sign he won’t hit me again.

  I shift my jaw, making sure it still works. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you. I’m sorry for going behind your back with Juliet. I’m trying to get my shit together, really, I am. I could use a friend.” I’m such a girl. If I ever said that to Paulie or the guys, they’d probably hit me again. But I know Ben isn’t like that.

  Ben’s shoulders relax and his hands drop to his sides. “Coffee sounds good.”

  I run back to the apartment to grab my coat. We walk uptown through the city crowd. I’ve always hated Manhattan during the holiday season, especially going toward Midtown. Ben doesn’t seem to mind the people as we make our way to one of the million coffee shops. I open the door for Ben and feel a pang in my side from his punch. I wonder what the bruise will look like.

  “Did you come to the city just to hit me?” I ask as we wait in line.

  “Jules forced me to come back.”

  “Forced you?”

  He raises an eyebrow. “You know how she can be. She called me at home and said I’d better get my ass back to New Jersey. I’m staying at Rocco’s for the weekend with her and Pooja.”

  “What’s she up to?” Does she still want Ben?

  Ben turns to face me. “She’s hell bent on getting Sheridan open again. She wants us all back there together to honor Frank. ‘So that fucker Cameron doesn’t win again,’ she says. Have you been checking your school email?”

  “I haven’t.”

  “They want to keep Sheridan closed for the year. They’re trying to spread us over campus for next semester. Megan’s trying to finish exams, and they have her tripled up in a double in Mitchell.”

  Mitchell Hall is clear across campus at the business college. “Mitchell? Shit.” As I’ve wallowed in self-pity, I’ve forgotten about the others. I’ve ignored their calls and texts. They probably all hate me, which makes sense since I’m an asshole and deserve to be hated.

  “Megan’s the only one on campus, and she’s trying to stay out of the spotlight. But Juliet threatened the others. She told them it’s She
ridan or nothing. She’s even gone to the press, telling them we won’t go back to campus until our dorm opens.” The media has been all over Sheridan since the shooting. “Everyone in the basement is on board, except you and Pooja.”

  “Pooja doesn’t want to go back?”

  “Pooja’s convinced the whole thing—Frank, what Juliet went through—is her fault.”

  I frown. “What do you mean, ‘what Juliet went through’?” My heart pounds as we make our way to the counter. Ben orders a tall dark roast, black. “Make that two,” I say and shove a twenty at the barista. “Ben. What happened in that room?”

  Ben shifts and rubs his beard. “Maybe you should ask her.” When our order is called, Ben grabs our coffee and walks to a table by the window.

  “I’m asking you. Tell me, Ben,” I demand as I follow him. He ignores me, so when he sits, I slap my hand onto the table to get his attention. The place is filled with moms with strollers and lattes, who give me the evil eye. I refrain from telling them all to fuck off.

  Ben motions for me to sit and then moves closer and lowers his voice. “He had a gun to Pooja’s head and Juliet wanted to save her. She tried to get his focus away from Pooja. She tried to…she offered…herself.” Ben can’t say it, but I know what he’s referring to.

  “Son of a bitch!” The moms move away, and I stare at Ben, processing his words. I’m afraid to ask, but need to know. “Did he rape her?” I whisper.

  “She says he didn’t. She was about to…do something, anything…then Frank came in.”

  My eyes tear as I think about Juliet being so desperate to save Pooja. She couldn’t save Justine, but she saw the chance to save Pooja and took it. How could she not? I should have known. I should have realized the day after the shooting, the day of the funeral, how skittish she’d been. I should have dug deeper. Instead, I’d abandoned her.

  The guy sitting across from me didn’t abandon her, though. I look at Ben. “I never thanked you for saving her. I don’t know what she would have done without you. You…you are her hero. No wonder she’s crazy about you.”

  Ben shakes his head. “There’s no reason to thank me. Frank’s dead. I was scared shitless. I was just more scared for her than myself. You would have done the same.”

  We sit in silence for a moment.

  “Ben? Did you ask Juliet to go home to Pennsylvania?”

  He takes a sip of his coffee and shrugs. “I don’t know why she came. I didn’t ask her to. Her parents are kind of cold to me. I don’t know why. They’ve been like that since I first met them.”

  Ben doesn’t know about Justine. Poor Juliet’s had to deal with her parents since her sister’s death? No wonder she clung to Ben.

  Ben takes a sip of his coffee. “Juliet spent most of her time with me in the rehab. She acted like a mama bear, yelling at nurses and therapists on my behalf, taking out her frustration on them.”

  “She’s as protective of you as you are of her.” When I say the words, I’m not jealous, and I’m not sure what to make of that.

  “I love her. I protect her.”

  Again, I’m not jealous, just disappointed in myself.

  “You know,” Ben says, leaning forward onto his elbows, “before Cameron showed up at Sheridan, Jules and I were about to have a conversation. About you.”

  Juliet did try to break up with Ben. “I…I’m sorry.” I don’t know what to say. I’m not really sorry, either.

  “Don’t.” He holds up a hand to stop me. “I knew what she was going to say when she didn’t come back the night before. We’ve talked about it since. She loves me,” Ben says, and my heart tightens at the cracked open spot. “But not the same way as she loves you.”

  “I…I…” I stutter but at the same time my blood pumps faster. Ben thinks Juliet loves me still. “It’s over,” I tell him. “We talked yesterday. She’s done with me.”

  “So you’re just giving up?” He crosses his arms again, studying me, waiting for my answer.

  I shrug. Juliet’s right. I am stuck in a hole. Ben can’t understand. He’s never stuck. He doesn’t know how hard it is to come back when you’re so far gone. If he couldn’t hold on to Juliet, what makes him think I can? “All I can do is give up.”

  Ben leans back in his chair and circles his injured arm, stretching it. “Still hurts.” He grimaces and rubs his shoulder. “I probably shouldn’t be starting street fights.”

  He’ll have to live with that scar forever. No matter what, Juliet will always be a part of him. Every time he feels that ache in his shoulder, he’ll remember the shooting, what he did to save her.

  “Look,” he says, “I know we’re all off track now. We’re all sad, confused, and fucking lost. But now’s not the time to give up on each other. She’s right about Sheridan. We need to get back. You and Jules, though? Don’t give up, C. C. She’s worth the effort.”

  Thoughts of Juliet play through my brain like a movie reel. I’m jealous of Ben, but in a good way this time. He’s generous and strong. He takes a bullet, loses a friend, loses a girlfriend, and loses his ability to play a game he loves, yet somehow manages to stay intact while I come apart at the seams.

  Juliet loves me. She needs me. It takes a conversation with Ben, of all people, for me to realize that. I smile when I hear the click in my numbskull brain and everything comes together. I can almost feel Gram’s hand smacking me in the back of the head. Thanks, Gram. I know she has something to do with this moment—the moment when my whole world opens back up.

  Now I have to figure out how to get her back.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Juliet

  I stand at the entrance to NJU, my coat wrapped around me tightly, mesmerized by the colors of the sky. It’s a beautiful backdrop to the University. The giant, wrought-iron gates are strewn with holly and red bows for the holiday season. On the other side of the gate, students prepare to go home for winter break. Christmas is a couple of days away, and I haven’t even thought about the holidays.

  The first news van arrives exactly at five forty-five p.m. Robin Woodson, the newscaster who’d been all over Ben, talks to Megan and Ben as her crew sets up. Ben the charmer will probably always have women falling at his feet. At least he has me to screen the good from the bad. I look at Megan and surprise myself by thinking, good. The newscaster? Bad.

  My feet freeze in my boots, and my cheeks sting from the cold. Rodrigo, Winston, and Maggie scurry around, hooking up wires and microphones to some sort of generator they’re running from an old minivan. I stay out of their way. I have no idea what they’re doing. I just hope it works—the equipment, the speech, everything.

  Ten of the twelve residents of Sheridan’s basement stand by the gates, behind the lectern that Rodrigo had set up. When I ask Maggie where he got it from, she simply replies, “He has access.” I don’t press her. It doesn’t really matter. I’m just glad to have something to grab onto during my speech since there’s a possibility I’ll pass out at some point.

  Ben catches my eye and winks. As I watch him, so beautiful and animated and sweet, my heart swells with love. I know he’ll be in my life forever. When he found me in Evander High on that September day four years ago, that hadn’t been an accident. The universe knew what I needed—a brother, and that’s what Ben has become. He is my pillar of strength when I can’t find my own. Romantically, I know now we’d never work, but the four years I spent trying were probably all part of the plan, too.

  Chase? Did he fit in the plan? He threw my plans and my universe for a loop. When he appeared in my path it seemed like the universe cried, “Turns out that Ben’s not your connection! Here’s that connection you’ve been searching for! We just found him balled up in a mess in New York City and sent him to you. Now we’re going to fuck with you both a little. Good luck!”

  I’m looking forward to moving on with my life, and I’m proud that I was able to choose myself over Chase, but I still miss him. Chase means drama, emotions, and baggage. But he also means passion and l
ove, color and life. First loves, the real kind, aren’t meant to work out, though. That’s why they’re first. I have to let him go. I just hope I can.

  We set up the makeshift stage as a campus police officer rides by. He asks Rocco what’s going on. Rocco stammers some elusive answer. It’s only a matter of time before the police come and kick us out.

  I have to get my message out, soon.

  When another press van pulls up, then another, and another, I realize my little press conference is going to be bigger than I thought. A New York news van joins them, and suddenly I’m going national. Crews test equipment and news people chat, taking notes and checking out the scene. Flustered, I pace in circles and think about running away. Instead, I shut my eyes. I’m Juliet Anderson, and I don’t do flustered, I remind myself. I breathe to calm my nerves and when I open my eyes, I’m ready.

  I walk to the lectern and the lights turn on.

  Chase

  “Good evening,” Juliet says, as I hide near the NJU entrance gate, watching the scene unfold.

  When the bright white lights shine on her, Juliet looks phenomenal in front of the cameras—comfortable and beautiful. Her red cheeks, probably frozen, look full and healthy. She wears a cute hat and her gray wool coat over her black turtleneck sweater. She stands behind a podium gripping what appears to be a framed photo of Frank. Despite the cold weather, her colors are warm. Fiery Juliet.

  Some of the residents of Sheridan Hall line up in a row behind her along the black wrought iron gates of NJU. Even Douchey Dolch, the RA, shows up. I see Tina in the crowd and wave. Campus police line the periphery but don’t seem too concerned about shutting down the operation. Through it all, Juliet keeps her cool.

  “Thank you all for coming and for the support you’ve shown us while we deal with this tragedy. We’re here tonight for two reasons. First, to tell you about our friend, Francis O’Leary. And second, to ask you for your help.”

  Juliet pauses and looks down at the podium, taking a breath before she holds up the picture of Frank. “Frank O’Leary was a wonderful man. Handsome, smart, and a lot of fun to be around. With the help of his grandmother, he built a life for himself. His future was so bright. We’ve heard you talk about Frank for weeks now, and how a school shooter tragically took his life. How this random act of violence killed such a bright star. What happened, though, wasn’t a random act of violence. It was a targeted attack by an ex-boyfriend on an ex-girlfriend.”