Page 18 of All's Well that Friends Well

I might even look good, which never hurts when Luca could see me at any moment. So I pull my favorite business outfit from the closet and drape it lightly over the back of the desk chair. I decide on a pair of shoes, too, and set them out. Then I flop down on my bed and stare at the ceiling.

I don’t want to be a janitor my whole life. I don’t want to be a dog groomer. But if I can’t teach dance, it’s up to me to figure something else out. Something to strive toward, even if it’s difficult. No one is going to drop out of the sky with a perfect career for me.

The book I took from my old bedroom is hidden under my pillow; I sit up and scoot around, pulling it out. It’s decently hefty, and it’s not going to read itself. I need to start there.

There’s one other thing I could do, too, one that’s been lingering in the back of my mind for a couple weeks?—

“Jules,” India calls from downstairs, and I shove the book back under my pillow.

It’s dumb. It’s so dumb that I’m hiding it. But I do anyway.

“Yeah?”

“We’re going on a ride. Hold down the fort?”

“Please don’t crash and die,” I shout with a shudder.

I don’t care how good India is at driving her motorcycle. I will never ever get on. Ever.

The faint sound of a door slamming shut filters up to me, and a couple minutes later I hear Betsy the Motorcycle rumbling to life. Only when they’re out of hearing distance do I go downstairs, out the back door, and to the yard. I sit in one of the chairs we keep back there, looking at the spring morning and letting myself breathe.

Colorado air isdifferent.

I tilt my head back and let it rest against the chair, my eyes drifting closed. The breeze caresses my skin, and itsmellslike spring somehow—green and fresh and gritty like damp soil, sunshine on my face.

When I’ve gone over my plan in my head a few times, I finally pull my phone out. Then, with only a second of hesitation, I call my brother.

Cyrus is not big on phone calls. He’s even less keen on texts. But he answers anyway—possibly because he knows I’ll just keep calling until he does.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice deep and rumbly. As per usual, he also sounds faintly distracted.

“Hi,” I say. “I had a question.”

“Yeah,” he says again.

Butterfly wings flutter in my chest, not the romantic kind but the nervous kind; still, I inhale deeply and make myself speak.

“Do you know if the school offers career consultations?” I say. “Is that something you would have to pay for? Would you be able to get a discount? Is it a students-only thing?”

I don’t know how all that works; Cyrus does research at the university in Boulder, so he could get reduced tuition, but I’ve never asked about anything else.

His answer is slow in coming, and I can hear all the questions he doesn’t ask. “I don’t know,” he finally says. “That would probably be through counseling, and you might have to be a student.” He pauses. “I can ask.”

“I looked online,” I say, the words coming out rushed in my nervousness. “I couldn’t find anything about whether you needed to be a student, or if it was available for anyone. I obviously don’t have an academic advisor. And it didn’t mention if you’d need to pay or if you just signed up.”

“As a student you would probably just set up a time to meet with your advisor,” he says, his voice musing. “But—let me talk to a few people, all right?”

My breath whooshes out of me as relief bubbles in my chest. “Yeah,” I say. “That would be great. Thanks.” The word is fervent, because I know that I might be the only person Cyrus would help like this. He would tell anyone else to ask around themselves.

“Mm-hmm,” he says. “Anything else?”

“No,” I say. “Except I have some extra cupcakes I can bring over if you want?”

“Yeah,” he says, a grunt more than actual speech. “If you have some, I’ll take them.”

“I’ll bring them over this afternoon,” I say. The tension is easing out of my body, and I find myself relaxing further into the lawn chair, exhaustion hitting me like a brick. I shouldn’t be this tired this early in the day—it’s not even noon yet—but I slept horribly, and I think I was more nervous about talking to Cy than I realized.

“I’ll see you later,” I add as my eyes drift shut.

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