Page 1 of Dear Pink

Prologue –Hannah

Six years earlier . . .

I throw a small black backpack over my shoulder and check my cherry lip gloss in a compact mirror. Libby said she wouldn’t tell Jack about my surprise visit, but he had to notice her bubbling excitement. Part of me hopes she told him. Long-distance relationships stink.

I head out the terminal doors and find Libby’s old, gold Toyota idling in front. The cold Chicago wind whips through my thin sweater and across my bare legs, sending chills down my spine. I’m not used to this frigid temperature. Libby says she loves the change from the Texas heat, but goosebumps explode over my body.

I jump in the front seat. No Jack. I’m a little disappointed.

“I can’t believe you’re here. I swear it’s been 200 years,” Libby says, grabbing me for a giant hug.

The stick shift of the old car jams in my stomach as I hug her tight. “Thank you for picking me up. I’ve missed you.”

“Whatever. We talk eight times a day. And I would go anywhere for you.”

“So, no Jack?”

“Hannah, you told me not to say anything. I kept my word. Okay, I’ll admit I had a hard time keeping the secret, but only because I wanted to plan the entire weekend.” She grins and releases me. “The two of you cannot hole-up in his dorm room for three days straight. I get Hannah time, too.”

“Of course, we’ll hang out.”

“I’ll take you to Millennial Park.”

I grab her favorite jar of salsa from my backpack. “Guess what I brought you?”

“Two Hot Mamas Salsa! I love you.” She shrieks in delight, and I giggle.

“I wouldn’t neglect my bestie.”

“Best friends forever.” Libby jerks onto the entrance ramp of the interstate. “Move out of the way, asshole,” she curses at a driver.

I grip the sides of the seat. I forgot Libby’s manic driving makes me seasick.

“I don’t want to be a third wheel with you and Jack,” I say. “You’ve been here three months without me already.”

“Third wheel? Won’t be an issue,” Libby says. “I never see Jack anymore. Since we started our studio classes, we rarely run into one another.”

“Oh? I thought he said you guys hung out last weekend.” I must have misunderstood him. My stomach rumbles with nerves as I reflect on the FaceTime call. We didn’t talk long because of his plans with Libby.

“The Institute keeps us super busy. We get invitations to tons of local art shows. Got to support fellow artists, right? Well, at least I do.”

“I’m sure you do,” I say, my mind still on the call.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. Sorry. I guess I’m nervous.”

She whips into a loading area on the corner of State and Madison and parks. “What? Why? You rock that mini skirt.” She blows my bangs out my face. “And those lashes. Don’t bat them at anyone or Jack might lose you to an aspiring photographer. They’re the worst flirts on campus.”

My shoulders relax. Libby gives the best pep talks.

“I’ll drop you off at his dorm so you can surprise him, and we’ll grab dinner later. Okay?”

“Sounds great.”

“Perfect. It’s the building on the corner.” She points to an architectural masterpiece of steel and windows. “This is Jones Hall. Go through the front lobby and to the fourth floor. Shouldn’t be an issue getting inside. There’s always someone going in or heading out during the day. Parking is illegal around here, or I’d go with you. Text me later. Okay?”

“Thanks for the ride, Libby. See you tonight.” I grab my bag and blow her a kiss. Libby throws the car into first gear and spins out. I giggle. Art school hasn’t changed her one bit.

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