Page 12 of Into the Woods

I’d spent the first eighteen years of my life playing the part of the wallflower, and I was done. I wasn’t entering college as a scared little mouse.

My bedroom door slammed open with the force of a category-five hurricane.

“Oh, darling,” Cami sing-songed, striking a sultry pose in the doorway, “did you miss me?”

Unable to help myself, I giggled and jumped off my bed, where I’d been reading the newest Fiona Davenport romance. Sometimes a girl just needed a quick-and-dirty happily ever after.

Cami stalked into the room, her long legs perfectly suited for a runway in Milan. She threw my door shut with as much force as she’d opened it. “You look…”

I arched a brow and waited.

Cami lowered oversized black sunglasses down her perfectly upturned nose, her glossy pink lips bunching to one side as she looked at me. “Well, it’s nothing a trip to Le Bon Marché and the salon won’t fix.” She tilted her head. “But I do like the teal streaks. Much more subtle than Jayme—she died her whole head neon green. She’s like a walking limeade. It’s insane.”

I rolled my eyes but opened my arms as she surged forward to wrap me in a bear hug. She squealed, rocking us back and forth before twirling away and plopping down on the seat in front of my vanity. Without fail, she started checking out the scant amount of makeup I had on display.

“And a trip to Sephora,” she added, dropping my mascara like it had Ebola.

“Are you done critiquing me yet?” I planted my hands on my hips and tried to glare at her, but a smile kept cracking my lips.

With a dramatic sigh, Cami leaned back against my vanity, crossing her skinny jean-clad legs. “Bex, honey, we both know I’m right.”

I shook my head with a shrug. “Fine. You’re right. Can you fix me?”

Now she frowned, sitting up straight. “You’re not broken.”

I dropped onto the edge of my bed. “Feels like I am.”

Her head tipped to the side, a wave of cornsilk blonde hair falling over her shoulder. “Explain, please.”

Suddenly on the spot, I squirmed. My gaze dropped to the floor.

“Oh, hell no.” Cami stood up and dragged the seat closer until our knees were touching. Her eyes sparkled with ferocity. “Whose ass am I kicking?”

I scoffed. “Mine? I mean, I should know better, Cam.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll be the judge of that. Tell me everything.”

“It’s complicated,” I warned, not sure I had the mental bandwidth to go through the past few months of my life.

Cami shrugged a slim shoulder. “I have time. I cleared my entire night for you. I even canceled my date with Alex, so you better give me something worthy of missing out on multiple orgasms.”

My eyes widened and I choked a little on my own saliva. “Camille!”

“Oh, shush.” She swatted my knee. “Tell me, Rebecca Eleanor Whittier.”

I cringed a little. My full name sounded so… geriatric. I shook it off and looked her dead in the eye. “It really is complicated.”

She sobered. “Bex, I know I’ve been busy lately—”

I let out a little snort. “Are you kidding me? Cami, you were named the top toilet dancer.”

Her jaw dropped with a shriek of mock-outrage. She pushed my shoulder. “You’re such a twat.”

I giggled. “Fine. I meant to say danseuse étoile.” Truth be told, I knew what an honor it was for someone Cami’s age to be named a premier ballerina of the Paris Opera Ballet. Camille had dedicated her life to dancing. She’d started ballet as soon as she was able to walk, and I’d seen her bare feet enough to realize she was dedicated as hell. Those toes were the things of nightmares.

At the end of the company’s last season, she’d been promoted to her new position. She put in ten-hour days, six days a week. Today she’d already been up since four a.m., getting in a workout and then several choreography sessions for her upcoming season, which was slated to begin next month.

“You know I’m crazy proud of you, right?” I asked.

---