Page 18 of The Wildcat

“I’ve only seen him that one time...” I protest.

“Uh-huh. Lie to yourself if you want to, sissy. But you know you can’t lie to me. You like this guy. You want to see him again.”

Damn her for always being so observant.

I gently shrug. “Maybe.”

“Have you talked to him since then?” She moves next to me and takes a bite of my pizza. “Man, I forgot how good the pizza from Milano’s is.”

I hand her my plate and grab another one. “Good. Eat a slice. You look like you’ve lost weight.”

She hums around another bite. “Don’t change the subject, Evie.”

“Fine. I haven’t talked to him, but we do text.” I fidget for a second, then take a bite, buying myself time. “We’ve kept it kind of superficial though.”

“What do you mean?”

I think back to the few conversations we’ve had. “Cross is good at asking questions. I’ve... Well, I’ve kind of left it up to him.”

“You haven’t asked him about himself? Why not?” She tilts her head, then places her plate on the counter and links her pinky with mine. “You know not all guys are going to hurt you the way Keith did, right?”

At the mention of my ex, my hackles raise. We spent the better part of three years doing the on-again-off-again thing. He was there the night I met Cross. He was the reason for my cleanse. Then Cross happened. “I know. And I think this guy may be different...”

“But?” my sister pushes harder.

“But . . . I’m not sure yet.”

Grace smiles back at me. “Okay. We’ll put a pin in this for now. So... I need a favor.”

“You just got home. What could you possibly need?”

She grimaces. “Listen, Mom asked me if I’d teach the Saturday morning baby ballerina class that starts tomorrow.”

“Sucks to be you.” I laugh until I see her face. “Oh, come on.”

We’ve both taught classes at Hart & Soul, Mom’s studio, for half our lives. But that doesn’t mean I want to be doing it at twenty-three.

“Evie... I need some time off. I need a minute before I put my pointe shoes back on,” she pleads.

“You don’t need pointe shoes for toddlers, Grace. Come on. I dance every night of the week at cheer practice.”

Grace pouts, and I give in immediately.

Her pout is evil.

She’s the white swan.

I’m the black swan.

That’s how it’s always been.

I knew the minute she asked, I’d say yes.

“Fine. What time do I have to be there?”

Her eyes light up. “Class starts at nine.”

Nine a.m. on a Saturday. “You owe me.”

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