"Oh yes."
"Who are you calling?"
She held up a hand and turned the phone toward me. "The cavalry."
First was December. Her face popped up on the screen, pale and a little startled. She wore two hoodies and had a smoothie in her hand. "Oh my God, June, are you okay? I mean—obviouslynot okay, but... I brought frozen peas in case you needed... ice therapy? I'm not good at this."
I smiled, despite everything. "Thanks, Dec."
"I'll pick you up tomorrow," she said. "We'll stretch and maybe cry a little. I'm very flexible in that way."
Next was May. She had paint on her cheek and three unfinished canvases behind her. "June! Babe, listen. You need to come to the studio. We're gonna smash something. Clay, canvas, a watermelon. Art therapy with chaos flair, you know? You in?"
Then Marchy. Sunglasses on indoors, revving her motorcycle in the background like she lived inside a rebellion.
"Who do I have to punch?" she said, dead serious. "Just point. Or send me a pin. I've got time." I laughed. It felt strange. Sharp. Real.
They each said something different, something messy and flawed and exactly right. When the call ended, the screen went dark, and the silence returned, January stood up and smoothed her blazer.
"I've got work to finish," she said. "Kitchen's stocked. Tea's labeled. Don't wallow too long." She disappeared down the hall, heels clicking like punctuation. I was alone again. But not really. I lay back on her couch, heart heavy but a little more whole. Maybe I wouldn't feel better tomorrow. Or the next day. But this—this sisterhood of chaos and steel, of frozen peas and revenge art—it was something.
It was mine and I wasn't going to let Aaron take that from me.
Chapter Seven: Grief and Grace
I woke up that morning with a hollow in my chest. Some mornings are easier than others—sunlight filtering in, warming my skin, fooling me into thinking I'm okay. But not today. Today I woke up and remembered everything. Like I always do, eventually.
The cold side of the bed. The silence. The ache that no sleep could soften.
A note lay on the nightstand in Jan's unmistakable scrawl:
"Call your dad. Take time off. Go home."
I stared at it, fingers curled around the paper like it might dissolve in my hand. She didn't sign it, didn't need to. I knew her handwriting, knew her blunt kindness. She never said the word"love" but it leaked through the cracks of everything she did. For the first time in what felt like days, I let out a breath that didn't hurt. I knew what I had to do. But first, the studio.
Leo was already there, as usual—bright-eyed and wearing one of those sarcastic graphic tees I always teased him about. Today's said:"I teach dance. What's your superpower?"
"Hey," I said quietly.
He looked up from the front desk and his expression softened instantly. "Hey, June. You okay?"
I didn't lie, but I didn't fall apart either. "I need to go away for a bit. Just for a while."
He nodded, stepping around the counter. "I figured. You've been... kind of holding your breath since that night."
I smiled, faint and flickering. "I haven't even had time to exhale."
He reached out and squeezed my arm. "You're the boss, remember? You own this place. You built it. With your heart. Doesn't matter thathebought it or paid for the floors—you're the one who made it matter."
His words caught me off guard. "Leo..."
"I'm not just saying it. And I'm not going anywhere, okay? Take all the time you need. I'll keep things spinning. We'll find someone to sub your classes."
"Thank you," I whispered.
We spent the next hour emailing the parents, arranging the sub schedule, handing over the admin login. Every step felt likehanding away a little piece of myself, but Leo's steady presence made it bearable. We sat down together and called up the substitute instructors. Ms. Talia from across town would take my advanced ballet classes. Nate could sub for contemporary, and we'd split some of the workload among the interns. I wrote everything down, like a goodbye letter no one would read.
I hugged Leo again before I left. He kissed the top of my head and said, "Take care of your heart. The studio will still be here."
