Hailey
The second I step out of the subway, the scent of roasted peanuts and hot garbage hits me like a punch.
I wrinkle my nose, shifting my weight to keep my oversized portfolio balanced on my hip. My boots scrape against the curb as I cross into Williamsburg, weaving between food carts and moody hipsters with earbuds and tote bags.
This is it.
New York.
The city I've dreamed about since I was sixteen, sketching gowns in the margins of my biology notebook.
I finally made it. I call Vivian.
"I'm in Brooklyn," I tell her as soon as she picks up. "About ten minutes from the hotel, I think."
"Perfect timing. The creative director just finished another meeting." There's a shuffling of papers on her end. "How was your flight?"
I think about my mad dash through the terminal, the last-second boarding, and Josh's motorcycle rescue. A strange flutter ripples through my stomach at the memory of his crooked smile.
"It was… eventful," I manage. "But I made it."
