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We drive down to Studio City, thankfully avoiding the busier areas with lots of tourists. Growing up near Hollywood is weird because countless people from all over the world visit here to take pictures of the Hollywood sign and go on the double-decker-bus tours. Meanwhile, to me, Hollywood is just another metro stop, and a huge inconvenience because of the exponentially bad amount of traffic it causes.

Steve parks the Suburban on the side of the street, and we go inside what looks like a run-down office building. But the inside is really nice, like the recording studio we practice in forYou’re My Shining Star. Aside from the dance practice rooms, there’s a lounge area and a fully stocked bar, like we’re in some exclusive club. Signed and framed photos of celebrities like Britney Spears and Demi Lovato hang on the walls.

“You rent out a studiohere?” My voice comes out in a hushed, reverent whisper as I stare at the photos of famous artists who’ve practiced here.

Henry gives me a bemused look.

“Yeah. This room specifically.” He taps a framed photo of Vanessa Hudgens and her backup dancers. “I don’t think she still uses this room, though. That picture is pretty old.”

Mouth wide open, I follow him up the stairs.

Thanks to Mom’s small business and Dad’s tech job, my parents make a decent amount of money, but I can’t imagine being as rich as Henry’s family. And even if we were, knowing my parents, they’d probably put a good chunk of that money into my college savings account and use the rest to visit familyin Korea. Not rent an exclusive A-list studio.

I’m still thinking about Korea, and how badly I want to win this competition so I can finally go there again, when Henry stops to open a door.

“Well, this is it. Feel free to stretch and warm up. I’ll go cue up the song.”

Heart pounding in my chest, I walk into the studio. It’s smaller than the one that we usually practice in for the competition, but it’s twice as beautiful. The one they rent out forYou’re My Shining Staris more modern, with bright red walls and industrial ceilings, while this studio has strategically placed floor-to-ceiling mirrors and lighting that gives everything a soft, comforting glow. It’s the kind of space I’ve always dreamed of practicing in.

Portia and Steve enter carrying a small plastic table and chairs and set them in the back of the room, next to the mini fridge and water dispenser. I ask them if they need help, but Portia just shakes her head and smiles.

“Okay, the song is ready,” Henry says. He must have noticed me eyeing his team, because he adds, “Oh, they don’t usually do that when it’s just me. But we figured you’d feel safer if you and I weren’t alone in the room.”

Portia gives a friendly wave from the back of the room, like she’s a soccer mom about to watch her kid play. Steve, as usual, doesn’t say anything, but his gaze does look a bit less menacing than usual. The level of everyone’s thoughtfulness is so extreme that it’s simultaneously really awkward and really endearing.

Henry and I get into position in the middle of the room. Although we’re doing the same thing we did countless times with everyone else, with just the two of us on the dance floor, it feels ten times more intimate. The studio we use for the competition is usually pretty noisy because everyone’s always talking before the music comes on, but here, it’s completely quiet. Even though Henry is standing just as close as he normally is when we practice, he seems even closer now, and I can hear the quiet, barely perceptible sound of his breathing. He always smells nice, but today, I can’t help but notice how his ocean-breeze-scented cologne has undercurrents of wildflowers.

“God,” I say. “You take the flower-boy thing a bit too far.”

“Hm?”

“You know how in Korean, there’s this phrase ‘kkot minam’? Like, boys that are as pretty as flowers?”

Henry nods. An amused smile plays on his lips, and he looks down at me through eyelashes that are unfairly darker and longer than mine.

“Well, you’re one of them,” I continue. “But you alsosmelllike flowers.”

He bursts out laughing, and I nervously giggle with him. Being so intimate with a hot boy I barely know is pretty awkward, but at least we can both laugh about it.

As soon as the music starts, though, I forget about all the awkwardness. Like I always do, I throw myself into the elaborate choreography, spinning and twisting along with the beat.Henry dances with me, and we move in sync, our bodies perfectly matched in our reflection in the mirror.

It’s been so long since we’ve danced like this that I almost cry in relief. After hours of things being so mechanical and awkward between the two of us, it’s ridiculous how everything comes so easily now. We’re evenbreathingin sync.

I’m so glad I took Lana’s advice.

As we’re dancing, Henry smiles. And I smile back as he spins me into his arms.

Chapter Nineteen

HENRY IS QUIET FOR NEARLY THE ENTIRE DRIVE TOmy house. He’s tense, like he’s nervous about something. Whenever we make eye contact, he smiles, but it’s his fake, professional smile, not his real one.

Since Henry’s clearly not in a talking mood, I plug my earbuds into my ears and listen to “Crazy in Love” on loop as I study some Quizlet flash cards I made for my psychology test on Monday. I have so much going on between school and the competition, I have to be as efficient with my time as I possibly can.

We’re about to get off the 5 when I feel a gentle tap on my shoulder. I startle and look up from my notes to see Henry gesturing at his ear, like he wants me to take out my earbuds. I take one out and say, “Yeah?”

With uncharacteristic shyness, Henry holds out his phone. “Can I, um, have your number?”

“Huh?”