“Oh my god,” Genevieve blurts out, “you were at the funeral! How was it?”
“Awful.” I can tell it’s hard for Terence to look at us. “Louise has a two-year-old daughter. Had,” he corrects himself.
He goes to his office to change into his tracksuit. “Look,” he says when he comes out, “I’d rather not talk about the funeral. But I need to talk to you two about the accident.”
“There was something wrong with the carabiner, wasn’t there?” Genevieve says.
Terence nods. “That’s what it looks like.”
Genevieve turns to me. “I told you so.”
Why does being right matter so much to her?
“There’s going to be an investigation,” Terence tells us. “But yes, at this point it looks like the carabiner was defective. The carabiner holding Louise’s rope was made of aluminum. If someone drops an aluminum carabiner, it can develop micro fissures. The carabiners here are made of steel.” Terence looks up at the ceiling of la palestre, where the carabiners are attached to straps hooked around giant beams. “They’re 100 percent unbreakable. So you never have to worry about something like that happening here.” He sighs. “Are you two ready to get back to work—or do you want to talk about this some more?”
“We’re ready,” Genevieve answers for both of us.
Some hair has come loose from Terence’s ponytail, and he tucks it back behind his ear. “I was thinking,” he says, and I get the feeling he’s glad not to have to talk anymore about what happened to his friend Louise, “we only have five classes together before Friday’s final performance. Our focus needs to shift from reviewing basics to creating acts that will dazzle an audience.”
Genevieve and I will be training side by side, Genevieve on tissu, me on the rope.
Terence wants Genevieve to work on her splits. I’ve seen her do them before. With her heels triple wrapped, each in a separate tissu, arms bent at the elbows, holding on to the two pieces of fabric, Genevieve extends her arms and opens into the splits. But Terence means what he said about creating acts that will dazzle an audience. “Today,” he tells Genevieve, “you’re only going to hold on to one piece of the tissu—with both hands, of course. I want to see a nice arch in your back. We’re stepping up the technical difficulty and working on your balance.”
Genevieve is already climbing up the tissu, eager to try the new move.
Terence makes her come back down to the mats. “Hey, hey,” he says, “not so fast. I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I need to be able to watch both of you at the same time.” Then he turns to me. “Mandy, I think you’re ready to try the starfish.”
“Okay.” I look away for a second because I don’t want Terence or Genevieve to know I’m a little nervous. Usually I can’t wait to try out a new move. But not today. Maybe Louise’s death has spooked me.
“Mandy?” Terence says. “You with me?”
He must have noticed my hesitation. “I’m with you,” I tell him.
The starfish is sometimes called the catcher’s baby drop. If you ask me, it looks even more dramatic than Genevieve’s splits.
Terence reviews the move with me step by step. The starfish starts with an inverted lock, which will keep me hanging securely upside down. “As soon as you put your leg on the rope,” Terence says, “you’ll need to lift your hips up over your hands. Then you reach overhead to find the tail of the rope, wrap the rope around the inside of your leg, release your hand in the groin and let your body hang straight down. After that, you pass the rope around your waist. That will be your inverted lock. Then you extend your arms and legs and you’ve got your starfish.”
I close my eyes and try picturing the move in my head. But then I see the carabiner—the shards of aluminum exploding in the air.
Terence is still explaining. “It’s important to maintain body tension,” he says, “if you want to get the star shape right.”
“Body tension is the one thing you don’t have to teach Mandy,” Genevieve says. “That girl is tense all the time.” Then she catches my eye and adds, “Just kidding!”
I try to think of a quick comeback, but Terence beats me to it. “You know something, Genevieve? A little tension isn’t always a bad thing in a circus performer. Sometimes it’s the ones who are too cocky and too confident who get into trouble. And the ones who are a little tense and a little less confident end up working harder and sometimes become the real stars of circus.”
Genevieve shrugs. “Can we start climbing now?”
She is at the top of the tissu before I am halfway up my rope. I keep my eyes on the rope and on my hands. At least I’m not still imagining the broken carabiner.
“What do you think? Am I going to wow the audience?” Genevieve calls down to Terence.
I know a little competition can be a good thing, that it pushes us to work harder, but Genevieve takes competition to a whole other level.
“Good foot lock,” Terence calls back to her.
At this rate, Genevieve will have done her advanced splits before I’m even at the top of the rope. I try to resist the urge to watch what she is doing. I don’t want to lose time. I also don’t want to give Genevieve the satisfaction. But when Terence calls out, “Very nice!” I go into a resting position, locking the rope around my hips and releasing my arms. I look up and there is Genevieve—doing perfect splits, arching her back and holding on to just one piece of the tissu. How did she manage to get the move right on her first try?
When she sees me watching her, she lifts one hand off the tissu and waves.
Terence isn’t chuckling anymore. “Concentrate, Genevieve!” he shouts. “Both hands on the tissu! Now!”
I’m high enough up by this time to try the starfish. I don’t know why my heart is thumping in my chest. Calm down, I tell myself. Concentrate…
Louise. It’s the aerialist’s name that comes to me now, not the picture of the shattered carabiner.
“Show me that starfish!” Terence calls.
I’ve done the inverted lock before, but today I struggle with it. Instead of reaching overhead to find the tail of the rope, I reach behind my back. When I try to correct myself, I slip a little on the rope. Even the powdery rosin I’ve put on my hands doesn’t catch all my sweat.
With my head inverted, I can look right down at Terence. Our eyes meet, and he nods. “Good correction!” he says.
I can feel Terence watching, concentrating, as I bring the rope in front of my body. I’m ready now to move into the starfish. The rope feels secure around my waist and thigh. I breathe deeply as I extend my arms. There, I think, I’ve done it.
But I haven’t. This time, Genevieve, who is resting on her tissu, is the one who corrects me. “You’ve still got one knee bent over the rope, silly!” she calls.
I unbend my knee and extend the leg. My hands and feet are pointed, and I’m maintaining body tension the way Terence told me to. For a few moments, I am not Mandy. I am a starfish. A starfish who isn’t afraid of anything.
Genevieve goes a little deeper into the splits.
As for me, I review all the steps involved in the starfish in my head. In my imagination, I get all of them right. But in real life, I keep making new mistakes. I unhook my knee from the rope, but I don’t bring the rope right to the front of my body. Or I forget to wrap my thigh with the rope before wrapping my waist.
On the ground, Terence is making a T with his arms, signaling that he wants me to take a time-out. “Look at your wrap,” he calls up to me, “and see what you’re doing wrong.” Which is when I realize I’ve let my knee come off the rope.
“It’s only Tuesday,” Terence says once I’ve made the correction. “Your body needs time to integrate what you’re learning.”
Is it my imagination, or does Terence look at me funny when he says that? Does he know it isn’t only my body that needs time to integrate, but my mind too?
And how come Genevieve’s body integrates what we’re learning more quickly than mine does?
/> Terence tilts his head and looks at both of us. “All right, girls, back to the mats. A few minutes of cool-down exercises and we’ll be done for today.”
I concentrate on my technique as I slide down the rope. I know Terence is still watching us. When I extend my shoulders, I can feel my deltoids getting a good stretch. All this is part of the performance too.
I hear someone say “Oh!” Genevieve was swinging on the tissu and has caught her ankle on the fabric. I watch as she tries to kick it loose. Even without looking at Terence, I know he is moving in closer to her, in case she needs his help.
But Genevieve’s ankle is still caught.
“Wait! I’m coming!” Terence tells her.
But Genevieve won’t wait. I can feel her frustration as she kicks at the tissu, harder each time. And then, only seconds later, Genevieve slips, and I hear a thud as part of her lands on the mats. And part of her doesn’t.
Oh my god. Is she all right?
I’m down on the mats now too. My heart feels like it’s beating in my throat. “Genevieve!”
Genevieve yelps in pain when she tries to get up. She drops back on the mats, clutching her ankle. Tears are streaming down her cheeks, and I’ve never seen her look so pale or so frightened.
Terence crouches on the floor next to Genevieve. “Get Suzanne! Now! Tell her we need an ambulance!” he barks.
The hallway is a blur.
I can hardly breathe when I get to Suzanne’s desk. She must know something is wrong. “What is it?” she asks.
My tongue feels frozen, but I manage to get the words out. “We need an ambulance. Genevieve fell.”
Suzanne’s eyes are on me as she dials 9-1-1. “Is she conscious?” she asks.
“Yes.”
Suzanne sighs. “Thank God.”
I hear the whine of the ambulance before I am back in la palestre. Genevieve’s eyes are closed, and she’s still clutching her ankle. “I won’t be able to finish circus ca—” she starts to say when she sees me. But she must be in too much pain to finish her sentence. She whimpers when two paramedics rush into la palestre. They examine her, then load her onto a stretcher.
“It looks like a broken ankle,” I hear one of the paramedics tell Terence and Suzanne. “They’ll want to do an x-ray.”
Terence and I watch from the window as the paramedics hoist the stretcher into the back of the ambulance. Suzanne gets into the ambulance too.
Terence shakes his head. “Let’s hope it’s just her ankle,” he says. Then he turns to me. “Anastasia is gone, and now Genevieve too. That means we’re down to one aerialist for Friday’s show. And we only have three more days to perfect your routine.”
Fifteen
On Wednesday morning in la palestre, it’s just Terence, me and the rope.
I’m practicing the starfish on the mats, and he’s pointing out everything that needs fixing. “Spread out your fingers—that’ll add to the effect” and “I want you to feel the tension, even in your knees.” La palestre seems eerily quiet without Genevieve. I look over at the tissu hanging limply from the ceiling, and for a moment I lose track of what Terence is telling me. I didn’t realize how much I’d miss Genevieve and her wisecracks.
I’m doing my best, but I can’t help thinking that if Genevieve were up on the tissu, I’d be working even harder. From the time we met—it’s hard to believe it was only a little over a week ago—almost everything Genevieve has said or done has annoyed me, but now I see that her influence has not been all bad. Training next to someone as good as Genevieve has motivated me to try and push past my own limits.
“What if she’d hit her head?” I say to Terence when he gives me a short break.
Terence bites his lip. “I’ve been thinking that too. Things could have been a lot worse. But even if it’s just her ankle, it’ll be months before she can do tissu again.”
Which means Genevieve may not be able to apply to MCC next spring. Which, of course, seriously improves my chances of being accepted. I should be happy, only I’m not. I feel empty, as if a part of me is missing.
“Is Genevieve going home to Seattle?” I ask Terence.
“I would think so. Suzanne went back to the hospital first thing this morning. Last I heard, the swelling is down, so Genevieve will probably get her cast today. Once that’s done, she should be comfortable enough to fly.”
“But then we won’t be able to say goodbye to her.”
“I’m afraid not.” Terence gives me a puzzled look. “I didn’t realize you two were so close.”
“We aren’t. I mean, we weren’t…” I picture Genevieve on the tissu, smirking down at me. “Being around someone so talented pushed me to work even harder.” It’s the closest I can get to explaining to Terence why it feels wrong not to be able to say goodbye to Genevieve.
“I know what you mean,” Terence says. “It’s how I felt about Louise.”
“I’m really sorry about what happened to her.” I don’t know why I didn’t think of saying this before. Maybe I’ve been too caught up in my own feelings.
“Thanks,” Terence says. “I appreciate it.”
I hear clattering noises outside la palestre. Terence and I both turn to look toward the sound.
The door swings open and there, leaning on a metal crutch, her right foot in a cast, is Genevieve. She is using the other crutch to hold the door open.
I jog over to meet her. “Genevieve! How’s your ankle?”
Genevieve lifts her ankle to show me her cast. “It’s broken in two places. I have to stay off it for at least a month. Can you imagine anything more boring? But the good news is the doctors don’t think I’ll need surgery.” Her eyes are less bright than usual. She probably didn’t get much sleep at the hospital, or maybe she’s on painkillers.
“I can’t believe you’re here. Terence was just saying he thought you’d be flying home today.”
“Flying back to Seattle today? No way!” Genevieve rolls her eyes. “It would cost my parents a bundle if they had to change my ticket. So you’re stuck with me till the end of circus camp.” Her voice turns serious. “Besides, there’s no way I’m missing the final performance on Friday.”
“I’m glad,” I tell her. “I’d have felt bad if we didn’t get a chance to say goodbye.”
“Those aren’t the only reasons I came back,” Genevieve says.
Terence has brought over a chair for Genevieve. He helps her to sit down and props her crutches up next to her. “What’s the other reason?” he asks.
“Well, I was thinking…now that I can’t train, I came up with another plan to keep me busy.” Genevieve looks from me to Terence, then back to me. “I figured I could help coach you, Mandy. That is”—she turns to Terence again—“if you’re okay with that.”
It’s the first time I’ve seen Terence smile since we heard about Louise’s death. “Of course I’m okay with it,” he says. “I think it’s very generous of you. And keeping busy like that will be good for you, Genevieve. If you really think you’re up for it.”
“I’m up for it.”
I haven’t said a word. That’s because I don’t know what to say. If the situation were reversed, I’d never, ever offer to help train Genevieve.
“So, what do you say, Mandy?” she asks.
I should probably say thank you, but I don’t. “Why would you do that for me?”
Genevieve doesn’t answer. Instead, she has another question. “Wouldn’t you do it for me?”
More clattering outside la palestre saves me from having to tell a lie. It’s Leo and Guillaume. Where did they find skateboards?
“Hey, hey, boys! Be careful of the floors in here!” Terence tries to block them from entering la palestre, but they skate right around him and over to Genevieve.
Leo is holding a bouquet of flowers in one hand. The flowers aren’t wrapped in plastic the way they would be if they were from a flower shop or the supermarket, and the assortment—pink and red petunias, yellow marigolds—pretty much con
firms he picked them from a flower box on the terrace.
“Genevieve,” Leo says, stepping off his skateboard to present her with the bouquet, “these flowers are for you…for your convalescence.”
Genevieve takes the flowers and presses them to her nose.
Leo and Guillaume get back on their skateboards. They wiggle their butts and wave their hands in the air. This time, even Terence chuckles.
Sixteen
Grrr! I’ll never get the hang of juggling! After practicing for more than a week, I still can’t keep two balls in the air.
Hana can juggle three balls. In fact, I think she’s getting obsessed. Yesterday she asked permission to borrow three squishy balls so she could practice in the dorm. When I got up to pee last night, she was juggling on her bed. Who knew juggling could be an antidote for homesickness?
Now Hana is juggling those balls so quickly, I can’t keep track of which is which.
“You’re getting really good,” I tell her.
Hana is better at juggling than at accepting compliments. “I think it’s because I have aptitude for mathematics.”
“I don’t know what math has to do with it.”
Genevieve, who is sitting on another folding chair, insists on juggling too. Suzanne is not so sure that is a good idea, but as we all know by now, Genevieve can be very stubborn. “Besides,” she tells Suzanne, “no one said I had to rest my upper body.”
Suzanne gives in, maybe because she is worn out from having gone back and forth to the hospital and having attended Louise’s funeral.
When Genevieve drops one of her squishy balls and it rolls along the floor, I take off after it. It’s only when Genevieve misses four or five catches in a row that I realize she’s doing it on purpose. She bursts into laughter when I toss the squishy ball in her face. “I wondered how long it would take you to figure that out,” she says.
I’m back on the floor, throwing my two balls up into the air, still trying to get the timing right, when I feel Suzanne standing next to me. She doesn’t say anything, just watches as I struggle to keep the balls moving. “You need to concentrate—and relax,” she says.
Learning the Ropes Page 6
