And then she twists her kitten heels and joins her friends in a booth near the back.
My heart is no longer just hammering—it’s a wrecking ball pounding through concrete at the top of a skyscraper.
She knows what I did. And now everyone else will too.
I tuck my arms around myself as I get up and head for the stairs with my head lowered in shame.
Not even Vivien tries to stop me.
CHAPTER TEN
What was I thinking? Of course the lead aerialist of Maison du Mystère doesn’t want anything to do with me.
This isn’t just my dream—it’s hers, too. I’m just some random person who is getting in the way of her job.
Mom and Dad were right. I never think things through.
The realization that I may have made a horrible decision makes me queasy. I made a deal with Simon that he may not have the power to enforce. I mean, he brought me here so I could train with Maggie.
He never said Maggie would definitely agree to it.
And he already has the set list—I have no bargaining chips left.
Besides, I’m not sure it’s as easy as begging Maggie to change her mind. Not with what she knows. It’s not that I want to give up so easily, but I’m not sure how to recover from “the girl who stole Teatro della Notte’s set list and ran off with a rival company.” She already doesn’t trust me.
So why on earth would she help me?
Somehow the weight of my phone hidden in my pocket triples. Quadruples.
Mom’s always been a fixer, but could she fix this?
No, I tell myself. And she wouldn’t want to. Not after what you did.
I’m on my way back to my trailer when I see a young man wearing a leather jacket unzipped in the middle, revealing a gray V-necked shirt and a silver chain around his neck. At first glance I think it’s a cross, but when he gets closer I realize it’s a dagger. He looks about my age. Maybe a year older.
I move to the left to avoid him, but he moves too. We move to the right, left, then right again.
He stops in front of me, his brow furrowed and a black helmet tucked under his arm. He has thick, messy hair that curls at the ends. Beneath the desert sunlight, it shines the color of honey.
He must be Vas—the one Maggie was talking about. I don’t know why he would care about me or the set list, but I gathered from her tone that this is someone who is destined to hate me when he finds out what I’ve done.
The hollow space in my throat grows and grows.
And to think—once upon a time, I was good at making friends in the circus.
When he speaks, his voice is stiff, but it doesn’t hide the accent that rolls off his tongue. “I’m not all that fond of dancing, I must admit.”
He sounds British, and American, and maybe something else, too, like his accent is multiple colors swirling together to make something new. Something blended.
Chop suey, as Popo would say.
There’s plenty of room between both rows of motor homes, but with a stranger this close, it suddenly feels like everything is shrinking around me, like I’m Princess Leia in the garbage chute and the walls are closing in.
I take a step back and hold up a hand apologetically. “I’m sorry,” I say, finding his gaze so he knows I’m being sincere. Maybe he’ll remember this moment when he hears the news.
His eyes are a muted green and are piercing straight through me.
He pauses, tilting his head to the side. “Do you know where you’re going? Because you look lost.”
“I feel lost.” The words leave my mouth too soon, and my cheeks burn red with the afterthought. My brain and I need to have another talk about processing information before letting me speak, because I’m seriously tired of regretting half the stuff that comes out of my mouth.
I try to think of something clever to say—a way to laugh off whatever it is that I’m feeling—but I can’t. There’s not enough room to breathe, or time to think, or words to make me pretend like everything is fine.
Everything is not fine.
I push past him and hurry to the trailer without another glance.
* * *
Vivien knocks twice at the door before walking inside. There’s a small cardboard box wedged in her hands, with a bottle of orange juice balanced on top. Dexi is behind her looking exceptionally bored.
“You don’t have to knock—it’s your room too,” I say meekly from the top bunk. I’m rolled on my side, a pillow stuffed under my cheek and my phone two inches from my eyes. I’ve been trying to figure out whether to call Mom, and what to say if I do.
Vivien snorts and shuts the door. “I walked in on my last roommate with one of the clowns once. He was in full costume; she was not. Trust me, I will always knock first.”
Dexi raises a finger. “It wasn’t me, for the record. Clown fetishes are not my jam.”
A sad whisper of a laugh escapes me, but I’m mostly glued to the bed. Or, as glued as I can be when my brain is going a million miles per minute and I feel like I’m teetering on the edge of a balancing act.
Vivien holds up the box. “I brought you lunch. A crew special. Thought the comfort food might make you feel better.” God, she’s nice. They both are, even though Dexi is less obvious about it.
I’m not sure I deserve it, but I’m also not about to turn down an offering of friendship. Or food.
“A what special?” I perch myself up with my elbow and raise a brow.
She lifts the lid of the box, revealing two thin pancakes, several dumplings, and two small plastic pots wedged in the side. “The performers tend to eat the healthier stuff—egg whites, fish, greens, and all the rest of it. The crew prefers food that is inevitably covered in salt and grease, but so delicious. Ergo, a crew special, Russian-style.”
Dexi catches the confusion on my face and chimes in. “People join Maison du Mystère from all over the world. The cooks change up the menu every day so everyone gets a turn to feel like they’re at home. Keeps the morale high.”
Vivien nods gleefully. “We brought you syrniki and blini, with jam, sour cream—I can get you some minced meat to go with it too, if you want it.” She hesitates. “Or if you’d rather, the borscht is pretty good. I can’t do the soup-for-breakfast thing, but it is tasty, if you like beetroot.”
“What you brought is perfect. Thank you.” I slide off the top bunk, find a fork in one of the nearby drawers, and sit at the small table that’s only a few feet away.
Dexi falls into one of the chairs like a snowflake floating to the ground. Vivien sits down too—more like a lumberjack falling into her chair after a long day at work—and folds her hands under her chin.
“Sorry about Maggie. She can be difficult sometimes. I know it’s not fair to say you have to grow thicker skin, because it seems like that’s putting the blame on you, but it does help.” Vivien shrugs. “Sometimes we all need a little armor to protect our hearts. That doesn’t mean it’s our fault—it just means we don’t want to get hurt.”
I swallow a bite of food and wipe my mouth self-consciously. “I think it’s too late for armor. I don’t know if I belong here.”
Dexi frowns, her eyes scanning me like she’s trying to figure out exactly what’s broken. I get the feeling she’s a fixer like Mom, deep down—she just likes to analyze everything first.
Vivien turns her mouth down and drops her hands to the table. “You’re not giving up already.” I’m not sure if it’s a statement or a question.
I set my fork down and stuff my hands into my lap to keep myself from fidgeting when I try to figure out the words I want to say. “I don’t want to give up. But if Maggie won’t train me, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I came here to learn—to get better. Not to waste time with a circus that doesn’t want anything to do with me.”
Dexi shrugs matter-of-factly. “Go home, then.”
I hesitate, letting the sharpness of her tone fade. Maybe she’s not a fixer. “I can’t. My parents…” I shake my head
firmly. “I can’t let them be right after less than twelve hours.”
She raises a brow and tilts her head back and forth like a bobblehead. “Then stay, and stop pretending like you don’t know what to do.”
I let out a brief laugh. “You’re doing the reverse-psychology thing, aren’t you?”
Dexi does a slow blink, like she’s telling me I already know my own answer.
I trace my finger along the edge of the table. “It doesn’t bother you guys what Maggie said? About the set list?”
“I’m certainly not going to claim a moral high ground when we’re all well aware Simon doesn’t exactly do things by the book,” Vivien says.
Dexi nods. “Maggie is just trying to intimidate you. She’s going to give you every reason in the world to quit, but you can’t let her win. Not if you really want to be here.”
“I do,” I say. “More than I’ve ever wanted anything.”
Vivien leans into the table and crosses her arms. “Good. Because if the rest of us ran away every time someone told us what we wanted was unrealistic or impossible or just plain not going to happen, there’d be no circus. This world we live in, that moves from city to city and houses families from thirty different countries, exists in spite of the nonbelievers. We exist because we work hard, we don’t give up, and when we hear ‘that can’t be done,’ we find a way to do it anyway. Who cares if Maggie doesn’t want to train you? Change her mind, or find another way to train. Not everyone gets a chance to run away with the circus—don’t waste yours just because someone tried to dull your shine.” She winks, and I feel like the room stills just for her. “Stars shine their brightest in the dark. So take this opportunity, and supernova the shit out of it.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Vivien and Dexi try to make me feel welcome by showing me around the yard and telling me about all the people who live here. I should be grateful—especially after Maggie’s inference at the Lunch Box, which I’m sure has already made the rounds.
But every time somebody looks at me, I feel the questions in their eyes. The judgment, too. It makes me feel like I’ve let the entire world down, rather than just Mom and Dad.
Vivien and Dexi say they don’t care what I did to get here, but they don’t speak for everyone. There are probably at least a hundred people in Maison du Mystère, if you include the performers, the ring crew, the technicians, the designers, the service members—not to mention their families. That’s a lot of people.
And if having a big, diverse family has taught me anything, it’s that the bigger the crowd, the louder the opinions.
A person’s reputation is like a shadow—it follows them everywhere, for eternity, no matter what. We mostly have no say in how we look to other people. Someone could carry themselves a certain way their whole life, but if someone else says one bad thing about them? It catches like wildfire.
I don’t know if I’m ready for a hundred people to have an opinion about me. It makes me want to curl up in a ball, shut my eyes, and never look at the world again.
But if I’m afraid of the world, it means I’ll be afraid of the circus, too.
Under no circumstances am I ever going to allow that to happen. Even if it means starting off my career at Maison du Mystère with a tarnished reputation.
We pass by a kid practicing cartwheels outside one of the big trailers. Vivien tells me it’s pretty normal to see families in traveling circuses, especially since they spend nearly eleven months out of the year on the road. Some of them perform together, like the Terzi Brothers. Others were practically raised by the circus because their parents were once performers, like Dexi, whose acrobat lineage goes back three generations.
And other families found one another because of the circus. The costume designer is married to the set designer. One of the Terzi Brothers is engaged to a clown named Anna, who is pregnant.
When I meet Jin Thompson—a juggler who was born in Iowa but has performed all over the world—he tells me he has more exes in the circus than Vivien has knife cuts.
“I rarely cut myself these days,” she says, making a goofy face.
Jin’s black topknot barely moves during his workout, the swish of the jump rope snapping against the air in front of me. “I’m just glad Simon took away your live target. The thought of you accidentally butchering Marco’s beautiful face was wreaking havoc on my anxiety.”
“To be very clear,” Vivien says, her voice dropping low, “Marco was never in any danger.” She looks at me, eyes softening into a grin. “But Simon thought my act was too scary for kids.”
“Oh, believe me, it wasn’t just the kids.” Jin tuts. “The only people who enjoy seeing knives thrown at other people are sadists and people who hurt animals.”
“Because that’s not a sweeping generalization,” Dexi notes with the same icy tone that never seems to thaw.
Jin winks. “We are who we are.” Something draws his attention behind me, and he gives a halfhearted smile, the rope whipping against the dirt with the rhythm of a metronome. “Which is sometimes so damned unfortunate.”
I turn around and see the motorcyclist from earlier walking toward us.
“You’re back!” Vivien shouts, giving the leather-clad stranger a hug. “How was your vacation?”
“Fine,” he says curtly, his eyes pinned to something in the distance. He looks flustered, but the others don’t seem to notice. And if they do, they don’t acknowledge it.
My ears burn. I wonder if he knows about the set list.
“Well, there’s a face I’ve missed,” Jin says with a smirk.
Dexi’s laugh is soundless, but present in the way she crinkles her nose. “One-way road, Jin.”
Jin cuts her a look in the corner of his eye, but they’re so familiar with each other that I get the feeling it’s nothing more than a long-standing joke between them all.
Vas runs his knuckle beneath his brow like he’s searching for a distraction. And maybe it’s my own ego that’s the problem, but I can’t help but feel it’s because of me.
Especially since I’m the only one he’s actively trying not to look at.
“Hey, so you two probably haven’t met yet.” Vivien starts to hold her hand up toward me, and we both reply at the same time.
“No,” I say.
“Yes,” says Vas.
We look at each other briefly. Is that a scowl?
I clear my throat. “We didn’t meet meet. We just ran into each other earlier.” Almost literally.
Vivien grins, nudging him with her shoulder. “Wow, Vas, it’s not like you to be so talkative around strangers.” There’s a wisp of playfulness hidden at the edge of her mouth, and I realize quickly that she’s teasing him.
Maybe they’re together.
Vas furrows his brow and glares at her. Definitely a scowl. Okay, maybe they aren’t together.
Vivien laughs like she doesn’t care. “Well, Harley is an aerialist. She’s here to train with Maggie.”
It’s the first time Vas looks remotely interested in anything she’s said. He glances at me with dark eyebrows that don’t match the honey-brown tones of his hair. “Maggie would never agree to that.”
I open my mouth to defend myself, but I realize there’s no point. It’s true—she didn’t agree to it, and I’m not sure what to do to make her change her mind, aside from, well, begging.
Dexi fights a yawn. “Maggie is a spoiled brat, and she doesn’t get to have everything she wants.”
Jin snickers, and Vivien’s eyes widen. I guess it must not be common to bad-mouth the star of the show.
Vas shakes his head like he doesn’t want to get involved, still scowling.
“You’re in a mood,” Dexi notes. Part of me feels pleased I’m not imagining things, but the other part is bracing nervously for his reply.
“Simon pulled the plug on my set list. Says he has some secondhand stuff he wants tweaked instead,” he replies.
Secondhand. Dad would die of rage if he heard his compositions
talked about like that.
Vas’s eyes flick toward mine for the briefest moment, and it takes everything in me not to look away with guilt.
“I’m sorry,” Vivien says, thinning her mouth.
“That sucks.” Dexi leans back against the trailer.
My entire face feels like it’s going up in flames. The tension is suffocating.
“They’ve got borscht at the Lunch Box,” Jin offers, seemingly oblivious to what’s going on. He tosses his jump rope to the ground and stretches his arm behind his head.
“I’d prefer my own set list, but cheers,” Vas says flatly.
Jin holds up his hands like he can’t believe the lack of enthusiasm. “It’s food from your homeland!”
Home. The word tugs at the loose strings in my chest.
“All your sour cream and dumpling amazingness is impossible to resist,” Vivien grumbles in a faux-deep voice.
Vas forces the grimmest look possible. “I don’t know how that has anything to do with me. I haven’t lived in Russia since I was a child.” He sighs, uninterested in continuing the conversation. When he reaches for the door, I realize he must be Jin’s roommate. “I need to shower. I’ll see you guys at the two o’clock meeting.”
“Let me know if you want company,” Jin half sings.
Vas snort-laughs and shakes his head, disappearing into the trailer.
Jin lifts his shoulders innocently. “What?”
Dexi and Vivien turn to each other, their stifled laughter drawing the attention of a unicyclist nearby. I know I should be used to the circus life since I pretty much grew up knowing nothing else, but Teatro della Notte is a completely different dimension in comparison. It’s dark, atmospheric, moody—Maison du Mystère is more like an extended camping trip.
There’s a rawness to it. I feel like there are fewer rules, and more crooked edges.
I love it more than I can put into words.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and when I look at the screen, I see Chloe’s name and a photo of her and me from the morning of graduation. Why does that feel like such a lifetime ago?
But the nostalgia isn’t what’s unsettling—it’s the fact that Chloe never calls me. We communicate exclusively through texts.
Harley in the Sky Page 7
