So seeing her in the center of the ring arguing with Simon Tarbottle catches me off guard.
I freeze midstep, wondering if I’ve somehow mixed up the time. Maggie is pointing angrily behind her, and I only catch the end of her sentence.
“… it’s unfair to the other aerialists, and it’s unfair to me.” She crosses her arms and leans into her hip.
Simon presses his hands together like he’s begging her to see reason. “Yes, it will be work. But this act—your act—it needs to be bigger for the new season. The new song I have—”
“I don’t care if Beyoncé personally wrote you a song. I am not turning my solo into some over-the-top performance piece,” Maggie practically barks.
“I’m not asking for your permission,” Simon says thinly. He lets his hands fall back to his sides, but I can see the tension in his balled-up fists. “This is not your circus, Maggie.”
She lowers her chin. “Last I checked, people weren’t lining up to see you perform.”
“I’m not fighting about this with you.” He lifts his hands. “What is the big deal? Is your ego so tender that you can’t handle a few sideline aerialists to add a bit of excitement? You’ll still be the star. Everyone will still be watching you.”
“You don’t get it.” Maggie tuts. “This isn’t about me being the center of attention. It’s about throwing together another stolen idea with performers you keep poaching from other troupes. Do you know how hard it is for anyone to move on from this place? How much you’re hurting our reputations?”
Simon scoffs. “Apologies that my practices have been making it so difficult for you to find a new job.” His voice drips with sarcasm.
Maggie rolls her eyes. “I’m not talking about me. I’m talking about people like Wendy and Marco. The people who haven’t quite built a name for themselves yet. The ones who’ll rely on their résumés to find work. People like her.”
It takes me a second to realize Maggie is pointing at me, and when I do, I feel my legs turn to jelly. Even though it wasn’t my intention, it looks very much like I’ve been eavesdropping.
“I—I was just here for rehearsal,” I stammer sheepishly.
Simon lets out a heavy sigh, his mismatched eyes pinned to me for only a brief moment. And then a twinkle of mischief appears. “Harley, how are you with the silk ropes?”
Maggie looks like she wants to set him on fire.
My entire body goes stiff. “Well, um, okay, I guess?”
“He’s toying with you,” Maggie snaps, and her words pinch me.
Simon’s laugh tumbles out of him as carelessly as his words. He wags a finger at Maggie. “I’m going to talk to Sasha about what it will cost to hire a few more aerialists. If I can cut a deal, then this is happening whether you like it or not.” He winks his amber eye at me as he passes. “Maybe next time, kid.”
When he’s gone, I swallow the lump in my throat and let my shoulders relax.
“Don’t look so disheartened,” Maggie says pointedly. “It wasn’t like he was really offering you a job.”
“If I’d been better at the silk ropes…,” I start. If I’d been better, he might’ve let me perform.
“Silk ropes or not, if Simon were genuinely considering putting you in an act, he wouldn’t have you serving popcorn,” she retorts. “Besides, as soon as Sasha tells him what it will cost to hire what he needs”—she shakes her head, her purple curls swaying back and forth—“he would’ve only disappointed you. Trust me.”
I nod, biting down at the edge of my lip. Maybe she’s right. I hope she’s right.
Otherwise I’ve just missed my first real opportunity at being a part of Maison du Mystère.
Maggie stalks toward the stands, pressing her foot against the edge of one of the chairs to adjust her leather leg warmer. When she catches me staring at her, she twists her face and drops her foot to the floor. “What?”
I shift my weight. “That was nice, that’s all. What you said about Wendy and Marco. And me.” I shrug. “I didn’t expect you to care that much.” Or at all, I think, but I keep that part to myself.
She lets out an irritated huff. “I only said that to make him listen.”
“Oh.” I don’t know whether she’s telling the truth, or whether she’d rather keep pretending she has a heart made of stone.
Maggie lifts up her other foot to adjust the next leg warmer. “Simon has this ridiculous idea of having six more aerialists performing on silk ropes during my solo. It’s something he ripped off from a troupe in California.”
“Sounds like it could be cool,” I offer.
She blinks slowly. “He wants everyone to dress up like an animal. Like we’re all part of a menagerie.”
“Well, at least you’ve got the peacock covered. You’re one-seventh of the way there,” I say.
She straightens herself and tilts her head. “You think this is funny.”
“No,” I say seriously. “I actually like the idea. I mean, it’s a little busy maybe, but it would be cool to watch. It feels kind of like royalty, in a way, with you in the center and a bunch of other aerialists all around you.”
Maggie rolls her eyes. “Well, it’s not going to happen. Simon can’t afford that much new talent. Not to mention I refuse to do it. It’s too distracting.” She puts a hand on her hip. “It’s tacky.”
I say the words we’re both thinking. “And it’s stolen.”
“Exactly.” She looks up, her eyes following the smooth stretch of fabric above our heads. “I didn’t know about his reputation when I first took this job. I was just excited to leave London and come to America.” Her gaze falls back to me. “You still believe the illusion that this place is somehow full of magic. That it’s going to solve all your problems. But that’s just because the circus hasn’t disappointed you yet.”
I flatten my mouth. “You don’t know anything about me.”
She tilts her head again. “You didn’t come here to escape your homelife? To run away from people who don’t understand you? You didn’t show up here hoping to be a star—to be admired by strangers and finally feel like your life has meaning?” Her smile is equal parts poisonous and beautiful. “Your heart didn’t leap at the thought of performing on those silk ropes? To be a bird in a menagerie, like me?”
My tone turns icy. “I don’t want to be a bird. Or you.”
Her laugh makes me flinch. “All wannabe trapeze artists liken themselves to a bird. You want to fly away, right? Isn’t that the dream?”
“No,” I insist. Because that’s not my dream at all. When she starts to turn away from me, my words tumble out all at once. “I’d rather be a red panda than a bird.”
She pauses, her gray eyes snapping back to mine. “A red panda?”
I nod. “Yeah. Because they don’t fit in a box, and they’re okay with it. Scientists came up with a totally new name just for them. Because they aren’t a bear or a raccoon or a cat or a weasel. They’re just themselves. A mix of everything and nothing. And they didn’t let anyone tell them what they could or couldn’t be—they made the world change for them.” I dig my heels into the ground. “I know you don’t like me. I know why you don’t like me. And I’m not going to try to change your mind. But I’m not who you think I am. So if you’re going to hate me, at least make sure you know who you’re hating first. Because I’m not going anywhere.”
It’s quiet for a moment, but Maggie doesn’t pull her gaze away.
Eventually she shrugs. “I don’t hate you. Hating means I’d have to care.”
Even though her words are sharp, there’s a twitch in the corner of her mouth. It might even be a smile.
I don’t know what to make of it.
So I cross my arms and say the next best thing I can think of. “And I can’t believe you’d actually turn down Beyoncé. Even hypothetically.”
Maggie raises a brow. “I told you—I’d have said anything to make Simon listen.”
And then she turns away, and I retreat back to the shad
ows of the big top, watching her train and imagining what it could’ve been like if we’d started out as friends instead of enemies.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Dexi moves across the high wire like she’s under a spell. Her dark eyes never lose their focus, even when she’s halfway across the tightrope and she sinks slowly into a split.
Everything is slow and calculated at first, her solo almost as captivating as Maggie’s.
And then Zhìháo and Guānyǔ—cousins from Taiwan and two-thirds of the high-wire act—appear on opposite ends of the tightrope. They step closer to Dexi before crouching low, and then Dexi leapfrogs over the tops of them like it takes no effort at all.
The act moves quickly after that. Zhìháo rides a unicycle across the wire, a long pole firmly wedged in his hands, and when he comes back for round two, Guānyǔ is upside down on his shoulders.
Then Dexi is across the rope again like a spider, her feet moving so quickly, it hardly looks like she’s walking at all. And then she’s jumping rope—on a tightrope—and my mouth feels permanently ajar.
She’s amazing. They’re all amazing.
When the three of them stand on one another’s shoulders like a human tower and Zhìháo takes the first step onto the wire, I cover my mouth with my hand like I’m too afraid to breathe.
And then I feel my phone buzz from within my pocket.
I hurry out of the rehearsal tent before anyone notices the distraction, and when I look down at the screen, I see Chloe’s name and the photo of the two of us.
“Hello?” I answer.
“Hey,” she says hesitantly. “It’s me.”
I grin, realizing for the first time how much I’ve missed her voice. “I’m glad you called. I feel like we haven’t talked in forever.”
“Yeah, well, one of us has to make an effort to stay friends.” There’s an edge to her voice that makes my shoulders stiffen, and I get the feeling she isn’t just calling to catch up.
My smile fades. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re really bad at this whole ‘keeping in touch’ thing, you know. I feel like I’m losing my best friend,” she says.
“Oh God, I know, and I’m so sorry. Things are just so hectic here, and I don’t always remember to check my messages.” I pause, feeling like I’m bracing for a lecture. “But we’re still best friends. That hasn’t changed.”
Chloe hums like she’s tired. “So I guess this means you’ve officially gone into hyperdrive?”
“I appreciate the Star Wars reference, but what do you mean?”
“When you get in one of your moods and get so wrapped up in whatever it is you’re doing that you forget about everything else going on in the world.”
My stomach tightens. “I don’t do that.”
She laughs into the phone, but she sounds more irritated than happy. “Yes, you do. You even forget about me. You know—the person you used to talk to every single day and now text maximum once a week?”
She’s angry. Why is she so angry? “I swear, I’m just busy. I don’t have a hyperdrive that makes me forget about you.”
It’s quiet for three long seconds.
“You don’t see it. You never do,” she says finally.
“Where is this coming from? I said I was sorry. What do you want me to do?” I ask, and my voice is beginning to match her irritation.
“It sucks, okay? It sucks being the only person in this friendship that tries to stay in touch.”
“I know I haven’t been the greatest friend lately, but I feel like you could cut me a little slack. If you were the one who had just moved away and were starting out at your dream job and things got a little busy, I think I’d be more understanding.”
“But this isn’t even the first time you’ve done this!” Chloe snaps. “This is your ‘thing.’ You get excited about something and it takes over your whole life. You start ignoring me. It feels like you want a new life—like you’re trying to move on or something.”
I step farther away from the rehearsal tent and find a quiet place near the empty parking lot. “That’s ridiculous. I mean, yeah, I get excited about stuff, but you know that about me. We’ve been friends for years, and you’ve known that about me. But you’re acting like ditching you is a pattern when it’s absolutely not.”
“But it is. Like when you first switched schools and you spent all semester hanging out with those two girls you said you were going to start a band with, and then basically forgot I even existed,” Chloe says.
I fling my hand up in the air like she’s making zero sense at all. “I was trying to make friends. That’s what people do at new schools.”
“By trying to start a band when you don’t even play an instrument?”
“I was trying new things!”
“It felt like I was being replaced.”
I kick at the scattered pebbles on the ground and watch them scurry in the opposite direction. “I know I’m not texting super often, but you’re acting like I’m the worst friend in the history of the world.”
Chloe sighs. “I’m not saying that. But okay, what about the time my parents asked you to house-sit, and you ditched school for an entire week and barely said a word to me the whole time I was gone because you were scrapbooking or whatever?”
“Seriously, since when did you start keeping a list of all the times you were mad at me and never bothered to tell me?” I ask angrily. “And I was not scrapbooking. I was writing a comic.”
“Minor detail. My point is that you let things take over your life sometimes, and you don’t think about who it affects. You don’t even think about how it affects you.”
“Oh my God, you sound like my mom. What the hell, Chloe? I don’t understand why you’re mad at me.” I clench my teeth and stare angrily in the opposite direction of the circus.
“It’s not easy telling someone you feel ignored, you know. But I hate when this happens. I hate being the half of our friendship that is always forgotten about.”
“I’m not ignoring you on purpose! I don’t know how many times I have to say it.”
It’s quiet for so long that I look at my phone to make sure she’s still there.
Chloe’s breath catches, like what she’s about to say keeps getting stuck in the back of her throat. “It’s not just that I feel ignored,” she continues cautiously. “I’m concerned, too. You do things without thinking. Sometimes you put yourself in dangerous situations, because you get so excited about whatever it is you’re doing. I know it sounds like I’m lecturing you, but I honestly don’t know how else to say this to you. Because to you, it’s just excitement. But to me—your friend—it’s a warning sign.”
“This is one thousand percent a lecture. And how is writing comics or starting a band dangerous?”
Chloe doesn’t miss a beat. “Inviting a random stranger over to my house, when my parents gave you the keys to house-sit and your parents thought you were in school, was dangerous.”
I blink.
She doesn’t wait for a response. She just keeps talking, like she’s trying to drill her point into my brain, and I guess I must be able to feel it because my skull is throbbing. “You knew him for less than an hour, and you invited him to a house where you were alone and nobody in town even knew you were there,” she says matter-of-factly. “And you didn’t even tell me until, like, a month later, when you let it slip by accident. It felt like you had some secret double life you didn’t want me to be a part of.”
“Seriously? I didn’t tell you about it because it wasn’t a big deal. He said he wanted to look at my comic, and I thought he seemed nice, so I said yes. But it ended up being super awkward, and he left twenty minutes later. It was nothing. I literally barely remember it even happened.”
“That doesn’t matter—what matters is that it was dangerous, and you don’t see it. I mean, you didn’t know anything about him. You met him in a Target parking lot. He could’ve been lying about the comics. He could’ve been a freaking seri
al killer!” Chloe says exasperatedly.
“I was fine.” I chew the inside of my cheek.
“You were lucky. Just like how you were lucky nothing happened when you got into a car with a total stranger and drove across a state border.” Her words pierce my chest.
It feels like there’s an iceberg between us, even though we’re both on fire. How is that possible? What is happening to our friendship?
I’m trying hard not to cry. “I can’t believe you’re acting like this right now. What the crap, Chloe?”
“I care about you.”
“You’re guilt-tripping me.”
“I just want you to be safe.”
“You want to yell at me.”
“I’m not yelling!” Chloe shouts at full volume, and then she takes a breath. “You don’t see the signs, but I do. I’ve been your best friend for years. Ignoring me? Being impulsive? Throwing all your attention into one new interest? These are signs.”
“Signs of what?” I ask testily.
“The high before the crash.”
Out of all the words she’s spoken, these are the ones that hurt the most.
Because I thought Chloe knew me better than this. I thought she trusted me more than this.
But here she is, trying to psychoanalyze me. She thinks she knows what I’m feeling better than I do because of what happened in November.
Just because I needed a little extra help once doesn’t mean I’ll need help forever.
And why do people keep assuming I need their help rather than asking if I even want it?
“I’m done talking about this,” I say, the flames heavy in my voice.
Flames she’s too afraid to touch.
“Okay,” she says softly, her own fire withdrawing. “Can you at least try not to be mad at me? Friends are supposed to tell each other the truth.”
I dig my fingernails into my palm. “The truth is, you’re making me feel bad about the first thing that’s made me happy in a really long time.”
“I don’t want you to feel bad.”
“You just want me to be safe,” I say dryly.
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