Maybe the dark space they think is me is the dark space I left behind.
Someday I’ll prove it to them. I’ll show them they’re wrong about what this is—that the circus isn’t a phase I’m going to tire of eventually. That I’m not here because I can’t control my excitement.
I’m not in any danger.
And if Mom would only listen, she’d understand that the more she pushes—the more everyone pushes—the more it makes me certain that I can never go home again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I’m more nervous than I want to be, and it feels ridiculous. I’ve been training in the same room as Vas for weeks. What makes tonight any different?
I wonder if it’s because of what Jin said earlier—about Vas not loving anyone but his violin. And I’m not silly enough to think Vas loves me, but sometimes he looks at me when he’s between songs, and it feels… like there might be something there other than indifference.
The problem is that I can’t tell if the something is good or bad. He could be starting to like me, or he could equally loathe me. Maybe he shows up every night because he wants to, or maybe it’s because he thinks I’m a sad stray puppy he’s throwing a bone to but also secretly wishes would get picked up by animal control so it could be someone else’s problem.
Tonight, I’ll pay more attention. I’ll look for signs—even the ones he thinks he’s good at hiding. Because the last thing I want is to assume we’re friends only to get rejected. I’m barely holding my heart together as it is.
But when I see the twinkling lights scaling down the big top and step through the parted curtains, I hear nothing but my padded footsteps on the carpet, and my breathing echoing into the open chamber.
Vas isn’t here.
He might be late, or sick, or tired, but my mind immediately thinks the worst.
I worry he’s not here because he finally got tired of me.
I spend the next hour doing floor exercises and core work, trying not to think about Vas’s reason for not being here, or how bummed I am that I’m not on the trapeze, or how maybe Vas found out everyone knew about our rehearsals and now he’s embarrassed people might assume we’re friends. Or hooking up, as Vivien put it.
It’s the last thought that mortifies me.
On my way back to the trailer, I see him walking toward me with a heaviness creased between his brows.
“Hey,” he says carefully, his green eyes darkened to gray.
“Hey.” I try to match his tone, but my nerves cause my voice to crack.
Great. This is going super well already.
“I was on my way to find you. Thought you might still be practicing,” Vas says, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. I notice the absence of a violin case in his hands. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there tonight, but something came up.”
“It’s fine,” I say, trying to sound like I had never been disappointed to begin with.
He hesitates, and there’s a hardness in his jaw that I’m sure is anger.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, not sure if we know each other well enough to talk about feelings.
He fiddles with the rolled-up material of his sleeves, pushing them back over his elbows, and crosses his bare forearms over his chest. “I had a meeting with Simon that didn’t go very well.” He inhales deeply, and I realize he’s about to tell me more.
My stomach flutters. Maybe I’m not just a stranger who takes up half the room during his rehearsals. Maybe he sees me as a genuine friend. Someone he can talk to. Someone he wants to talk to.
“I asked Simon for another shot at composing a new set list for next season, and he promised he’d give it a listen. I was sure I’d done enough—sure that he’d prefer original music to the knockoff tracks he asked for.” He shakes his head angrily, and I still my face to hide my emotions. “He called me in to tell me his decision. It seems he’s going with the music he… acquired.”
“I’m sorry.” My voice is tiny. Minuscule.
He looks flustered, his eyes avoiding mine. “I have to rework everything, put together every new track. It’s going to take me weeks.” He pauses, his gaze finally finding mine. I can’t look away. There’s Vas and nothing else, like he’s a single lantern in the dark.
Does he know what I did? Does he blame me?
I feel so horribly guilty, and it bubbles up inside me and makes my stomach churn. I know how badly I’ve betrayed my parents, but I haven’t had to see their faces yet. Seeing how hurt Vas is and knowing it’s my fault?
I wish I were the kind of person who didn’t care, who could convince myself my ambition was worth any casualties, accidental or otherwise.
But I’m not that person. I do care. More than I want to admit.
I open my mouth to apologize, to tell Vas I didn’t mean to keep him from composing, but he’s talking before I can find the words.
“I won’t have time to be your spotter anymore.” His voice is final. Hollow. An echo bouncing through a rocky canyon.
“Oh.”
What else is there to say?
He runs a hand through his hair, shoving it to the side roughly the way he does in between every piece he plays on the violin. It makes me follow his fingers, and the way they glide through his honey-colored hair. I picture them dancing across the strings, clinging to his bow as it flies up and down like a boat being rocked by mountainous waves.
And in that moment, I’m not thinking about how hard it will be to train without him. I’m thinking about how much I’ll miss his music.
“Maybe you could write something else? Ask him for one more chance?” I offer.
He pulls his face back barely an inch, his eyes flitting back and forth like I’ve caught him off guard. And then they harden. “Simon only makes offers once. He doesn’t give second chances. Anyone who joins Maison du Mystère learns that pretty quickly.”
My mind flashes to the deal I made with Simon. There was no room for interpretation, no second chance, no time to even think.
But Vas’s expression is so severe, I don’t think empathy is what he’s mulling over.
I think it’s judgment.
Because it was me who stole Dad’s set list. It was me who made it so Vas couldn’t compose his own music. And it’s me who is getting in the way of Vas’s dreams, the way Mom and Dad always got in the way of mine.
And I can see it in his eyes—he knows all of this too.
“I know it’s an inconvenience, but you really don’t need to look so worried. I’m sure you can ask someone else to spot you in the evenings.” Vas kicks his foot at the dirt. “It’s the circus, after all. We’re all easily replaced.”
He turns, marching back to his trailer, and I’m desperately trying to connect dots I don’t fully understand. He thinks I’m disappointed that he won’t be there to help me. And I know maybe sometimes I’m selfish, but I’m not heartless.
But how do I correct him? How do I fix something I helped break?
I’m not Mom. I don’t know how to make things better.
I only know how to make them worse.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
It’s only been two days since Vas told me we wouldn’t be practicing in the big top anymore, but it feels like it’s been weeks. I find myself distracted by shadows and anyone with a leather jacket, wondering when I’ll see him again, and if I’ll know the right thing to say to explain that I felt bad about what he lost that night, not what I lost.
I know he’s around because his bike is still parked alongside his trailer, but he’s either purposely avoiding me or too busy computerizing Dad’s set list to make an appearance.
I hate that I have to add his name to the list of people I’ve wronged. It was never my intention to hurt anyone—but then Tatya happened, and ever since then it’s felt like a ping-pong game of hurt, back and forth and back and forth, between me and the rest of the world.
Mom and Dad. Chloe. Maggie, in her own way. Vas.
I still feel hurt too, though the m
ore days that pass, the less I’m sure I have as much right to be hurt as I did when I first saw the photo of Mom.
Things are… fuzzy. My feelings are fuzzy.
And since I can’t understand them, I’m choosing to ignore them.
Vivien and Dexi went for an early breakfast in town with some of the other performers. It’s normal for everyone to spend at least one day a week seeing a bit of the local area.
It’s also normal for nobody to invite me. I’m sure there are probably a few reasons, all ranging from “she stole a set list from another circus” to “we just don’t like her,” but the most obvious is that Maggie is a permanent fixture in their group. Even if Vivien and Dexi wanted to invite me, I have no doubt Maggie would veto the crap out of even the suggestion. And everyone else would probably let her.
Jin might be talking to me, but to the rest of the circus, I still have a long way to go before I’m accepted.
I head to the big top after breakfast. It’s the only window of opportunity I have to train on Sundays because there’s a matinee performance shortly after lunch, followed by load-out. And I don’t want to miss even a day of training, especially now that I’m back to doing floor exercises. I know I could ask Vivien or Dexi to help, but I can’t bring myself to cash in a favor—especially when neither of them technically offered. They just asked why I hadn’t asked, which is not the same thing.
I’m surprised to find the Terzi Brothers when I venture inside, standing across from each other and juggling so many colorful pins between them, it’s hard to count them all. Galip is older than Emin, but only by a year. Dexi mentioned it weeks ago when I asked if they were twins. Their faces are so similar, with thin, dark eyebrows and chiseled noses. But while Galip sports a mustache and short hair, Emin is clean-shaven with his hair in boyish curls.
Galip sees me first, and he makes a guttural noise to his brother. Within a few seconds, they catch pin after pin until every object is locked in their fingers like claws.
“Can I help you?” Emin asks with a thick accent, his bare arms glistening with sweat.
“I didn’t realize anyone was in here,” I say quickly, taking a step back toward the door.
Galip holds up a fistful of pins. “Want to join us?”
My feet lock into place. I blame the shock of actually being invited to something that doesn’t involve scraping gum off the stands. “I don’t know how to juggle,” I admit.
Emin flashes a wide smile, eyes creasing. “We can help with that.”
I make a move toward the center of the ring, my heart doing tiny little flips like a nervous tadpole.
“It’s good to pick up an extra skill or two in the circus. You never know when someone might need you to stand in, you know?” Galip nods toward his brother. “When we were younger, we used to help our parents take care of the elephants at one of the old forgotten circuses. And we picked up juggling in our free time, usually in the evenings when everyone else was busy performing. One day there was an accident, and one of the jugglers was injured. They asked us to step in while he recovered, and we’ve been working in circuses ever since.”
He passes me two of the pins, motioning for me to copy his movements.
I can’t stop my eyes from drifting up toward the static trapeze high above us. “It’s different for me. I came here because I already have a dream of being a trapeze artist. The two of you are incredible at what you do, but juggling isn’t my dream.”
Emin nods, the pins twirling and spinning like he’s created a Ferris wheel from his own hands. “You want a place on the trapeze, but someone is sitting there already. It won’t do you any good to stand around waiting for your moment. Carve a new place for yourself—make a name for yourself, so the circus will know you’re worthy. Otherwise all you are is someone watching from the sidelines.”
I spin one of the pins, and it topples from my hands to the floor.
Galip laughs and pats my shoulder. “I’m sure you don’t need to worry about anyone forcing you to be a juggler if you don’t want to be one. But, maybe if you practice, you might get a chance at performing sometime. It’s better than watching, isn’t it?”
I nod, scooping the pin back up and trying again. They slip in my hands, unable to go in the directions I want them to, but I keep trying, again and again.
Maybe that’s the lesson I need to learn. Not to give up, but not to be too set on my dream, either.
Maybe I need to be flexible, so that I can find a detour that will lead to the trapeze, despite the many roadblocks that stand in my way.
The Terzi Brothers teach me their tricks until just before lunch when our stomachs start to grumble. I’m able to juggle three pins without a single one of them hitting the floor, and it feels like such a massive accomplishment, I can hardly stop smiling.
CHAPTER THIRTY
We’re in the truck driving toward the Louisiana state border when Vivien looks over her shoulder. “I hear the Terzi Brothers were keeping you busy today.”
I lean my head back, thinking of how nice it was to feel like someone actually wanted to teach me something for a change. “It was fun. And they were really patient with me, even though I clearly sucked at juggling.”
Dexi taps her finger against the wheel. “Must be a drastic difference to being around Vas, who looks like he’s in physical pain when he has to talk to anyone.”
I look out the window and try to focus on something that won’t make me emotional.
Vivien laughs, not noticing I’ve gone quiet. “I once drove all the way from Napa to San Diego with Vas—back when we were both pretty new—and he didn’t say a word. Not one word. It was so painfully uncomfortable, but when I asked him later why he was so quiet, he said he didn’t even realize it. He was just lost in the music.”
“Basically what she’s saying is don’t take it personally if he’s quiet. He’s quiet with everyone,” Dexi says, her eyes glancing at me in the rearview mirror before pinning back onto the road.
I twist my mouth and bite down on the urge to point out that Vas isn’t quiet with me—he actively dislikes me. Maybe even hates me, after what stealing my dad’s music cost him.
Vivien tells another story about Vas, and mostly I’m trying not to listen because even the sound of his name causes a burn inside my sternum. But then Dexi says something that I can’t tune out.
“Simon can be such a jerk. It’s so shitty what he did to Vas. And you, too,” she says.
“What do you mean?” My voice is metallic, sharp, and defensive.
Vivien turns around, frowning. “You do know nothing stays a secret in the circus, right?”
I cross my arms irritably. “I mean, I knew Vas was mad that Simon is going with the other set list, but I didn’t think he’d tell everyone it was my fault. I get that he blames me, but it’s not like I meant to hurt him.”
“Who said it was your fault?” Vivien’s face is scrunched up like she’s confused.
“Dexi just said I did something shitty,” I point out. “And okay, maybe I did because it was my fault Simon had the other set list in the first place, but I didn’t know about the music Vas had written. I didn’t even know who Vas was.”
“No, that’s not what I said.” Dexi tuts in the mirror. “I meant what Simon did was shitty to you.”
I feel my blood simmering because everything about the situation with Vas is still too raw. “Simon didn’t do anything to me. Not directly. He hurt Vas when he turned down his music. And for the record, I really hate that everyone keeps assuming I care more about training than Vas’s music. Because it’s not true. I don’t care that I have to train alone again—I care that I’m responsible for ruining Vas’s life.”
Vivien holds up her hands, her hazel eyes wide in alarm. “Okay, I think we are all getting our wires crossed here. First of all, nobody said you ruined Vas’s life.”
Dexi raises a finger from the wheel. “I definitely did not say that.”
“And secondly,” Vivien continues, “Si
mon never turned Vas’s music down. Quite the opposite, in fact. He told Vas he could write new music for the entire next season.”
Confusion swarms me, pulling my thoughts in conflicting directions.
“Vas turned down the offer,” Dexi adds, like this is supposed to clarify things. Except it only makes it worse.
My head feels like it’s spinning. “That’s not true. Vas told me—” I start, but I can’t find the words. Because maybe it is true. Maybe Vas lied to me. “I don’t understand. Why would Vas turn down his own music?”
They look at each other for a brief moment, and the realization that there is so much more to this story makes me feel microscopic.
“Simon said if they used Vas’s music, then there’d be no reason to keep you here.” Vivien looks at me, her face full of warmth even though her words are cold. “Vas didn’t want to be the reason you got sent home, so he agreed to set his music aside.”
Vas helped me?
I blink. “I… didn’t know that.”
I also didn’t know Simon had considered sending me home—or that it was even an option. I guess I was so sure I was here for the long term that it never occurred to me that our arrangement could be broken. I mean, it should’ve occurred to me. Nothing lasts forever.
Besides, it’s not like we signed a contract.
The coil of embarrassment wraps itself around me. And guilt, too, that Vas gave up something so important to keep me around. Because I’m suddenly very aware there’s a countdown on my time here. How long will it be before the next time Simon thinks of a loophole to get rid of me? He might not even need a loophole. It’s not like we talked about the broader terms of our arrangement—specifically, how long I get to stay.
Vas will have thrown away his chance for nothing. Wasted on a girl naive enough to believe a handshake was going to bind an agreement built on deceit.
He shouldn’t have done it. Not for me.
I don’t deserve his kindness, and I don’t think I can repay it.
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