I imagine I live in a world where I belong.
Vas’s feet shifting on the floor bring me back, reminding me I’m not alone. I turn my head, my face undoubtedly brighter than any of the lights in the distance, and smile.
“This is amazing,” I say. “It feels like we’re a million miles up in the sky, doesn’t it?” I take in the night, enveloping around us like everything above the earth is melting together.
Vas lets his hands drop to his sides, shifting his body toward me so we’re facing each other. He studies his feet, and then he lifts his chin up so we’re looking into each other’s eyes.
His are such a soft green. Too gentle for those harsh eyebrows. But too wild for that warm, chocolaty smell.
Pieces that don’t go together.
Like me.
I feel my lips part, wanting words to exist between us. Wanting something to exist between us.
Vas’s fingers twitch at his hip, longing for something the way he longs for the touch of his violin.
I want to capture that longing, bottle it up, and press it close to my heart.
“I see the way you look at the circus. The way you look when you’re rehearsing, and you think nobody is watching. Like this is your only chance, and you’re so scared of it slipping through your fingers.” He tilts his head, hair falling across his eyes. “I want you to know that you don’t owe me an apology. I made a choice because I wanted to. Because I didn’t want to be the person who got in your way.”
My heart sinks into my stomach like it’s a black lagoon. Once again, my ambition is showing.
Vas isn’t trying to be cruel—he’s stating a fact. But knowing people can see me for what I am—a desperate person who wants to chase her dreams so badly, she isn’t even looking ahead to see who’s in her way—makes me feel so horribly guilty.
Ashamed, too, because I know what I did to my parents.
That wasn’t just ambition. That was betrayal.
Would Vas look at me the same way if he knew I didn’t just steal a set list, but I hurt my parents?
I’m too afraid to know the answer. Too ashamed that if I let Vas really see me, I won’t be able to pretend that what I did wasn’t so bad.
His eyes darken, sensing something has changed between us.
Or maybe I’m being silly to think anything’s changed, since that would imply there was something there to begin with.
“Thanks for showing me the view, but if it’s okay with you, I’d like to go home,” I say.
Home. A word that tastes so much like a lie.
Mobile, Alabama October—Week 9
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Me: Hey, long time no talk.
Me: Sorry it took me forever to write back. I’ve been mega busy.
Me: Are you still dating what’s-his-face?
Me: Hellooooo are you alive?
Chloe: His name is Jack.
Me: You’re there! Success!
Chloe: I’ve got a lot of homework right now.
Me: Okay, no problem. Talk to you later?
Chloe: Sure.
Maybe I should’ve just told her I miss my best friend, but I couldn’t figure out what words to use.
Our friendship doesn’t feel the same way it used to. I’m worried it’s my fault.
I guess I can add this to my list of things I keep screwing up.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
On Wednesday night I head to the big top to train. The Terzi Brothers wave from the Lunch Box as I walk past them. One of the clowns, too. Even Simon gives me a nod from nearby.
Everyone knows where I go at night. And it might not be written on a schedule, but it’s still my time. I’ve spent so many weeks hoping people would carve out a place for me, and it turns out I did it all on my own.
Well, mostly on my own.
Vas’s not being here still feels like there’s a missing piece—most noticeably because I can’t use the static trapeze to practice. But I have other things to work on now too.
The Terzi Brothers gifted me a set of juggling balls to practice with. Dexi has shown me a few new ways to stretch that have already made me feel more limber. And one of the clowns has been giving me lots of advice on stage presence and how to interact with the audience.
I no longer feel like a stranger here. I feel like I’m falling into place.
When I hear movement near the curtain, I look up from my handstand, certain the upside-down figure is going to be Vas with his violin.
Maggie’s purple curls make my brain do loop-the-loops, and then I’m right-side up with a look of pure confusion overtaking my face.
She makes her way to the center of the ring, her gait like she’s on a catwalk. “Not in the air today?”
I fight a scowl. “You know I’m not allowed to train without a spotter.”
She folds her graceful arms across her chest. “It’s not like you aren’t a fan of breaking rules.”
“Did you come in here just to give me a hard time about the set list? Everyone already knows, and they don’t care. So whatever attempts you had to poison everyone against me failed.” I shake my head irritably. “I don’t bother you during your rehearsals—don’t bother me during mine.”
Her lips curl into a smile. “I suppose everyone knows your parents own Teatro della Notte too?”
The world slows to a stop. If I were able to breathe, I’m sure I would see the cloud of air still in front of me like I’m trapped in a photograph.
“Who told you that?” My voice is hollow.
Maggie shrugs. “The circus is a small world. We trade gossip as often as we trade performers. And my boss going to Las Vegas to poach a performer he intends to replace me with is most definitely gossip.” She lets out a sigh. “Look, I’m not here to reveal you or anything like that.”
“Then why are you here?” I ask angrily.
“To tell you I get it now. I understand you.” She shrugs.
Is that… resignation on her face?
I don’t believe it. I can’t.
“I thought you were just a girl with a circus fetish who desperately needed a rude awakening, but now I realize you’re just like me.” Maggie blinks, her gray eyes as bright as glass. “You’re ready to put your ambition in front of everything—even your relationships.” She pauses. “Even your family.”
“That’s not—” But I can’t finish my sentence.
Because she’s right, and we both know it.
Feeling remorse or wishing things could be different doesn’t change the fact that I came here because I cared more about myself than about anyone else.
Not wanting to hurt people doesn’t change the fact that I did.
Maggie steps closer, her pink heels leaving temporary dents on the padded floor. “People automatically call me a bitch because I’m driven and I don’t waste my time on distractions. But if I were a man, do you think for a moment they’d associate those qualities as negative? No. They’d praise me as a hard worker. They’d find my initiative and determination impressive. But women are snobs and brats and whatever else. Because I don’t smile and take people’s shit, or accept less than what I deserve.”
She circles around me, her voice growing less patient. But she’s not being aggressive—she wants to be understood.
“I don’t doubt any of that’s true, but you tried to get everyone to ignore me. You tried to alienate me. And I know assuming you’d teach me anything wasn’t right, but you didn’t have to make it so difficult for me. I just wanted to belong.” It feels good to let my thoughts out.
“Like I said, I didn’t understand you at the start. But that’s also why I’m telling you this now.” She stops in front of me, eyes calculating. “You can’t get through life always being the good guy. At some point, someone is going to take advantage. And the nicer you are, the more often it will happen. People call me a snob and a bitch, but so what? I’ll embrace it if it means my voice will actually be heard. Ambition doesn’t always work well with nice.”
I bite my lip. “I… don’t know if I agree with that.”
“You don’t want to agree with it, because you don’t like the idea of people hating you. But the higher you climb, the greater you might fall—every trapeze artist knows that. So toughen up your heart, because ambition is more than a sword—it’s armor, too. Wear it well on your way up the ladder, and fight off the people who want to drag you back down.” Maggie shrugs. “Consider that the most important lesson you’ll ever learn from me.”
I pause. “Why are you helping me all of a sudden?”
Maggie laughs. “Because if someone early in my career had told me this, it would’ve saved me a lot of time holding myself back over some ridiculous feeling of belonging.”
“Sounds kind of lonely,” I argue.
“It’s lonely at the top because the truth is, nobody wants to see you up there,” she warns.
Her words swirl around my mind like they’re trying to find a place to fit. And I so desperately want to reject her advice, but parts of it make more sense than I want to admit.
Silence consumes the room for a long, long time.
I look back at her not as someone who did something unforgivable, but as someone who might be a little closer to a reflection than I let myself realize. “Have you changed your mind about training me?”
Maggie’s laugh fills the room. Dazzling, cruel, and so unbelievably beautiful. “No. I think you’re doing just fine on your own.”
She leaves the tent, her soft lavender hair hanging near her shoulders, and I wonder whether I’ve underestimated her just as much as she’s underestimated me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The news spreads like wildfire before anyone’s even made it to breakfast: Maggie quit last night, got on a plane to London, and is the new lead in a world-class circus show that is no doubt going to skyrocket her to superstardom.
It’s a huge deal. Even I’m impressed on her behalf.
Simon, however, has been in a rage since he woke up and read her resignation letter.
I hear him inside his trailer, objects clattering and animal-like roars escaping through the thin metal walls.
Jin falls into an empty chair next to where Vivien, Dexi, and I are sitting beneath the awning outside the Lunch Box, where Sasha has called an emergency meeting.
“He’s taking it well,” Jin says.
Vivien whistles dramatically.
“It’s not like she hasn’t been dropping hints for the last year,” Dexi mutters, scooping up a bite of fruit muesli.
“I didn’t think she’d quit. I mean, not this soon,” I say, thinking about our conversation last night and searching for a telltale sign.
I guess that was her way of saying goodbye.
Sasha appears near the table, his eyes a bit worn out. He glances around the grassy area, counting heads, and claps his hands together. “All right, everyone. As you know, Maggie left us last night and has taken a job with another troupe. We all wish her the best, and her presence here will certainly be missed.” In the background, Simon throws something so hard that one of the windowpanes rattles. Jin covers a hand over his mouth to hide his laughter, and some of the other performers flatten their lips and stare intensely at the ground.
I think I’m the only one who doesn’t find the whole thing wildly amusing.
Maggie’s gone, which means Simon doesn’t have a trapeze artist.
As of this moment, I’m the only person in Maison du Mystère with a chance of taking her place.
This isn’t amusing—this is an opportunity.
Sasha crosses his thick arms, sending warnings like laser beams from his eyes. “But we now have the problem of replacing our closing act.” The pounding in my chest feels limitless. “The plan is to rework the lineup a little bit and have the Terzi Brothers close. Our thought process is that as long as the audience leaves laughing, they won’t miss out on the magic Maggie’s act brought to the show. Galip and Emin, does that sound okay to you?”
The brothers both nod in agreement, and I feel like I’m watching a sandcastle crumble within my fingers.
After the meeting, I stay beneath the awning. Everyone is running around frantically making decisions to draw out acts in places, and add more comedy in others, all to cover up the gaping hole Maggie has left in the show.
I wait until the late afternoon, watching the door to Simon’s trailer, anxious for even a hint of movement.
Finally, he shows his face.
Dressed in black—his everyday uniform—he has a cell phone in one hand and a notebook and pen in the other. He’s already typing hurriedly on the screen of his phone, and I know if I don’t say something now, he might bury himself in another phone call and disappear somewhere I can’t reach him.
“Simon? Do you have a minute?” I ask.
He doesn’t hear me, so when he almost runs into me, his face crumples in confusion. “Whatever it is, take it up with Sasha. I’m a little busy at the moment.”
I think about what Maggie told me, about being assertive and taking charge of the moment.
I clear my throat. “This will only take a second, I promise.”
He raises a brow, his thumb clicking the end of the pen in a mechanical pattern. “Well, then a second is what you’ll get.”
“I want to replace Maggie as the new trapeze act.” The words don’t tumble out of me—they burst.
Simon doesn’t bother looking amused. “Kid, don’t waste my time.” He starts to move around me, but I cut in front of him. It’s what Maggie said I should do, right?
I won’t let Simon stand in my way—I’ll get in front of his.
He sighs and holds up the paper in his hand. “You see this? This is a list of some of the best trapeze artists in the country, all who’ve been interested in Maggie’s job in the past.” He pauses for effect. “Your name isn’t on it.”
“But none of them know the routine like I do. You’d have to train them—spend time that you don’t have. But I know Maggie’s routine perfectly. I’ve even practiced it. And I know how everyone else works, and what would be expected of me here. It would be an easy swap,” I say. “It’s good business.”
“There is no way on earth that I’m going to let an untrained, unseasoned aerialist try to replicate my best act. It would be a disaster,” Simon says. “You don’t hire a child to stand in for a lead in a Broadway show. Because it doesn’t matter how talented the kid is—they’re still a kid. And you, kid, are not ready for the spotlight.”
My face gets hot. “I’m not a kid. I will work harder for you than any act you’ve ever had. I will be better than Maggie. I just need you to give me a chance.”
Simon shakes his head.
“Just one night to show you what I can do. Please. I can do this,” I say.
“I told you a long time ago, I’m not in the business of doing charity.” Simon waves me aside.
“I’ll train her.”
Simon stops, his eyes widening.
I turn around and see Vas walking toward us, hands stuffed in his pockets like he’s been there awhile.
I don’t understand. Vas is a musician, and learning the violin isn’t going to get me a place on the static trapeze.
I also don’t understand why Simon looks so intrigued.
“I’ve been spotting her in the evenings. She’s really good—she could be great, even,” Vas says, and I realize there might be a hint of admiration in his tone. “I’ll train her every night, make sure she’s at the level she needs to be at. We both know how hard it would be to get a replacement trapeze artist here at the end of the season without paying a fortune anyway. It wouldn’t hurt anybody to give her a chance. If anything, it works in your favor.”
“You really think she can handle it,” Simon confirms slowly.
“I do,” Vas says. “She’s talented. She just needs to be trained.”
Blood is rushing through my body. Since when does Vas know anything about the trapeze?
He’s talking about
it like he knows more than I do.
“I don’t want Maggie’s act replicated,” Simon says finally. “It wouldn’t work. Nobody in the world could do it exactly like she did, and I’m not settling for a half-baked version of the best act we had.” He looks between Vas and me, the spark in his gemlike eyes growing with every second. “But a new act? Well, that I could get behind.”
Vas’s jaw shifts like he knows what’s coming.
I’m staring wide-eyed between them like a lost animal.
“A double static trapeze act, the way you and Maggie used to perform all those months ago,” Simon says. He wags his finger at the two of us. “You give me that—get something ready in the next three weeks—and I’ll consider using it for the new season in January.”
The entire world spins.
Vas is an aerialist?
An aerialist who used to perform with Maggie?
Vas still hasn’t looked at me. His eyes are locked on Simon’s the way someone would watch a poisonous snake in the grass. “I’ll agree to perform again, but only if I can compose an original song for our act.”
Simon opens his mouth to argue, but Vas is in no hurry to let him derail his plans.
“I’m not asking for the entire set list. Just one act,” Vas says firmly. “You let me have a song, and I’ll give you your double act back.”
Simon stares at him for a long time before relaxing into a smile. He holds up three fingers. “You have three weeks. If it’s not performance-ready by then, I’m hiring a new trapeze artist.” And then he pushes past us, patting Vas on the shoulder once before heading off toward the rehearsal tent.
For the first time since the bike ride, Vas looks me in the eyes.
“I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped,” he says stiffly. “I… wanted to help.”
I feel torn between throwing my arms around him and yelling at him for casually forgetting to mention that he was a professional freaking trapeze artist.
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