It feels like it’s been months since I first got into the truck with Simon, but it’s only been six days.
Six days doesn’t seem like enough time to make such a big change. I once spent six days building the perfect house on The Sims, which seems excessive in hindsight, but at the time it only felt like a few hours.
Time is funny like that. When you’re content, it goes by in a blink. But when you’re unsettled? In those moments, time feels eternal.
I settle into the back seat, watching the scenery shift and wondering how many more car rides it will be before I can say I’ve been on a static trapeze again.
I know my need to feel joy doesn’t always make sense to other people. Happiness is common. It’s a feeling most people don’t think twice about, because they feel it so often, they take it for granted.
I’m different. Sometimes it feels like I’m forever chasing a high. It feels like I’m trying to replicate a feeling of bliss—a feeling that’s hard for me to hold on to.
I know I’m sad more often than not. I know maybe that’s part of who I am.
But the other part of me? The part that doesn’t accept that that’s all I am? It feels like I’m constantly running in the opposite direction. The opposite of sad. And all the while, sad is trying to pull me back down.
I feel the darkness creeping through me, so I quickly wave away the clouds in my head, making space for something else. Anything else.
And I guess it works, because my ears start to perk up every time a motorbike passes us on the freeway, my eyes peering through the window to see if it’s Vas. It’s a bit like when you’re waiting for a package, and every time a car drives by, you’re hoping it’s the delivery person.
Not that I’m hoping to see Vas, exactly. But he’s watched me train alone for the last few nights, and as far as I know, he hasn’t told anybody how sad and pathetic I am. In some obscure way, it’s almost like we’re sharing a secret.
I’m sure Vas doesn’t see it that way, but then again, who’s asking him? Definitely not me. I am as silent as a clam when we’re around each other, just like I promised.
We reach a new city around midnight, and even though I’m exhausted and ready to collapse into bed, I can’t help but picture the big top in my head. I think of all the hours I’ve missed out on, unable to train because the Lucky Thirteen won’t start putting the tent together until tomorrow morning.
I fall asleep dreaming of me in the big top, balancing on the static trapeze to the sound of Vas’s violin.
Albuquerque, New Mexico August—Week 2
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I’m alone in the trailer, doing planks and push-ups to pass the time until Vivien and Dexi come to get me for dinner, when I notice all the photographs tucked beneath the top bunk where I sleep. They’re stuck between the metal bars, facing down toward Vivien’s mattress. Pictures of her family and her friends, and one of her with her parents.
Vivien’s mom looks almost identical to her—just a little older, and a little darker. But they have the same nose, a heart-shaped face, and eyebrows even a movie star would envy.
Her dad looks like Chris Hemsworth. Like, exactly. He’s basically Thor with short hair.
And when I look at their smiling faces, it makes me want to smile too. But the pang in my chest holds me back.
I wonder if my parents and I will ever smile like that again.
When my phone buzzes, I’m convinced some otherworldly force has sent me a message from Mom and it’s a sign everything is going to be okay between us.
But it’s a text from Chloe.
I have a best friend emergency and I need your help!
I text back: Please tell me you didn’t try to bleach your own hair again. I can still taste the fumes in the back of my mouth from last time.
Chloe: Haha, funny. NO. I met a boy!
Me: And the emergency is he has a girlfriend/he’s in prison but innocent/you met him on the internet and he says you’ve inherited a million dollars from a long-lost relative?
Chloe: STOP MAKING JOKES THIS IS SERIOUS.
Me: Okay, sorry, I’m listening.
Chloe: His name is Jack, and he goes to A-TECH. You know, the computer geek school? Anyway, we’ve hung out a