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.
Something must be wrong.
I motion to Vivien and Dexi that I’ll be right back and hurry away from them, pressing the phone to my ear.
“Hello?” My voice clips, not knowing what to expect.
“Oh my God, where are you? Your parents said you ran away.”
Relief floods through me. “Well, that was anticlimactic. I thought you were hurt or something.” I let out a short laugh but get no response.
She pauses for enough seconds that it feels awkward. “Did you? Run away?” Irritation muddies her tone.
My defenses go up like I’m Tony Stark transforming into Iron Man. “No,” I say almost aggressively. The combination of Vas’s weird mood, and the entire circus potentially hating me, and Mom and Dad being royally pissed, and now Chloe, too… It’s a lot. Maybe a little too much for one morning. “I’m an adult. Adults don’t run away—they move out.”
“So… you moved out? Without telling anybody?”
“I didn’t really think about it. I just had this opportunity and—”
“Without telling me?” her voice cuts in.
My shoulders relax. Shit. I should’ve said something to Chloe. I mean, she’s my best friend—we’ve told each other pretty much everything since the third grade. No wonder she’s mad.
“I promise it wasn’t on purpose. I wasn’t trying to keep a massive secret from anybody. But I got in this huge fight with my parents and—” I let out a heavy breath and look up at the sky, which is slowly turning a milky blue. “I couldn’t stay there, Chloe. They don’t understand me.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t blame them. I mean, you literally left without saying a word to anybody. You could’ve been dead, for all we knew!” She’s angry. Angrier than I think is fair.
“I left a note in my room,” I say tersely. Why is she giving me such a hard time? I know I should’ve said something, but it’s not like I planned this. It’s not like she wouldn’t have done the same thing if the roles were reversed.
I didn’t do anything wrong.
Well, nothing wrong that she knows about, anyway, because if my parents told her about the set list, she’d be throwing it in my face already. She’s the kind of person who thinks feeling morally superior makes her immune to criticism. It means she never listens when she’s wrong, but she’s always the first person to start shouting when someone else is.
“You could’ve sent me a text.” Her voice is like crumpled felt. Soft, but