childhood sweetheart? I know it’s not realistic, being as there are over seven billion people in the world, and how could you possibly be sure the one you met at a performing arts camp when you were twelve years old was going to be the right life partner for you? But it’s still kind of adorable.
I didn’t have a childhood sweetheart—or a sweetheart at all, for that matter—but it’s nice to think it’s possible that you could fall in love once and have that be it. No more awkward dates, or messy breakups, or bad kisses—it just clicks together the first time, followed by the Disney-style happily-ever-after.
Some people don’t care about love, or life partners. And that’s great for them, but not for me.
I want the epic love story.
But only as long as it doesn’t get in the way of my dreams. I won’t give up the circus for a life partner—and anyone who would expect me to wouldn’t be the right person for me anyway.
Dad doesn’t seem to notice me when I walk into the room. He’s too busy playing a broken melody on his clarinet and jotting down notes on a piece of paper every other second.
I’m not surprised he spends so much time in here—it’s the coolest room in the house. The walls are cluttered with nerdy artwork, framed sheet music, and awards he’s won over the years. Lined up at the back wall is a collection of instruments—a flute, a violin, a guitar, a piano—and so many tech devices I don’t know the names for. There are vinyl figurines all over the office, and behind his desk is a row of all his diplomas. His bachelor’s, master’s, and doctorate—all for music.
Dad thumps his pencil against the music stand, his dark brows furrowed and his hair slicked back and parted at the side. He’s wearing a collared shirt rolled up to his elbows, a sweater-vest, and his signature khaki pants. He always looks and dresses like he’s straight out of a Fred Astaire musical, even though I can’t remember any movies from the 1930s starring a half-Japanese leading man.
“I didn’t hear you come in.” Dad’s eyes widen in surprise, but his voice is like a calm stream. It carries his words, but the cadence hardly ever changes. He sees his office the way I see the circus—like it’s a place where time freezes, and anything is possible. The problem is that he rarely notices anything going on around him when he’s in the zone. “Where’ve you been all day?”
“Mom needed me to pick up Janie’s costume.” I trail my fingers along the edge of his desk, trying to think of the right way to bring up my change of plan.
The right way to tell him that I’m going to disappoint him.
“How was the show?” Dad asks without missing a beat. He doesn’t always notice what’s going on right in front of him, but he seems to notice everything that goes on when he’s not looking.
I smile sheepishly. “Incredible, as usual.” I take a step toward the music stand and peer down at the scribbled notes on the page. “Is that for the new winter set list?”
Dad nods, placing the clarinet in his lap and leaning back against the chair. “Just a few adjustments before rehearsals start next week.” He pauses, his eyes the color of warm topaz. “The clarinet solo is for the new trapeze act.”
My heart feels like it’s being tugged by a puppet string. Teatro della Notte does a complete revamp twice a year—once for the summer-autumn season, and again for the winter-spring. There are new performances, new costumes, new music… and everything is kept top secret until the opening night of the new show—or, in my case, the first night of rehearsals.
The anticipation is torment.
I have no idea what Mom and Dad have been planning for next season, but I do know Dad’s clarinet solo is whimsical and catchy, and I’ve seen a crapload of colorful fabric samples being shuttled in and out of the house over the last few weeks.
When I ask Mom to give me hints, she just winks and says, “All in good time,” which always sounds more ominous than she means it to. But it’s better than Dad’s reaction, which basically involves ignoring me. He has a good poker face.
I don’t know if it’s the bliss in knowing the circus will soon be transformed all over again, but I suddenly feel a burst of confidence filling my soul. I feel