the words out. “I can’t. I don’t want her to know she was right, and that Dad was right—that I’m not good enough to do this, and it was a terrible idea. Because everyone here hates me, Popo. They won’t even give me a chance—they won’t let me anywhere near the trapeze to train, and they have me selling popcorn like this is some crappy summer job and I’m nobody worth paying attention to. And I know I sound like a brat, but I didn’t come here to sell popcorn—I came here because I wanted to become a better aerialist. And it’s not going to happen, and I know I have to come home, but I feel like I’ve messed things up so badly. With Mom and Dad, and Tatya, too, who will probably never agree to train me again. I feel like such a total and complete failure. I don’t know what to do. Tell me what to do?”
It’s quiet for a moment. “So you’re at a circus. Where?”
I let myself fall into a chair. I forgot they still don’t know where I am. I guess Chloe kept her promise after all.
“Maison du Mystère,” I say, my voice sinking.
Another pause. “At least you’re safe.”
I don’t know what to make of her response. I know there must be disappointment somewhere, but I can’t hear it. Or maybe I just don’t want to hear it.
“I saw the photo of Mom on the trapeze,” I say, like this is supposed to explain everything.
“Your running away was my fault,” Popo replies, and she doesn’t say it like a question—more like an acknowledgment. Something she plans to file away for later.
“It wasn’t your fault. Mom shouldn’t have kept such a big secret from me. Especially when she got to experience all the things I was asking to experience.” I flick a piece of lint from my apron.
“Your mom has her reasons.” Popo sighs into the phone. Reasons nobody wants to explain to me. “It was very wrong of you to frighten your parents the way you did.”
I swallow. “I know.” This is it—the part where she tells me to come home. The part where I give in, because my heart can’t take it anymore.
“And you need to apologize to them. They were so worried—so was I. And they didn’t deserve that kind of worry,” she adds.
“I know,” I say again, the tears soaking my cheeks.
“But I don’t think you should come home,” she says.
My heart thuds. “What?”
“I don’t like the way you left, but you left for a reason. And I’m not saying it’s okay to disrespect your parents’ wishes, but sometimes following your own path isn’t disrespecting them. Parents feel like it is sometimes, but it isn’t. Because you have your own life to live, and your own path to follow. It’s never easy when you’re trying to prove yourself, and it shouldn’t be. Success is the end of a very long and bumpy road. Do you understand?”
“I thought you were going to tell me to come home,” I say softly. At least I think I thought that. Maybe deep down I knew Popo would tell me I have to stay. Maybe that’s why I called her and not Mom.
“I want you to be happy. But I think sometimes you try too hard to be happy—and when it doesn’t happen, you feel like your world is collapsing. But emotions aren’t black-and-white—you don’t have to be either happy or sad. There can be an in-between, you know.” The rasp in Popo’s voice is so familiar and soothing. I miss her. I miss being home.
But maybe missing home isn’t the same as wanting to be there. Because I don’t want to go home—I want to stay here and train.
“I don’t know what it feels like to be in the in-between,” I admit. Everything is always extreme for me, like when I’m happy, I need to be ultraviolet-elated, and when I’m sad, it’s like a vacuum is sucking away all the colors in the world and I’m drowning in black.
Maybe that’s not normal, but it’s my normal.
But it does make living hard sometimes, because I’m always chasing extreme joy rather than just “happy enough.” Crawling out of the darkness always feels like it takes so very long, and falling back into it can happen in a second.
“It’s good to stay motivated, but if you’re putting so much pressure on yourself that you’re making yourself unhappy, that’s not good. Try not to be so hard on yourself,