“You don’t need to make a big deal out of it.” He pauses, assessing me with his hardened green eyes. “Just… don’t break any bones. Especially in your neck. It would be terribly inconvenient to have your death weighing on my conscience.”
“Thank you,” I blurt out, not wanting to give him the chance to take it back.
I spend the rest of the evening practicing on the bar, and for the first time in weeks I feel my heart illuminate.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Every night I step into the big top wondering if I’ll get another chance to practice on the static trapeze, or if Vas will be too busy to show up and I’ll spend another day with a desperate ache in my chest.
But every night he’s there, standing at the back with his violin and his sad songs and his hair pushed angrily to the side like he’s fighting the world behind his eyes.
I wonder what he’s battling.
I wonder what makes him so sad.
And I wonder why he hasn’t skipped practice for a single night since he said he’d help me.
Little Rock, Arkansas September—Week 6
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Maggie’s rehearsal doesn’t start for another ten minutes, but I like being early. It makes it easier to find a seat in the back and pretend I’m not there, which is how Maggie prefers it.
So seeing her in the center of the ring arguing with Simon Tarbottle catches me off guard.
I freeze midstep, wondering if I’ve somehow mixed up the time. Maggie is pointing angrily behind her, and I only catch the end of her sentence.
“… it’s unfair to the other aerialists, and it’s unfair to me.” She crosses her arms and leans into her hip.
Simon presses his hands together like he’s begging her to see reason. “Yes, it will be work. But this act—your act—it needs to be bigger for the new season. The new song I have—”
“I don’t care if Beyoncé personally wrote you a song. I am not turning my solo into some over-the-top performance piece,” Maggie practically barks.
“I’m not asking for your permission,” Simon says thinly. He lets his hands fall back to his sides, but I can see the tension in his balled-up fists. “This is not your circus, Maggie.”
She lowers her chin. “Last I checked, people weren’t lining up to see you perform.”
“I’m not fighting about this with you.” He lifts his hands. “What is the big deal? Is your ego so tender that you can’t handle a few sideline aerialists to add a bit of excitement? You’ll still be the star. Everyone will still be watching you.”
“You don’t get it.” Maggie tuts. “This isn’t about me being the center of attention. It’s about throwing together another stolen idea with performers you keep poaching from other troupes. Do you know how hard it is for anyone to move on from this place? How much you’re hurting our reputations?”
Simon scoffs. “Apologies that my practices have been making it so difficult for you to find a new job.” His voice drips with sarcasm.
Maggie rolls her eyes. “I’m not talking about me. I’m talking about people like Wendy and Marco. The people who haven’t quite built a name for themselves yet. The ones who’ll rely on their résumés to find work. People like her.”
It takes me a second to realize Maggie is pointing at me, and when I do, I feel my legs turn to jelly. Even though it wasn’t my intention, it looks very much like I’ve been eavesdropping.
“I—I was just here for rehearsal,” I stammer sheepishly.
Simon lets out a heavy sigh, his mismatched eyes pinned to me for only a brief moment. And then a twinkle of mischief appears. “Harley, how are you with the silk ropes?”
Maggie looks like she wants to set him on fire.
My entire body goes stiff. “Well, um, okay, I guess?”
“He’s toying with you,” Maggie snaps, and her words pinch me.
Simon’s laugh tumbles out of him as carelessly as his words. He wags a finger at Maggie. “I’m going to talk to Sasha about what it will cost to hire a few more aerialists. If I can cut a deal, then this is happening whether you like it or not.” He winks his amber eye at me as he passes. “Maybe next time, kid.”
When he’s gone, I swallow the lump in my throat and let my shoulders relax.
“Don’t look so disheartened,” Maggie says pointedly. “It wasn’t like he was really offering you a job.”
“If I’d been better at the silk ropes…,” I start. If I’d