Okay, maybe a few more words won’t do any harm. “I don’t know whether you did all this because it was the only way you could compose a song, or because you genuinely meant all that stuff you said about thinking I could be great, but it doesn’t matter. Because I’m honestly just grateful for the opportunity.”
A chance to learn. It’s all I’ve wanted since I got here.
Vas opens his mouth like he’s about to say something else, but instead his eyes snap toward the Lunch Box. When I look up, I realize there are a whole lot of people staring at us.
Maggie wasn’t lying about the circus loving gossip.
“Meet me in the big top in an hour?” Vas says, and I think he’s embarrassed of the attention. He starts to turn away but pauses. When he looks at me, there’s an actual gleam in his eyes. “And wear gym clothes. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Vas is sitting in the center of the ring, his body folded in half and his hands wrapped around his ankles. He’s wearing a sleeveless shirt that shows off the curved lines of his lean muscles. It’s low enough at the sides that I can see the start of a tattoo on his left ribs.
God, I hope it isn’t a bunch of Chinese characters that are supposed to translate into “Live long and prosper,” or whatever tattoos people get when they think they’re being “exotic.”
My cheeks burn when I realize how long I’ve been standing here staring at his bare skin, wondering if Vas Lukov, Serious McSerious, has turned himself into a culturally appropriative human fortune cookie.
I gulp away the jitters in the pit of my stomach, clearing my throat to get his attention.
He lifts his head, slowly rolling back into a seated position. His stretches are so deliberate and careful.
Clearly this is not the first time he’s done a warm-up.
I feel silly for not realizing his secret sooner.
“Why didn’t you tell me that you were a trapeze artist?” I ask, my volume way too loud.
He pushes himself up, pausing to study me. “It never came up.”
“And you didn’t think it should’ve? I mean, we could’ve used something to—well, bond over.” I twist my face, certain I’m not explaining my thoughts right.
Vas raises a brow.
I sigh. “I know you didn’t want to talk to me, but this just seems too big to not mention. Even in passing. You know—so I knew we had a common interest.” And also, I want to add, so I could’ve paid more attention to whether or not I was embarrassing myself.
I thought I was practicing in front of a musician—not someone who knew the difference between a bird’s nest and a mermaid on the bar.
Now I can’t stop thinking about all the times I fumbled, or messed up a pose, or let my foot slip.
But then again, he did tell Simon I could be “great,” so I guess there’s that….
“The trapeze isn’t an interest of mine,” he says simply. “And I never said I didn’t want to talk to you.”
“Oh, you definitely did. You said…” I clamp my mouth shut, thinking.
“That I wasn’t good at small talk,” he finishes slowly. “Which is true. I tend to close up around people I don’t know, and people sometimes mistake it as me being rude. I was… trying to be helpful.”
I’m thinking about all our interactions. Even the nonverbal ones. “So you get anxious around people.” That makes an obscene amount of sense, in hindsight.
He shrugs. “I mean, I don’t know what it’s called, exactly. Or if I’m allowed to call it anything at all. It’s just something I live with. Something I don’t feel like I need a name for to understand.” He clenches his jaw like he’s not sure if he’s said too much. “I don’t know if that makes any sense.”
“It does,” I say quickly, and he looks surprised. “I—I have these shifts in mood sometimes. Like, I’ll feel really positive and motivated and whatever else, and then I’ll just plummet. Sometimes there’s a reason, but sometimes there’s not. And I’ve spent enough hours on Google that I know what it probably is, but my parents aren’t very good about taking mental health stuff seriously. They think ‘everyone has something,’ which is sort of code for ‘I don’t believe any of this is real.’ They also are really against having anything on a permanent record, which means talking to a professional about any of this