I let busy take over everything. Maybe I wanted it to take over everything. Because when I was busy, I had an excuse not to think about what I did to my parents.
How my leaving so suddenly hurt the people I care about.
Is this what Chloe meant? That I don’t think about who I’m affecting?
And Mom is still here, despite all of it, because I know she loves me as much as any mother in the world could love their child.
The tears well up quickly, pooling in the corners of my eyes until my cheeks are damp and my vision goes blurry.
And all I can think about is how I should’ve brought my mother more flowers.
I want to call her, but I don’t know how.
Savannah, Georgia October—Week 11
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
I have bruises in places I never realized could bruise. My body feels stronger. Rehearsals are getting easier.
I collapse into bed every night and don’t stir until morning.
Vas is composing whenever he isn’t with me. Sometimes he composes when he is with me. And I like those moments in his trailer almost as much as I like our time in the big top. I like watching the way he taps his pen to his lips when he’s concentrating, and the way he writes in delicate, swooping cursive, like every single letter needs to be exactly right.
Sometimes he’ll be so lost in his music that his voice disappears for long stretches of time. But when he realizes how long it’s been—and he always does—he’ll look up from what he’s doing and ask me if I’m okay.
I like that part too.
We train every spare minute we can. Sometimes other people come to watch us, like Vivien, Dexi, and Jin. They seem impressed, which feels like high praise.
I have never been more exhausted in my life.
But I’ve never been happier, either.
Charleston, South Carolina November—Week 12
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
I’m not late, am I?” I look past Vas at the yard, which is empty because everyone is getting ready for tonight’s performance in the big top. “I swear I just checked my phone—I thought I had another ten minutes.” Maybe exhaustion is finally catching up to me.
Vas has a strange smile on his face. Or maybe it’s just strange to me because he rarely uses it. “Congratulations—as of this moment, you’re on an extended hiatus from selling popcorn.”
I lean into the doorframe, considering his words. “Did you clear this with Simon?”
He nods. “I pointed out that you rehearse longer hours than all the other performers and still work in the concession stands four days a week. He didn’t seem bothered until I mentioned there might be labor laws involved, considering you don’t actually get paid.”
I raise a brow. “What did he say?”
“He called me a few less-than-affectionate terms and told me he’s getting sick of my demands. But you’re also off popcorn duty,” he says.
I laugh. “Well, thank you. You’re a real knight in shining armor.” My eyes narrow, recalling his choice of words. “Wait. Does this mean I’m considered a performer?” I’m buzzing at the thought.
He grins widely. “I think so. But not today—today, we’re guests.” When I frown, he takes two steps away from the door like he wants me to follow him.
We walk side by side toward the music and lights, finding ourselves in the midst of an excitable crowd flowing through the outer ring.
Vas leads me into one of the smaller purple tents, and I see an illusionist in the center of a small, round stage. She’s dressed in a black gown, with items strewn all over the set—everything black, gray, and white, like all the color has been drained from the room. One by one she transforms the objects around her—a black rose into a red one, the gray velvet of a chaise longue into an elegant pink. All around the room she brings color to her little world, the audience soaking in every bit of it with wonder. And then she twirls, and her black dress is replaced with the most incredible gown I have ever seen. It’s pink turning to blue turning to purple, with most of the fabric covered in glittery starbursts.
The audience is bewildered, cheering because they think this is the finale.
But the illusionist isn’t finished yet.
She spreads her arms and starts spinning again, and when all the layers of her dress pick up speed, she tugs at her hem until she’s hidden beneath the material and then—vanishes.