“I know how badly you wanted to train in the circus, but was it really worth it?” Mom asks.
And I hate how easy it is for my heart to scream, “Yes!”
“I love it here. I know you’ll never understand, because even if you loved being a trapeze artist once, you still quit. But I would never quit. This is everything I wanted, and I’m good at it, and people treat me like I’m one of them. Maybe you don’t understand how much I needed that, but I’m tired of trying to convince you.” I wipe the tears away from my cheeks.
Mom is quiet for a long time, and it occurs to me that she might be crying too. “When are you coming home?”
“I don’t know.” I pause. “Is Dad really mad at me?”
“You really hurt him. Really hurt him.” Mom keeps her voice steady. “But we both love you. That will never change.”
I can’t see through the blurry haze.
I manage to come up with an excuse as to why I need to hang up, and then I crumple into my open palms and cry until my face hurts.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
I step on Vas’s feet more times than I can count. Our noses collide twice. I’m so distracted that during a move where Vas swings me from my toes and I reach up to grab his arms, my fingers slip and I end up falling ten feet onto the safety net below.
Which is frustrating, because it’s the first time I’ve fallen since we’ve raised the bar high enough to need a safety net.
I’m better than this. I know I am.
“Are you okay?” Vas grabs the bar and lowers himself to the net, the impact making my body bounce back up. I take the opportunity to get back on my feet.
I rub my shoulder, steadying myself. “It was nothing. I’m fine.”
Vas looks at me carefully. “I don’t just mean about the fall. I mean are you okay, generally?” He crosses his arms. “You’ve been distracted all night.”
“No, I’m not. I just want to train,” I say stubbornly. Motioning to his hands, I say, “Can you give me a boost back up?”
He blinks, unmoving.
My frustration overpowers me. The conversation with Mom floods through my mind like a dam bursting, and hot tears spill down my cheeks. I throw my fingers against my face to shield myself from Vas, who’s staring at me curiously.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks. When did the jagged edges of his voice become so soft?
I don’t know if I’m ready to tell anyone the truth about my parents. But if there were ever a person I could trust to keep it a secret, it would be Vas.
But would he understand?
Would he forgive me for keeping it from him? He thought he was giving up his music for someone who needed a break, not a girl whose parents own a circus in Las Vegas.
Maybe he’ll decide I wasn’t worth the trouble.
But when I look at his dark lashes and parted mouth and the way he has too much hair on the right side of his head, I don’t see someone I want to keep secrets from.
I see someone I want to share the whole world with.
“I did something really horrible,” I say, tasting salt on my tongue. “And I don’t know how to make it better. I don’t think there is a way to make it better.”
Vas tilts his head. “Is this about stealing the set list?”
I look up at his eyes, deep and green like a galaxy of trees, and nod. “But it’s more than that. It’s about where it came from. Who I stole it from.”
He stills, and I wonder if maybe he preferred never knowing. Maybe it was easier to tweak music he just ignorantly assumed Simon acquired less than legally. But to know the name behind the writer? I think it makes things more real.
But he waits anyway, willing to listen because I so desperately need to speak.
“It came from Teatro della Notte,” I say.
Vas’s eyes don’t change. He knows this much. But the rest…
I look away. “My dad… My dad is the composer. Actually, he and my mom kind of own the circus. That’s why it was so easy for me to get the set list.”
Vas shifts his weight. Takes a step back on the net. Turns to the side.
All of his movements are jerky, like I’ve disrupted his thought process, or distorted his understanding of what’s