she would’ve had to eat her words about calling you a starry-eyed newbie. You’re really good,” Vivien says.
“Thanks,” I reply meekly, with a combination of embarrassment and appreciation. “That means a lot.”
We finish our breakfast, and it occurs to me that maybe I won’t find my family just by proving myself as an aerialist—but also as a friend.
As a daughter.
I might be succeeding in my dreams, but I am failing abominably when it comes to my family.
But maybe there’s still time to make things right.
CHAPTER FIFTY
I text Chloe when I’m back in my trailer.
I’m sorry for being a horrible friend. I know I’ve neglected you, and I haven’t been around much. I guess I’m not really good at balancing the circus with everything else. Maybe I’ve never been good at that. I mean, you always did say I could only focus on one thing at a time, right? (Please be laughing. I don’t want you to hate me.) Anyway, I’ve been a garbage friend and I’m sorry. So if you want to talk about school or Jack or literally whatever you want… I’m here. Always. Even if I’m a thousand miles away. Kind of like Obi-Wan Kenobi’s voice inside Luke’s head.
She reads the message a few minutes after I send it.
But she doesn’t write back.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Vas is in the big top, standing over an iPod dock he’s perched on the wall surrounding the inner ring. I expect to feel the air turn to peanut butter when he looks at me, and I dread the thought.
I don’t like fighting with Vas. I hate that I might have ruined what little we had. And I especially regret that he might hate me.
But when he turns, he doesn’t look angry. He looks… tired.
Maybe we don’t have to fight forever.
“Hey,” I say, stopping at the bottom step.
He looks at the iPod dock, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “I finished the song.”
My heart pings, and I take a few steps forward, unsure of how excited I’m allowed to be. “That was fast.”
He shrugs. “I had a lot of inspiration.”
I nod like I get it. “Conflict. Right.” I force an awkward laugh and regret it immediately.
I really need to stop trying to be funny when people are mad at me.
Vas turns, his arms hanging at his sides like he isn’t ready for combat. “I’m sorry about before.” He lifts his shoulders. “It’s a character flaw—forgetting to give people space to not be perfect.” He pauses. “I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did.”
All the walls crumble to pieces like they’re made of sand. “I’m sorry too, for getting so defensive, and for saying a bunch of crap I didn’t mean. Because you weren’t wrong—I am very aware I did something unforgivable. That’s why I was so upset. I’ve made a mess I don’t know how to clean up.”
Vas looks down at the floor, rolling back on his heels. “And you needed a friend to talk to, and I massively blew it. Next time I promise to be better at listening.”
I smile with the side of my mouth. “You were still being a friend. Maybe a more honest one than I was hoping for in that moment, but still a friend. Everyone needs to be called out on their bullshit now and then, right?”
He looks up, relieved. “So we’re okay?”
“We’re okay,” I say. I nod toward the iPod dock. “All right, do I get to hear your masterpiece now or what? The anticipation is killing me.”
Vas pushes a hand through his hair, grinning. “I was thinking maybe we could run through our routine while it plays in the background? The whole sitting-around thing feels really forced. And I’ll just get nervous the whole time, wondering what you think. At least if we’re moving around, I’ll be distracted.”
“I didn’t think you got nervous.” I laugh.
He frowns. “Why is that?”
I shrug. “You rarely show emotion on your face besides frustration. You know half the people here think you are part Vulcan, right?”
“I mean, I prefer Cylon….”
We’re both smiling at each other, sharing a joke I didn’t realize we had.
And then he hits play on the iPod, and we’re up on the static trapeze, our bodies moving like mirror images of each other, the tension and heart and passion of the music breathing life into every pose.
It’s poetic and beautiful and Vas in so many ways.
And it’s me, too, sewn into every line. Instruments that aren’t supposed to go together but do. Melodies that move up instead of down.