A tempo that plays on the longing of the audience, the hunger for more, and the devastation in knowing something will always be held back.
And that’s how we move too, like we’re both longing for something we can’t have.
Something we’ll never have.
When the song ends, our bodies are pressed close, our arms tangled up together, but our faces pulling away from each other.
I feel his chest rise and fall against mine, our breathing synchronized and heavy.
Normally one of us lets go by now. But in the quiet—in the aftermath of Vas’s beautiful song—neither of us dares to move.
And for a second, I wonder if time has really stopped.
Vas turns his face. I do the same.
We are inches apart—centimeters, if you consider how subjective the way we talk about distance is.
A person could be a moment away, or a lifetime away. Hours, or days. They could be miles, or yards, or inches—it all depends on how you look at it.
On how close you want to feel.
And next to Vas, I feel…
When the next song starts with a violin, it catches me by surprise. I’m so used to hearing Vas play live that hearing him through a speaker is almost disorienting.
And then those familiar notes from the night I saw him sing.
It’s utterly haunting.
I find my voice in a quiet corner of the world where I’ve forgotten how to breathe. “I know this song. ‘Lucy in the—’ ”
Something about his smile stops me.
Vas’s face softens into something so beautifully pure. “This one is different. This one is ‘Harley in the Sky.’ ” His eyes hold on to mine. “This one is just for you.”
I breathe in the scent of him, and my head swirls with need. I tilt my face toward him, his green eyes crackling with lightning, and I know he feels the same.
When he presses his soft lips against mine, I feel like we’ve been catapulted into the Milky Way, and every star in the universe explodes into a trillion more stars.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
A long time ago, a teacher of mine suggested I keep a mood journal. She said it might help me express how I was feeling, and maybe find connections that would help me sense when my mood was about to change.
She suggested something visual, like colors. Something easy to track. Easy to remember.
I kept up with it for a whole year, until my worst spell in November when I kind of stopped doing anything at all.
When I was feeling better, I went through every page, trying to see if my teacher was right about a pattern. I couldn’t find one—not in the way she meant. But I did realize that I never once used the color yellow. No daffodil, canary, lemon, or goldenrod anything.
I avoided yellow like it didn’t exist at all.
And I think I finally know why.
I was saving yellow—the happiest color I can think of—for the most perfect day I’ve ever had.
Today I woke up in a trailer with two incredible roommates. I’m an aerialist in a beloved traveling circus. I have an audition next week for a lead role in the show. And the memory of Vas’s mouth on mine still lingers in my bloodstream.
Today my world is shining the color of the sun.
Charlotte, North Carolina November—Week 13
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Okay, I think you were right. The combination of burger and orange Creamsicle float was not the best decision.” I make a face when I step onto the sidewalk, shoving my hands quickly into my pockets to hide from the early evening chill.
Vas tugs at the collar of his leather jacket and grins. “You’ve been living on a circus diet. Your body doesn’t know what to do with all that grease and sugar.”
I try to feign queasiness—or at least exaggerate what I’m feeling—but it’s too hard to stop smiling for longer than ten seconds these days. I’m too happy. I’m too excited.
And I’m wandering around the North Carolina suburbs with Vas on the most perfectly beautiful evening in history. There is no way I’m going to let a tiny bit of nausea ruin the day. Newfound sugar intolerance be damned.
“So”—I motion ahead with my lifted chin—“we’ve been to the Soda Shop. What about the Book Shop? Or wait, what’s that one? Ah, the Village Store. Hang on, so is this a village? Are we in a real village?” I pause. “Do you think they have a town crier?”
Vas shakes his head, his grin overtaking his face. “You are a long, long way from Las Vegas, aren’t you?”