Sometimes I feel like there are so many strings attached to everything they do for me that it makes it impossible to break free. Because I owe them too much. I rely on them too much.
And even though I hate to admit it, not going along with their plans feels like such a deep betrayal.
I’m either making them proud or disappointing them—there are no other options when it comes to my parents.
When I’m in the car, I leave the door wide open, turn on the AC, and lean back in the seat while the air starts to circulate. Tracing my thumb along the steering wheel, I think of all the things I want to say to Mom and Dad. The things I wish I could tell them, about them holding me back, and about feeling like I have so much pressure weighing down on my chest that I can hardly breathe. I think about how much I wish they would hear me, instead of talking over me because they still think being a parent makes them automatically right.
And maybe they are right. But maybe I’m right too.
Why can’t they just give me some room to be me?
I’m already starting to get goose bumps on my right arm, so I pull the door shut and click my seat belt into place. I’m about to press the brake pedal when I glance into the rearview mirror and see Tatya near the gym doors, talking to someone I don’t know. A tall, broad-shouldered man with a tidy beard and tattoos up and down his arms.
And something about her posture—the way she keeps looking toward the parking lot like she’s hoping someone else will turn up, and the way her arms are folded in front of her like she’s putting up a barrier between them—makes me feel like she doesn’t know him either.
I yank the keys from the ignition and jump out of the car. When my foot hits the sidewalk, I use my loudest voice. “Hey, Tatya!”
When she sees me, her shoulders relax. She smiles—the kind of smile a friend gives you when you save them from being hit on by a pushy stranger.
The man’s head snaps to the side like he’s a spider sensing a vibration in his web. And that’s when I notice his eyes—one bright amber, the other mossy green. I’ve never seen eyes like that on anyone before. I mean, I know what heterochromia is because Professor Xavier talked about it in X-Men once. But seeing something so uniquely beautiful for the very first time makes me do a double take.
The man lifts his eyebrows, and I realize I’ve been staring way too hard.
I focus on Tatya. I need a lie—an excuse to get her away from him, whoever he is. “I’m glad I ran into you. I wanted to ask you some questions about the new act.” I point toward the gym doors. “Do you have a minute to talk inside?”
She hesitates before letting her face soften into understanding. “Oh. Oh, right! You’ll have to excuse me.” She gives the stranger an apologetic look. “The circus is full of secrets, as I’m sure you know.”
I force an awkward laugh. “Dad would kill me if I ruined the big surprise by blabbing about the new set list in public.”
The man tilts his head. His dark brown hair is peppered with gray and combed flat against his scalp. “You’re Kenji Milano’s daughter?”
He’s familiar with the circus. Maybe I have this all wrong. Maybe Tatya does know him.
I nod. “You know my dad?”
“Only by reputation,” he says with a short laugh before dipping his head toward Tatya. “I should go. But please call me if you change your mind.” He procures a thin black card seemingly out of nowhere. The silver letters glint beneath the sun, but the name is unmistakable.
So are the words underneath.
SIMON TARBOTTLE
MAISON DU MYSTÈRE
RINGMASTER
My heart hammers. And hammers. And hammers.
I once dreamed of running away with Maison du Mystère when I was a little girl, way before I knew how much my parents despised everything about Simon Tarbottle’s business practices.
A circus that travels all over the country—that transforms a quiet, forgotten place of the world into a theatrical extravaganza for just a few nights—was the epitome of magic to me.
Tatya hesitates before taking the card from him.
“I look forward to seeing the performance tomorrow,” Simon says with a smug grin. And then he disappears around the corner as his footsteps fade away.