Amour Amour (Aerial Ethereal #1)(2)

Shay gives me a look like I’ve officially lost my mind. “I can do a double layout in my sleep. That doesn’t mean I’m qualified to join the circus.”

Shay started gymnastics at five. I started late, at thirteen. Suffice it to say, his double layouts are more beautiful than mine. Like a fine wine to a Two Buck Chuck.

He’s not the Clyde to my Bonnie or the Damon to my Elena. Shay is and will always be the Lucas to my Haley. A great, protective friend. Like that of One Tree Hill. Who will point out the storm ahead for me while I choose to relish in the sunshine.

“It’s not just about technique,” I explain. “I mean, that matters, but I’ve read on forum boards that they’ve turned down Olympic gymnasts for someone that looks the part. It’s about luck too.”

He skims my body in a slow wave: my dirty-blonde hair, my short five-foot-two frame, my wide hips, an hour-glass shape with muscular arms and shoulders. Add in longer legs and a shorter torso—I become a balancing hazard at first sight.

But I can balance fine. After years of practice, I’m much better than I used to be. But this dedication didn’t stop my ass or boobs from growing. Both of which are larger than they probably should be for my sport.

I’m built like a normal girl, who picked up gymnastics later in life.

I’m average. And the longer Shay stares at me, I feel it. And I want to be more than that. Doesn’t everyone?

“And what are they looking for exactly?” His eyes land on my C-cups. “Is there partial nudity or something?”

“Uh…no.” I wish I had a better comeback.

“It’s called Amour,” he says, worry flashing in his light blue eyes. “Did you even think of that, Thora? What if they ask you to strip on stage?”

“It’s not that kind of show.” I turn my back on him, packing my books on top of my leotards.

“How do you know? It’s one of the newer shows in Vegas,” he retorts, shooting to his feet. “There aren’t any videos online for it; I’ve looked.”

I glance over my shoulder. “It’s run out of Aerial Ethereal. In the entire troupe’s collection of shows, there’s not nudity in even one of them.” I hold on to this fact, but I silently wonder if I’d be brave enough to join a more risqué show. To be in the circus, I think I’d do a lot more than Shay would want me to.

I hear him huff behind me. “So you’re going to fly out on a whim. And what happens if you miraculously land the role?” He doesn’t think I’ll be offered the position. I’m not talented enough. My dad practically said that on the phone yesterday: The other girls are in a different league, Thora. Don’t get your hopes up. I know. I’m not the best, but I want to believe that I have some sort of shot. Even if it’s small.

“I’ll stay in Vegas and perform for the year.” A light energy bursts in my heart at that idea. It feels like happiness. A type of love that people search for all their lives.

“It’s summer. Conditioning for the girl’s gymnastics team starts in two weeks,” he reminds me. “You’ll lose your scholarship.”

It’s all a gamble, I realize. And I’m scared. I’ve never left Ohio for more than a week-long vacation, never by myself. But this is my one shot. If I don’t try now, I may never have another opportunity. And I’m tired of learning about finance and accounting as a back-up plan to the life that I want. The one that I can obtain right now.

So I’m going for it. Every part of my body says to jump and fly, no matter how hard voices like Shay and my parents try to ground me. I understand their realism, but I don’t want to look back and regret not taking the plunge.

“It’s a risk,” I say softly, sitting on my suitcase as I zip it.

When he meets my eyes, he shakes his head at me. “You’re one in a million, Thora. It’s a pipe dream, you realize this?”

I nod. “Yeah, I know. But if I don’t believe in myself, then who will?”

He lets out another heavy breath. “You know what this is like—watching my best friend enter a burning building, knowing it’s going to collapse on her.”

I must be scowling harder because he rolls his eyes at me.

“In short, I hate you right now,” he says.

“Right back at you.” That was a lame, kindergarten phrase. I sigh in frustration. I suck at bantering, even with someone I’ve known for years.

He laughs though, but it fades as soon as he watches me. Another long quiet moment passes between us. “Be safe, okay?”

I nod again. “Be happy, alright?”

“I am.”

I smile, and my phone buzzes on the single bed. He’s closest to it, and he grabs the cell. His eyes must graze the text on the screen. “Who’s Camila?”

I left this part out to Shay. I thought he’d freak even more if he knew my plans. If our roles were reversed, I’d be a little worried for him too. But he’s a guy, so the level of protection he needs on his own seems different, even if it shouldn’t be.

“Camila is the girl that I’m staying with during my auditions,” I say.

“She’s another gymnast?” He passes me my phone.

“Not exactly…”

His lips part. Shay has this All-American look: a suitable body and face for Abercrombie. The short cut of his light-brown hair, the curve of his biceps. But I’ve only seen those lips part like that for me. In shock and worry. They part in lust for girls on the track team.