Amour Amour (Aerial Ethereal #1)(23)

Elena landed the role. Predictable.

I couldn’t even stomach watching the other girls audition. I fiddled with my fingers and acted so interested in my cuticles. I feel more like a loser and a coward right now than in my entire gymnastics career. And it’s this moment—tear-streaked with a toilet paper dispenser digging into my hip—that I wonder if I’m one of those foolish dreamers.

The kind that believes they can sing when they’re so clearly out of pitch.

The kind that believes they can dance when they have nothing more than two left feet.

I shut my eyes, more hot water cascading and searing. What is life if it’s not in pursuit of the things we love? People search a lifetime to find one soul-bearing desire, and now I’m going to have to find two. Because I’m not good enough at the first.

It’s devastating.

I’m clawing at something that doesn’t want me. And to say goodbye is like severing a part of me that I can’t easily replace. I’m lost.

I’m going to be so lost.

The minute I return to college. I won’t know which direction to go.

It’s terrifying.

It’s everything I never wanted, and I can’t bear the thought of my parents saying I told you so. To see their disappointment reflect back at me.

Because it’s admitting cold defeat. That nothing I do, no amount of hours I practice, no matter how hard I try, I cannot succeed.

One in a million, Thora James.

I’m not that one. I know.

I know.



*



“If you go home, will you ever return to Vegas and try again?” Camila asks curiously. She has her feet up on the barstool, overtaking all three as she lounges and eats her slice of pizza. The sleeves of her kimono almost knock over her Diet Fizz.

“Probably not,” I say softly, sitting at the kitchen table with John. I use Camila’s laptop to check plane and bus tickets, deciding which will be cheaper for my return trip to Ohio. My appetite has been lost since this morning. I barely even nibble on pepperoni.

I blink constantly, my eyes dry and scratchy from crying more than I ever have. I ended my pity-party about a couple hours ago at The Masquerade and took the fifty-minute walk to Camila’s apartment.

My phone buzzes, and I catch a glimpse of the text.

How did it go? Is it over? – Mom

I ignore it for now. John watches my rejection of the text as he sips a Lightning Bolt! energy drink. Preparing for a snide remark, I shut my eyes—but it never comes. He stays quiet, for once.

“You know,” Camila continues, licking the pizza sauce off her finger. “Vegas clubs are always looking for female acrobats doing their thing on trapezes and hoops. Why don’t you just try out for other jobs around town?”

My brows pinch. I never even thought of that avenue. My parents wouldn’t approve. They’d think it was no more than being a waitress in Los Angeles, hoping to become an actress one day. They’d say that a tiny fraction succeeds, and it’s fruitless to waste my time and try.

Off my silence, she adds, “It’s definitely not as prestigious as AE. I was thinking more short-term. It pays the bills, and in the meantime, you may run into someone who has connections to Aerial Ethereal.”

Connections. My lungs expand. That’s what it’s all about. I won’t run into anyone important or useful in Ohio. Not when the industry is here.

I realize I’m clinging to any hope. No matter how small. There is a part of me that wants this trip to mean something. If I go home, everyone will tell me that I wasted hundreds of dollars on a flight to Vegas. That I made a mistake.

My cell vibrates again.

Call us when you can. It’ll be okay. We can help you out for your return flight. – Dad

He already thinks I lost. You did, Thora.

My stomach churns from the lack of food, and I bite into a piece of pizza. It hurts to swallow. My parents will be distressed if they hear that I gave up my scholarship on a whim, to stay here and work at a club.

They’re the ties that bind me to Ohio, the strings that root me to safety and security. I fear cutting them. It’s like saying goodbye to the little girl who turned to my mother for advice. Who glowed when my father’s pride for me shined bright at gymnastics meets.

There is no pride from this decision.

There is just more disappointment.

“Don’t put ideas into her head, Camila,” John chimes in. “Let her leave Vegas while she can.” He nods to me. “You’re one of the lucky ones who still has the chance to get out.”

My face twists, unsure of what I feel anymore.

Camila leans forward and narrows her eyes at her cousin. “You love it here, John. More than any of us.”

“I would never say that,” John grumbles. He sips his energy drink while Camila huffs.

“If you hate it here,” she says, “then why haven’t you left?”

“Because I’m clearly insane like the rest of you.” He raises his Lightning Bolt! in cheers.

I return to the computer, the flight arrival times blurring together. In my heart, I know that I want to stay—no matter how frightening that idea seems. No matter how much I’m risking. The what if will haunt me for the rest of my life. I wonder if I’ll be fifty-years-old, looking back at today and wishing I had the courage to take the path less traveled. The one without security and family.