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.
I lick my dry lips and clear my throat. “How much easier will it even be to get a job in a club?” I ask Camila. Those have to be hard to come by too.
Camila perks up now that I’m entertaining her idea. She points at John and waves her finger like ohh ohhh. “John, you must know someone who’s hiring.”
“No more than you.” He slouches further and spins a peppershaker.
“Hey.” She snaps her fingers. “Thora needs help, and you know everyone at The Masquerade, Bellagio, and Cosmopolitan.”
My eyes grow big. “Really?” I figured out that John likes to listen to himself talk. But I didn’t realize that he was Mr. Popular. At the blackjack table, those frat types never showed up, but a group of elderly women did, and they bantered back and forth with him for a solid two hours. Even sullen and surly, he’s somehow incredibly endearing.
“No,” John snaps, like his cousin is lying. “That’s a complete gross exaggeration, Camila.”
She gives him a look and shifts her gaze to me. “He’s a social butterfly and refuses to acknowledge it.”
“I’m not a fucking butterfly,” he says under his breath. Louder, he snaps, “I hate everyone. Sure, I have people’s numbers, but only because they hang around and talk and talk and won’t shut up. I’m not a cardboard cutout that says: please dump your life story on me. But people fucking do it anyway.”
“Now you’re exaggerating,” Camila retorts. “Your pessimistic, cynical-self talks more than everyone else. And you like when people listen to you complain.” She points at him again. “The point is that you must know someone looking to hire a female acrobat.”
He shakes his head vehemently for maybe a full minute before he says, “Yeah, probably.”
Camila throws her hands in the air like she just ran through the finish line of a 5k. “So you’ll help, Thora?”
I realize now that my stomach has been coiling. If he’s willing to help me, I’ll stay. The thought hits me at once. It’s another bout of hope, something that makes this decision a bit easier. Not by much. But I’ll take anything.
The table vibrates.
Any news? – Shay
I ignore that text too.
When I look up, John is scrutinizing me and the phone. He takes pity on me, sighing into a full-on groan. “Fine,” he says, “I’ll make a couple calls.”
My body swells, and my eyes burn with tears. “Really?”
“Please don’t cry,” he grimaces.
I smile instead. “Thank you…so much.”
“You can stay here until you find a place,” Camila tells me with a wink.
Maybe I am lucky after all.
I pick up my phone as it buzzes once more.
Sis, did you make it? – Tanner
I can’t fathom opening these floodgates of disapproval. If I tell Tanner, he’ll tell my parents. Lying to them hurts less. I’ve never done it before, but I just want to be the kind of daughter they’re proud of. Not the one they cringe about when someone brings me up. Is your daughter in college?
No, she dropped out.
I don’t want to saddle them with judgment from their peers.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” John asks me seriously. He must see me hesitating, staring at the phone like it holds my future. “Once I make the call and get you in, I don’t want you to flake. Last thing I need is to owe some asshole club manager a favor.”