the greatest show they’ve ever seen. Midway people, look at the solemn faces around you. I expect you to knock it out of the park, make the Cirque even better. It all starts tomorrow!”
The petite woman who’d checked me in the day before and several of her army were distributing sheets of paper. I grabbed one, aware that I didn’t understand the full story of Chicago—and knowing from the faces of Dita, Remy, and Jules that I wasn’t about to ask them for it now. I did remember that was where I’d first seen Jules on TV, daringly dancing above the downtown. I wondered if it had something to do with that.
A list of cities and dates ran down the page in my hand: Jacksonville, Atlanta, Memphis, Saint Louis, Kansas City, Dallas, El Paso, Albuquerque, Phoenix, San Diego, Los Angeles, and—last but looming largest for me—Las Vegas. Our final city, over Labor Day weekend.
I counted twelve weeks from today until we’d be there. That was how much time I had to figure out how to put together an act that would leave zero doubt of my abilities in Dad’s mind.
six
Opening day dawned thick with a tension that had begun to build the night before. The mess tent was swimming with it at breakfast—the excitement of the season kicking off and whatever Thurston and Jules’s rumored surprise was.
At our long breakfast table in the catered tent, I’d wolfed down banana-blueberry pancakes beside Dita, who inhaled a stack of bacon and toast. The back wall featured a projection of Jules walking above a bridge high over the river here last year. I admired the daring of it. But that was apparently not the plan for this season—Jules would be doing something else, and we wouldn’t know until it happened.
For me, the excitement was coupled with the anxiety that my magical powers continued to refuse to show up whenever I snuck off into a corner to attempt to test them out. I was increasingly afraid they would come without warning, making it impossible for me to ever practice controlling them.
Less than two hours after breakfast, the season was officially about to get its start.
“Step right up,” Thurston called out over a bullhorn. He was wearing his full ringmaster tux and tails. He waved the midway and Cirque performers—we’d neatly segregated ourselves—toward a trio of large buses to head into town.
From chattered explanations, I’d learned we were doing the reverse of what the Cirque had done last year. Instead of parading from here into town over the bridge, we’d be traveling to the city on these buses, then leading a parade back over the bridge to where we were staged. The hope was that excited fans and city people would follow us, showing up for whatever was the cap-off surprise at the tent, then stick around the midway and stay for the first show. Buses would take people back to town later, and then after a quick meal break we’d be on again for the evening performances.
Everyone was decked out in their costumes. Which meant it was like a massive chorus line of showgirls on the loose, except with fewer feathers and not so scantily clad. My outfit was pretty tame as these things went, of course—black jacket and pants with the supplies I needed stashed in the pockets. I made a mental note to ask Raleigh for some costuming help.
I boarded the third bus after most of the people were already on, not wanting to get trapped at the back surrounded by strangers. That enabled me to slip into a seat near the front. Dita was the only one I could describe as a semi-friend here at this point, and so it was fine that no one took the spot beside me.
Well, until Dez peeked onto the bus. He grinned when he caught sight of me. His grin felt . . . honest. Like legitimate happiness at seeing me.
That amplified when he said, “Finally. I checked the others for you first.”
His friend appeared behind him. “He did. It was cray annoying.”
“You know who else is cray annoying?” Dez asked. “You, Brandon. You are
The petite woman who’d checked me in the day before and several of her army were distributing sheets of paper. I grabbed one, aware that I didn’t understand the full story of Chicago—and knowing from the faces of Dita, Remy, and Jules that I wasn’t about to ask them for it now. I did remember that was where I’d first seen Jules on TV, daringly dancing above the downtown. I wondered if it had something to do with that.
A list of cities and dates ran down the page in my hand: Jacksonville, Atlanta, Memphis, Saint Louis, Kansas City, Dallas, El Paso, Albuquerque, Phoenix, San Diego, Los Angeles, and—last but looming largest for me—Las Vegas. Our final city, over Labor Day weekend.
I counted twelve weeks from today until we’d be there. That was how much time I had to figure out how to put together an act that would leave zero doubt of my abilities in Dad’s mind.
six
Opening day dawned thick with a tension that had begun to build the night before. The mess tent was swimming with it at breakfast—the excitement of the season kicking off and whatever Thurston and Jules’s rumored surprise was.
At our long breakfast table in the catered tent, I’d wolfed down banana-blueberry pancakes beside Dita, who inhaled a stack of bacon and toast. The back wall featured a projection of Jules walking above a bridge high over the river here last year. I admired the daring of it. But that was apparently not the plan for this season—Jules would be doing something else, and we wouldn’t know until it happened.
For me, the excitement was coupled with the anxiety that my magical powers continued to refuse to show up whenever I snuck off into a corner to attempt to test them out. I was increasingly afraid they would come without warning, making it impossible for me to ever practice controlling them.
Less than two hours after breakfast, the season was officially about to get its start.
“Step right up,” Thurston called out over a bullhorn. He was wearing his full ringmaster tux and tails. He waved the midway and Cirque performers—we’d neatly segregated ourselves—toward a trio of large buses to head into town.
From chattered explanations, I’d learned we were doing the reverse of what the Cirque had done last year. Instead of parading from here into town over the bridge, we’d be traveling to the city on these buses, then leading a parade back over the bridge to where we were staged. The hope was that excited fans and city people would follow us, showing up for whatever was the cap-off surprise at the tent, then stick around the midway and stay for the first show. Buses would take people back to town later, and then after a quick meal break we’d be on again for the evening performances.
Everyone was decked out in their costumes. Which meant it was like a massive chorus line of showgirls on the loose, except with fewer feathers and not so scantily clad. My outfit was pretty tame as these things went, of course—black jacket and pants with the supplies I needed stashed in the pockets. I made a mental note to ask Raleigh for some costuming help.
I boarded the third bus after most of the people were already on, not wanting to get trapped at the back surrounded by strangers. That enabled me to slip into a seat near the front. Dita was the only one I could describe as a semi-friend here at this point, and so it was fine that no one took the spot beside me.
Well, until Dez peeked onto the bus. He grinned when he caught sight of me. His grin felt . . . honest. Like legitimate happiness at seeing me.
That amplified when he said, “Finally. I checked the others for you first.”
His friend appeared behind him. “He did. It was cray annoying.”
“You know who else is cray annoying?” Dez asked. “You, Brandon. You are
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