Isn’t that what parents do? Make things right. Help carry the burden. Lift the weight.
I sniff and rub my nose, suppressing more emotion.
The door opens, and I immediately stand. My body thrums, nerves and dread compounding, and I feel like I’m on the edge of a cliff, grabbing for her hand, but she slips through my fingers.
And I watch her fall.
Really, I can’t see Bay. Not yet. A young black woman purposefully shields the fourteen-year-old girl from my sight. Hourglass frame and fashion-forward clothes—I instantly recognize her as Baylee’s Aunt Lucy.
But I just want to see Bay—to make sure she’s alright.
Nikolai and Dimitri are on their feet in front of me, purposefully blocking my view. (Come on.) I try to sidestep, but Nik clamps a hand on my shoulder.
“Stop,” he warns.
Stop. I freeze, but my eyes dance past him. I try to peer through the gap between his arm and Dimitri’s.
Lucy hugs Bay tightly to her side, and all I can see is Baylee’s loose brown curls. Through the small gap, Lucy finds a way to glare at me.
I’m stunned cold.
Since I met Lucy she’s always liked me. Always.
The changes crash against my chest, my world shifting up and down and sideways. All off-kilter.
(I’m not okay.)
“Nikolai,” Lucy greets, her voice unusually stone.
“Lucy.” Nik nods back.
Baylee’s legal guardian.
My legal guardian.
It doesn’t faze me that our parents aren’t here. Hers would be if they could.
Mine are traveling in some foreign country for a touring show. I can’t even remember what continent they’re on right now.
Baylee and her aunt walk hurriedly past, and I want to call Bay back. To shout her name, but my throat swells closed. I hear the door shut.
They’re gone.
I didn’t even see her.
I barely hear Marc call for us. Dazed, my brother or my cousin puts their hand on my shoulder and physically pushes me towards the office. Each step is involuntary. I’m on automatic.
Programmed to move.
Once inside, Marc shuts the door, and I sit on a chair between Nik and Dimitri, all of us facing Marc’s oak desk. My gaze glues to his Aerial Ethereal mug, blue lettering with purple swirls.
As soon as Marc’s ass hits the seat, he gestures to me.
My face scorches and aches like someone’s taken a frying pan and whacked me several times. I open my mouth, struggling for a second, but then I find words.
“I take full responsibility for what happened,” I say. “Baylee had nothing to do with it.” I’m about to say that I forced her to have sex. A lie, but I’d do that. I’d literally do anything to protect her right now. “She—”
Marc raises his hand, silencing me.
(I’m going to puke.)
Nikolai glares at me like, don’t retch on his fucking carpet.
I swallow acid.
Marc looks older than his early fifties. Shaggy blond hair, sideburns graying, and his dark blue eyes wield only criticisms. I’ve now met the face of all the dull corporate emails.
“The sentiment is chivalrous,” he tells me, “but it takes two people to have intercourse.”
Intercourse? I frown and try not to shake my head. It bugs me. That clinical term.
“And Baylee already explained that it was consensual.” Marc holds onto a manila folder. “Before I pass over a termination contract, we need to talk.”
Termination.
I can’t look at Nik, but he’s stone-cold beside me. Rigid and unbendable. Maybe he’s trying to be a rock for me. Something I can hang onto as I fall.
I remember what Nik said to do. So I start to say, “I’m sorry—”
“Apologies won’t fix this.”
I sit straighter, back aching.
Marc sets down the folder. “Do you know why Aerial Ethereal has a rule about minors not dating or having sexual relations with other company members?” He phrases this like a quiz I’m supposed to fail.
I open my mouth to answer.
He interrupts, “You don’t know or else you would have followed it. At least, that’s the hope. Because if you knew the importance of this rule and you still knowingly broke it, then I don’t just have an ignorant kid on my hands. I have a reckless teenager with zero respect for this company.”
I’ve never felt this incapable of speech. Of being. Existing. I feel weak. And powerless. I hang my head, unable to look him in the eyes. Slowly but surely cowering to Corporate.
“Which one is it, Luka?” Marc asks. Testing me.
My gaze sears the longer I stare fixatedly at his mug. What am I supposed to say? What’s right? What’s wrong? (Someone tell me. Please. Tell me.)
What do I need to do? I’ll do it.
I’ll do anything.
(Just don’t take my family away from me. Don’t take my sister. My brothers. Don’t take her. I need them all.)
I turn my head to look for help. For a parent. Nik.
Reading my expression, he immediately speaks up. “Luka respects the company—”
Marc holds up another hand. “I didn’t ask you, Nikolai. I’d like to hear from your brother.” The heat of his gaze boils my skin. “Luka?”
“I…” I lick my dry lips. “I didn’t…I didn’t know.” My Adidas shirt suctions to my abs, sweating through the black fabric.
Nik clears his throat and leans forward. “I should’ve explained its importance. I’ll take some responsibility for this.”
He will?
Marc taps his pen to the desk. “So you didn’t know about his relationship with Baylee Wright?”
“No. I thought they were just best friends. Had I known it went beyond that, I would’ve put an end to it from the start.”
My brother isn’t railroading me, but I wish there could be a scenario where he would’ve been on my side. Hearing him now just cements all the reasons why we kept our relationship secret in the first place.
No one could know. It’d leak to Corporate, and we’d become the forty-ninth and fiftieth minors to be fired for going “beyond” a friendship.
I guess we are 49 and 50 now.
Marc looks to Dimitri. “And you? Did you know?”
My cousin shakes his head.
Once more, Marc’s attention bears down on me, and I thread my fingers, cupping my hands together. Trying to remain as calm as I usually am.
“I’ll tell you what I told Baylee,” Marc says. “Aerial Ethereal has many rules, but for minors this is the most important one. It’s why we’ve never failed to terminate a minor after the violation.” He rolls his chair forward, arms splayed on the desk. “We employ children, and these children, like yourself—”
I try not to flinch, but he makes me feel five years old. Not fifteen. I don’t like feeling this small. Or this drastic loss of control.
I have to take a breath. I listen. I try to breathe.
“—well, these children will work for us throughout their precious adolescence. Our job is to maintain the safest work environment for minors. Safe does not include sexual intercourse. Safe does not include workplace relationships that can lead to sexual intercourse.”
I wish he would stop saying “sexual intercourse” like it’s a disease—please God.
“We also do not advocate underage sex. This isn’t high school. This is a professional company that has high standards of care and compliance.” Marc places his palm on the manila folder. “As I said, this is a termination contract.”
And then I watch him procure a second manila folder from his drawer.
He sets it beside the termination papers. When his authoritative eyes meet mine, I see something else in them. Caution.
Trepidation.
Like this next part—the second folder—is completely out of the ordinary.
“For how many times I’ve sat here and fired teenager after teenager, we’ve neve
r offered a choice to any of them,” he says. “But I gave Baylee a choice to remain in Aerial Ethereal. And now I’m giving you the same one.”
Why? I don’t even have to ask. He’s already there, telling me.
“Her discipline is unique. It’s harder to find a juggler of her skill-level than to find an aerialist of yours.”
I nod, agreeing. (Don’t fire her. Keep her. Please.) She deserves to be happy and safe. I just wish I could’ve given her that.
“We’re also respecting the memory of Joyce Wright. Baylee’s mother was an incredibly talented asset to Aerial Ethereal, and her contributions to Infini…” He pauses and collects himself before saying, “Her music is still heard.”
I nod again. Trying not to get choked up. Bay’s parents passed away around the beginning of Infini, and Joyce composed the score of the show.
“Why offer you a choice?” he asks what’s on my mind. “You’re a Kotova.”
(Of course.)
“The chemistry and trust your family have on stage is irreplaceable.”
I begin to relax, but then the dark look in his eye—it says don’t be happy. I’m still being punished. Someway. Somehow.
He’s going to skewer me.
“Here’s your choice,” he says and pushes forward the left manila folder. “You sign the termination contract, and you will be fired from Aerial Ethereal like every minor before you.”
I watch him push the right folder towards me.
“Or you can sign this contract. In order for you to remain employed by Aerial Ethereal, we need to bury this incident so far down that no one will ever unearth it. Because if anyone finds out we gave preferential treatment, it will ruin this company. We’ll have forty-eight lawsuits thrown in our faces, accusing us of wrongful termination from years past because we didn’t fire you for the same offense. Are you following me?”
It makes sense. “Yeah.” I sit up more, thinking that this is going my way.
Marc taps the manila folder. “By signing this contract, you’re stating that you will have no further verbal or physical contact with Baylee Wright.” What?
Blood drains out of my head.
“Also, with your greatest effort, you will not look in her direction or utter her name.”
I can’t move. Can’t breathe. I’m not even allowed to look at Baylee?
“Make no mistake, this”—he pats the manila folder—“is a gift to you. We’re giving you a chance to remain with Aerial Ethereal, but if you violate this new contract by reigniting anything with Baylee—a relationship, a friendship, a hand-shake, a glance—I will not only fire you but the company will be forced to go one step further.”
What’s further than being fired?
“To protect ourselves from liability and damages, we will have to enact a company-wide policy for hiring. AE will only employ artists over the age of eighteen. It’s a no minors policy. This action will be swift and immediate and will cause the termination of every artist seventeen and under.”
I rock backwards, his words sucker-punching me.
Dimitri’s jaw tightens, and he shares an increasingly dark look with Nikolai. We’re all attached to minors in this company. Our cousins. Our siblings. Our family. It’s not just about me anymore. My little brother, Timofei.
My little sister, Katya.
Not to mention the hundreds of other minors in touring shows. They could all be fired. All out of work. If I sign and then violate this contract, I’ll ruin them.
“If you’re even considering running into her arms, hugging her,” Marc says, “do not sign this contract.” He keeps his hand on the folder.
What about when we’re legal adults? Can I hug her then? I want to ask, but my throat is swollen shut.
Nik asks, “But he’ll remain in the company if he complies with the conditions of the contract?”
“He’ll still be employed by Aerial Ethereal, but as far as Infini goes, he’ll be cut from the opening sequence.”
Because Baylee is in it.
“However, he’ll still participate in high-risk wall/trampoline and Russian swing.” He looks up. “This does not leave the room, but AE is currently in negotiations for a deal at a Vegas hotel and casino. Maybe you’ve heard of the place?”
We glance at one another, guarded and wary.
“The Masquerade,” Marc clarifies. “The hotel has been building a performance gym and two globe auditoriums. In a couple years or so, Infini will be transferred to Vegas, and Viva and Amour will fill the second auditorium. In that time, we’ll ask Luka to switch to either one. You’ll stay with your family, but the show-separation between you and Baylee will make it easier to abide by the contract.”
Marc says he’ll “ask me” to switch to Viva or Amour—but he means he’ll tell me. He fabricates an illusion of control, but I feel the strings he attaches to my arms and legs. And I feel him pulling.
It’s why I have trouble smiling and beaming at the “gift” he’s offering me. I want to be grateful because I fucked up and here’s a handout no one’s been given before. But it’s hard when I feel like he can cradle my fist and slam my knuckles at my own face. Breaking my bones.
“Since your on stage time is shortened, you’ll have a pay cut,” Marc says.
I don’t care about the money.
“And these”—Marc slides over two new folders to Dimitri and Nikolai—“are non-disclosure agreements. You both will not speak a word about Baylee and Luka’s relationship. Not to your friends. Not to your family. Not whispered beneath your breath. The only people who know about this incident are the four of us here, plus Baylee Wright, her aunt, and lastly, two trusted colleagues of mine that’ll keep an eye on Luka and Baylee in the gyms.” Vince has to be one of them. “As far as we’re concerned, this never happened.”
He’s erasing my entire relationship. As though my feelings for Bay never existed.
I stare haunted at the two folders still in Marc’s possession. He pushes them even closer to me. Until they sit right in front of my face.
Marc never peels his eyes off me. “You can call a lawyer to meet you here, but neither contract will change. Not a single line.”
Everyone waits for me to speak or move.
For the first time, I edge forward. “The rule I broke…” I pause, the air tensing. “It’s exclusive for minors. Adults in Aerial Ethereal can have relationships with other members of the company.”
Marc nods. “We encourage adult relationships. Chemistry off stage can translate to chemistry on stage, but minors are different. They’re not leads in shows, and we’re nurturing professional careers and a safe environment. We have to protect children while they’re employed by us.”
The same question bangs against my brain. What about when we’re legal adults? Can I talk to her then?
Marc sees. He knows where I’m headed, and he interjects before I ask outright. “The contract states that when you’re both over eighteen, the established agreement will still hold.”
I freeze. “I don’t understand…why?” My stomach overturns on itself.
Marc stares at me like I’m a fragile kid.
Has he broken me already?
Am I in pieces right now?
“Because you’re not taking advantage of this opportunity. We’re offering you a chance to stay in the world’s most renowned acrobatic circus, and you’re not going to backhand us in three years because you’re suddenly of age.”
I’m numb.
“We’re asking for a full commitment. Not indecisive, in-a-few-years-I’ll-be-with-her impermanence. You sign this contract, and you’re promising AE that you’ll keep this a life-long secret. Our favoritism could potentially cost us millions of dollars. Are you following? Have I lost you?”
(You’ve gutted me.)
By signing that contract, I’ll never be able to see Baylee smile or even frown. I’ll never hear her talk or laugh. I’ll never wrap my arms around her shoulders. I’ll never hug her tight or kiss her—fuck I can’t e
ven say her name.
Forever.
“I want to be clear,” Marc says, “if you sign this contract and you both decide to quit four years or even ten years down the line to be with each other, we’ll still have to enforce a no minors policy in case anyone finds out about today’s offer. You take this offer, and there is no turning back.”
My insides are on fire.
Marc throws more facts at me. “When you’re eighteen, you can date any adult you’d like in the company. Just not Baylee Wright. I’m not keeping you from her, Luka. You have a choice. If you’re adamant about being with Baylee, sign the termination contract.”
“He’s not,” Nikolai says firmly, his glare hot on me. Wondering how I can even hesitate to choose a girl over my future. The love I carry for Baylee is stronger than he understands, but it’s a fucking cruel choice.
Because I wholeheartedly, undeniably love Katya and Timofei. And Nik. And my cousins, but really, it’s Kat. It’s Timo.
If I leave Aerial Ethereal, I lose them—and I can’t.
I can’t lose them.
I’ve spent nearly my entire life with my sister and brother. We’re closer than friends. Closer than most family. We’re bonded by experiences and time, and I’m scared to sever all of that.
“Just give me…” a second.
“You’re fifteen, Luka,” Nikolai says, speaking huskily and forcefully beneath his breath. “Fifteen. Whatever you have with Baylee now, it’ll most likely end. You can’t quit for her. It’s naïve. This is your career. Your life.”
I hear: your family.
Marc passes over pens to all of us. “Luka, you’re young; you don’t get it,” he patronizes me, “but simply put, you aren’t entitled to everything you want. You will lose something today. And you must choose.”
I stare faraway. Marc pretends like I have a choice, but Baylee was just in here. She already made her decision—and I know that she didn’t pick me.
Baylee didn’t just choose this career. She chose her older brother. She chose the memory of her mother. She chose the pieces of her heart that preexisted me.
I understand, and I know I’m about to do the exact same. For nearly identical reasons. Our siblings—they lift us when we fall down, and we’re scared to lose them now.
Infini Page 4