Infini

by Krista Ritchie

  Dimitri laughs, but it dies as Geoffrey verbally scolds him. I don’t listen.

  I bend down and help Thora collect her forms. I barely glance at the papers, but I do catch the word Wellness Policy. The forms must be normal and routine.

  “Thanks,” she whispers to me. We stand up at the same time.

  Geoffrey addresses us. “Congratulations, the seven of you will be signed up for a sexual harassment seminar tonight. You’ll be emailed the location and time. It’s mandatory, so don’t even contemplate skipping.” Storming back into his office, he slams the door.

  Thora frowns. “Who was that?” She looks to me for answers, but Dimitri’s mouth is bigger than mine.

  “A man who can’t take a joke,” Dimitri says.

  Zhen picks up his Nike gym bag. “Maybe because it wasn’t funny, Dimitri.”

  Dimitri cocks his head. “I saw you laughing.”

  “Everyone was laughing,” Brenden cuts in, “but the humor kind of dies when we’re the ones getting into trouble for a prank we didn’t start.”

  Dimitri scoffs. “Don’t know what you’re talking about—it’s still fucking funny.”

  These arguments happen about every hour in our suite, and I stay out of it. Dimitri likes to hear his own voice, and Zhen has known him way too long for any real fight to start. He’ll pull Brenden out of the crossfire after a while, and it’ll all simmer down until it heats up again.

  By now, it’s just ordinary.

  Sergei steps forward. “Let’s just end this. Whoever set up the joke, go confess.” He wants someone to fall on a proverbial sword so he doesn’t have to go to the sexual harassment seminar.

  (Predictable.)

  No one speaks at first.

  So I say the logical thing, “It could’ve been someone who fled into the gym.” I know a handful of cousins who would’ve put a dildo in Geoffrey’s office.

  “Or it could be you,” Brenden retorts.

  It stings, but our history together has always been strange. I can’t touch it now. I don’t want to, but I remember how moral he is. It’s a good quality. Something I admire. He started a petition when he was sixteen to have equal pay for all minors. The girls had a lower salary than the boys.

  He helped get his sister, and mine, a pay raise.

  And there I was stealing a souvenir cup and three bags of Cheetos.

  I stuff my hands in my pockets. “It’s not me,” I say coolly, knowing why he’d believe it was.

  “You could be lying.”

  “Yeah, I’m not.”

  “What about Dimitri?” Baylee asks, steering the attention off me.

  (Thank you, Bay.)

  “Not me, Baybay.” Dimitri walks backwards towards the elevators. “This is someone else’s genius handiwork.”

  I watch him leave with Sergei, and Brenden and Zhen speak in Mandarin before following in tow. The only way out are those elevators.

  Baylee is slower to exit. We barely speak at work unless it’s necessary, and we haven’t even tried to talk as frankly as we did in her suite. I worry that I might’ve scared her back then.

  Her body is rigid, eyes pinned ahead. If she looks at me, it means she still cares about the possibility of us.

  It means there’s something still worth fighting for.

  It’s what I think. I stare intently, hoping. Praying she’ll glance back. She passes me, staggering slightly.

  (Come on, Bay. Don’t give up on me. Don’t give up on us.)

  My stomach knots, and I fixate on her back as she leaves. Is it wishful thinking? Am I just dreaming—believing we could have something real outside of the gym?

  She waits at the elevators, says something to her brother, and in the briefest moment, her head turns. Her eyes touch mine, and my lips begin to rise.

  Hers pull up too. In a small, heartfelt smile.

  “Okay, I’m…” Thora’s confusion steals part of my attention, then all of it as Baylee disappears onto the elevator.

  I help her out. “That was Infini’s new choreographer. Let’s just say I could cough and he’d glare.”

  Thora winces. “That bad?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “He might not last long.” Always the optimist.

  “Maybe.” In my world, bad things don’t disappear. They fester and extend for years.

  Thora wears concern and sympathy, but her eyes are on the double doors. “He’s not going to be happy.” In the tiny squared window, I just barely distinguish Nikolai.

  He ties up the aerial silk so no one slips on the fabric, finished for the day.

  She’s right. Nik will be pissed and agitated that some choreographer—on a different show—just sentenced his girlfriend and siblings to a sexual harassment seminar. And there’s nothing that he can do about it.

  He won’t pull strings for this. My brother saves his influence for much bigger, more serious issues.

  “You know,” I say, swinging my head towards Thora, “besides you, there’s not much that makes Nik happy. So it’ll be like any other day.” I don’t think people remind her enough how much she’s affected my brother. How much joy she brings him.

  Before Thora, Nikolai just swam through the motions of life, living dully day by day, sacrificing everything for Timo, Kat, and me. Then he started falling for Thora, and I saw him smile for no reason at all. I saw him breathe wholly and freely, and it’d been some of the best days of my life.

  For once, my brother finally got something good.

  Thora scowls. She’s so laidback and down-to-Earth that her “resting bitch face” or RBF (as she calls it) throws me off a lot. She’s not mad, but really, she looks it.

  She shakes her head at me. “I’m not the only happy thing in his life…he loves you. And Timo and Katya.”

  I shrug because I recognize that Nik loves us. I see that in everything he’s done for us, but I can’t say that I’ve made him happy. I’ve disappointed him, caused him anxiety and restless nights. I wasn’t what he needed.

  Guilt hurts like twenty knives in my gut, and I laugh into a weak smile. I don’t have the strength to wrench out the blades. So I feel them.

  (Every fucking day.)

  Thora is about to reply, but Nik pushes aggressively through the double doors. Cellphone in hand, he aims for me. Gray eyes zeroed in, single-minded.

  “What?” I ask, knowing it’s nothing good.

  “Timo just lost nine-hundred dollars on roulette,” he says. “I need you to go to the casino and talk to him because I’m not getting through.”

  I frown. “He was just here. I saw him like ten minutes ago.”

  “Then it took him less than five minutes to lose nine-hundred bucks.” Nik’s muscles are hard as rock, more tensed than me. “Five more minutes and he’ll be down another grand. Go.”

  “Okay, okay.” Gym bag on my shoulder, I turn but hesitate. “I can’t promise I’ll be able to tear him away.” I couldn’t last time, but Nik knows this. “When Timo’s down, he just says he’s going to win it all back.”

  “But he’ll listen to you over me,” Nikolai rebuts.

  I’m the good cop to Nik’s bad cop. In one breath, we’re co-parents. I’m the consoling mother figure, who hugs a crestfallen Katya. Who soothes a heartbroken Timo. And then in another breath, Nikolai is scolding me, and I’m back to being a child in his eyes.

  (Our relationship is weird.)

  “Okay, I’ll try.” Before I turn around, he speaks again.

  “And I need you to take Katya to the gynecologist. She has an appointment next month, or the month after—I’ll text you the date and time.”

  My face scrunches. “Since when does she need to go to the gynecologist?” I shake my head. “She’s not…” having sex. I just see Kat as a little girl. She’s not having sex. She’s not…even dating. Right?

  I remember how she called herself a woman, and then the makeup, needing to keep things private from Timo and me and—shit.

  Katya is getting older.

&nb
sp; She could definitely be having sex. Or at least, acting on romantic feelings and desires. I don’t want to think about it.

  “She needs to go,” Nik explains. “She told me that most girls go by the age of fifteen.” He expels a heavy breath, and he glances at Thora for confirmation.

  “I mean…some, not all…” Thora shrugs. “It just depends.”

  “On what?” I ask.

  “On whether you’re having complications, or want to be more informed, or are sexually active—”

  “She’s not,” Nikolai says like it has to be a fact.

  “Is it so bad?” Thora wonders. “Timo said he lost his virginity at fourteen. Just because she’s a girl…” she trails off at the thickening tension.

  Nik and I exchange a look, both of us knowing Thora is right, but our feelings don’t waver. Double standards exist, and I know we’re at fault for perpetuating them. My huge extended family bubble-wraps Katya because we’re all afraid. We know men.

  We know Vegas.

  I think we’d just rather Katya stay young forever.

  Lingering for a short second, I ask Nik, “Why aren’t you taking Kat to the doctor?”

  “Because I have a show, and I’m sure she’d rather you do it.”

  (True.)

  My brother must assess Thora’s features because he states, “Something happened.”

  She lets out a breath. “You’re not going to believe it.”

  I check my emails on my way out. The seminar is scheduled for 7 p.m. Thirty minutes from now. I realize that I’m going to have to choose between the seminar and my little brother.

  Really, the choice isn’t hard at all.

  Act Sixteen

  Baylee Wright

  The Masquerade uses their third-floor conference rooms for banquets, family reunions, conventions, and apparently sexual harassment seminars, set-up purely for the seven of us.

  We’ve been sitting on uncomfortable fold-out chairs, facing a blank projector screen, for about an hour now. Geoffrey emailed and said the lecturer was running late. And apparently so is Luka.

  “It’s all a lie,” Zhen theorizes between Brenden and me.

  “Geoffrey wants us to sit in silence,” Brenden agrees.

  “We’re in time-out.”

  “No one is coming.”

  I stand up, needing to walk around and to mentally separate myself from Brenden and Zhen. My temples pound and my stomach growls. None of us had time to grab food, and it’s already 8 p.m.

  I did spare a second to snatch my journal from my bunk.

  Even though I’m slightly terrified, I’m giving my list to Luka tonight. No welching. No backing out at last minute. I’ve cemented my decision in my mind.

  My palms sweat the longer he’s absent. I slide down the gold wallpaper and sit on the cream carpet, journal clutched tight. I worry that Luka won’t show up and it’s some grand sign from the universe. Telling me that I’m not supposed to reach out to him.

  Yelling at me to stop.

  I swallow hard and observe my surroundings. Sergei sleeps upright on his chair next to a preoccupied Dimitri who texts on his phone.

  Thora reads a paranormal romance novel, and her scowl withdraws when she casts smiles to the door. In the squared window, I spot the outline of her tall boyfriend pacing back and forth. Nikolai has been outside for five minutes, waiting for this to end too.

  “Maybe we should feel badly,” Zhen suddenly says from the front row. “We laughed at something inappropriate. We embarrassed our choreographer.”

  Dimitri pockets his cell. “You better be joking.”

  “I’m not.” Zhen turns partially around. “I can’t expect you to understand, but we are in the wrong. Whether we put together the prank or not.”

  Brenden thinks about this. “Zhen’s probably right.”

  Dimitri leans back. “And what’s that supposed to mean, Zhen? I can’t understand? Understand what? Sexual harassment? If this is about Baylee’s juggling balls, we’ve been here. She doesn’t care what I call them. I asked.”

  I don’t want to take sides in fights that have already ended years ago. Or at least, they were supposed to end.

  “This seminar could help everyone,” Thora chimes in, trying to mediate. “I mean, it could be fun? Who knows…?”

  Dimitri gives her a once-over. “Fun? Does the chair and the floor excite you too?”

  “Dimitri,” Zhen says with the shake of his head.

  “I said excite, not arouse.” Dimitri outstretches his arms, but off of Zhen’s stone-cold disapproval, his defenses lower. “Fine. I’ll take the seminar seriously.”

  “Thank you.”

  My mind reels, and from the floor, I end up saying, “You know who should’ve been called into one of these seminars? Kirk Evans.”

  The second I let loose Kirk’s name, Luka saunters inside the conference room. He carries three to-go bags with a bright red Retrograde logo, an Elvis-themed diner inside the Masquerade.

  “Who’s Kirk Evans?” Sergei yawns, waking up.

  Luka holds my gaze as he nears the cluster of metal chairs. So much is buried beneath that single look—I can’t even uncover all the sentiments. My chest falls in a shallow breath.

  “A dick,” Dimitri says curtly.

  “What’d he do?” Thora asks. She’s really new to AE and hasn’t been around for the huge drama.

  Luka is almost invisible to everyone. He sets down two to-go bags on an empty chair. I have trouble watching anyone else but him.

  As the air conditioning kicks in, Brenden zips up his windbreaker, and he answers, “Kirk ‘jokingly’ opened shower curtains on girls.”

  “No,” Sergei says, disbelieving.

  “Yeah.” Brenden nods. “And he thought it’d be funny to slap all of their asses before opening night.”

  Including mine.

  Luka looks at me again. Noticing me staring. He actually…he starts to walk over. I sit up straighter, knees bent.

  Thora scowls. “Kirk was fired then?”

  The room tenses.

  “No,” Zhen replies. “He was transferred to Montreal.”

  “Last I heard,” Brenden says, “he got a raise.”

  Aerial Ethereal might’ve done little to nothing, but Kirk did get decked in the face—by none other than Dimitri Kotova. He doesn’t unearth that fact. He’s competitive when it comes to Nikolai, but with other things, Dimitri doesn’t really ask for praise.

  A few feet away from me, Luka glances back at the others. “Hey, I brought food.”

  Dimitri reaches for a bag. “Thank God.”

  Brenden glares. “Stolen?”

  “Greasy?” Zhen wonders, plucking a second bag.

  “Receipt’s inside, and it’s mostly grilled chicken and vegetables.”

  If he were anyone else, Brenden would immediately say thank you but a painful, awkward second passes. Luka doesn’t acknowledge me until Zhen hands Brenden a to-go container and inspects the contents. My brother finally nods to Luka in appreciation.

  Just like that, they all start eating and their irritations about Luka’s tardiness vanishes. His generosity goes a long way.

  I’d say it was all a ploy, but he probably would’ve brought food regardless of being late.

  Without a word, like this is as common as any other day, Luka sits right beside me.

  Knees bent, leaning against the wall. We’re so close that I see the rise and fall of his chest when he breathes.

  I inhale. His shampoo must be citrusy, but he smells mostly like peppermint candy. It’s a scent that I want to lean into, but I’m afraid to risk it in front of Dimitri.

  His cousin is eyeing us a little, but he’s mostly busy eating.

  I watch Luka open his paper to-go bag. He pulls out candy boxes of Swedish Fish, Hot Tamales, and then a can of original Pringles. Lastly, he hands a plastic container to me.

  I put my journal on my lap and grip the container. Snapping the lid open, my heart skips.

  He
bought me a grilled cheese.

  I’m floored for a second. That he remembered how much I like grilled cheese, especially after my dad died. That he thought about me when he ordered.

  My throat closes. I don’t think I’ll ever find someone like him. The thought devastates me, but I’m also just happy to have this moment. Torn. I wonder if I’ll always be torn when I’m near him now.

  “Thanks,” I say quietly.

  Luka nods and pops a can of Fizz Life. Gently, he tilts his head towards me and speaks hushed so no one else can hear. “You’ll tell me if I overstep or anything? The line’s kind of…fuzzy.” The intensity of his gray eyes pummel me. It’s like he’s asking if I’m okay with him moving closer in my life or if it’s too uncomfortable for me. Wondering if I’m scared.

  I am scared.

  I’m terrified, but I want more of him. So much. “Yeah,” I say, breathless. “Actually, I need to ask you—”

  “Hey, you two,” Dimitri calls us out loudly and makes a gesture that means separate.

  All eyes plaster onto us, and the chatter dies down. I reluctantly pick myself off the floor and carry my grilled cheese and journal.

  Luka follows.

  When I sink beside my brother, he shakes his head at me.

  “What?” I whisper with a shrug. I could cry. I’m just…I hate this. I hate lying to Brenden, and I hate that he believes the worst about Luka. To the point where I can’t even sit next to him without seeming weak and disloyal.

  I lose my appetite, shutting my plastic container.

  “What’s going on there?” Sergei motions between Luka and me with a fork. The chairs aren’t really even in rows anymore; we all sit in jagged lines, faced towards one another.

  “Nothing,” Luka and I say in unison.

  Sergei’s brows jump. “Sounds like something to me.” He aggravatingly digs into his chicken. Maybe he’s remembering that Luka called him a piece of shit while defending me.

  “If no one’s going to say it, I will,” Brenden starts.

  My eyes widen. “No, Brenden.”

  “Yes,” he retorts. “Do you even remember what happened, Bay?” His voice is soft but also condescending.

  “Yeah, I do. I lived it.” My neck heats at all the pierced gazes on me. I don’t like this. I don’t want to do this. “Please, Brenden, stop.”