“I didn’t know how much Luka meant to you, you know?”
I nod once. I couldn’t ever tell Brenden.
“You’ve never talked about him like you just did. Never. I mean, the way you just described the guy and all the time you’ve spent with him…it kind of reminded me of Dad’s novel.”
My eyes widen, surprised that he brought up Dad’s books first. “Which one?”
“Bones Against Bones.”
I know the quote before he says it aloud, and I shut my eyes and listen and feel the incoming words.
And Brenden recites, “I have lived partially. Halfly. Incompletely. To be whole, I did not know until my bones thundered and bellowed for more.”
More, I mouth the word.
Brenden hugs me to his side, and I lean my head on his shoulder. He’s the one who says, “Regardless of Luka, there’s hope in the future, Bay. I know it might be hard to see or feel right now, but it exists. You have to believe in it. Not a lot. Just a glimmer. Hold onto it.” He glances down at me. “You holding?”
I take a stronger breath. “Yeah. I am.”
Act Forty-Two
Baylee Wright
In the performance gym, I stretch on the blue mats with Brenden and Zhen, yawning in my armpit. We stayed up most of the night and early morning talking, and then 7:30 a.m. hit and we needed to leave for work.
What’s strange is that more than half of Infini’s cast is late. All of the Kotovas are straggling, and other artists loiter around the locker room longer than normal.
I barely reach for my foot. I’m distracted by the constant mutterings from passersby. The side-glances and even some pointing. All directed at me.
I don’t believe Brenden shared my secrets, but I grow antsy and turn to them. “You are seeing the same thing as me, right?”
Brenden and Zhen scan our surroundings.
“Maybe one of us has toilet paper stuck to our ass,” Zhen quips and checks his butt. “Not me.”
Brenden lifts his ass up to Zhen.
“Not you either.”
“I thought for sure it was me.” Brenden plops down with a grin.
I say, “I’m serious.”
“We know,” they both reply in unison.
I elbow Brenden and crane my neck for answers. Dimitri. I see him speaking to his brothers hastily by a water fountain, and they’re all nodding in agreement.
They must all be distraught over Luka quitting.
I frown deeply at the tiny squared windows of the blue double doors, leading into the hallway. Offices on the other side.
I spy bodies darting down the hallway. I just see flashes of people through the windows. Moving quickly. Hurriedly. None of these bodies enter the gym yet, so I assume they’re slipping into offices instead.
I have a nagging feeling something big is happening.
Zhen rises to his feet. “I think I should…ask around.” He sees what I see.
“Good idea,” Brenden says, zoned in on a group of girls gawking at me. “Try Reesha and Lanie. They look like they know something.”
“Already there.” Zhen waves us goodbye, even though he’s going thirty feet or less.
I think Brenden would follow if I didn’t soak his Pillow Pet with my snot. Meaning, he wants to keep me company while I’m blue.
Brenden scoots closer, and I half-heartedly stretch my arm over my chest. I could text Katya, but if it’s just everyone upset about Luka’s departure, I don’t want to poke at her wounds.
Brenden takes out his phone. I kept mine near too, but I don’t retrieve it.
“Can you text Luka?” I ask hesitantly. “See if he knows something—”
“I’m already on it,” Brenden tells me.
I nod, but I’m still uneasy.
Zhen returns slowly, like he just saw a hoard of naked people, and he’s unsure of how to relay the image.
I frown at him. “It can’t be that embarrassing.”
He opens his mouth but then tilts his head, quizzical? I don’t know that look.
“I’ve heard all your boner stories,” I say to prove a point. “Ninety-percent were boring, Zhen. Okay, so whatever’s going on—it won’t faze me. I’m cool.” I feel like I’m trying to convince my older brother’s best friend that I’m part of the “cool mature club”—which, really, is what’s happening.
Zhen drops his gaze to gather his words. “I’m not embarrassed. I’m…shocked.”
“Oh.” I haven’t seen him really surprised before? At least maybe not concerning me. “What is it…?” My eyes start welling again. I thought the tears had ended.
He pushes back his black hair. “In New York, you were caught having sex with Luka. Nothing with cocaine.”
I’m stunned silent. Brenden is assuring me that he didn’t tell, but I never doubted him. I think…Luka must’ve told someone.
Zhen lists off a few more things: the contracts we signed, the threat of the no minors policy, and Luka being forced into quitting by Geoffrey. Basically, everything.
It’s all out in the open with the whole company. Blood drains out of my head, cold biting me.
I’d feel more at risk of being fired if this day didn’t start out weird. But I just realize—there are young kids, no older than ten or twelve, crying by Viva’s trapeze.
And I caused their grief. With the no minors policy. “Is it already enforced?” I stare off, a chill snaking down my spine. Brenden wraps his arm around my shoulders, but I’m as stiff as a board.
“It’s all just talk right now,” Zhen says. “I don’t think anything official has happened.”
Brenden’s phone buzzes.
I lean over and read the text.
Brenden sent: is something going on? Baylee is freaked.
Things are up in the air – Luka
Another text comes in fast.
She’s staying in Infini no matter what. It’s boiling down to the policy & our old contracts – Luka
Brenden asks me, “What? You keep shaking your head.”
“Who has that much sway in Aerial Ethereal to override a contract written by the company’s creator?”
Not long after I say it, artists start collecting their bags. With quick glances at their cells, they leave the gym. Brenden checks his phone for any cancellations, but he shakes his head.
The hallway starts emptying, but no one rushes into the gym. Everyone seems to be headed for the elevators. Like they’re going home to their suites.
Viva has an early-afternoon show soon. Most of the cast should be warming up. I look again at someone who may have answers.
Dimitri catches my questioning expression this time, and he nods heartily at me. Like stay strong, Baybay. We’re fixing this.
We’re helping you.
I blow back, my lips parting in recognition of what this all may mean. That they’re not giving up on Luka. On us.
For the first time, we may actually have people on our side.
Act Forty-Three
Luka Kotova
One hour to 8:00 p.m. show-times and no decision has been made yet. I’ve been held in Antoine Perrot’s office since this morning. He’s the Director of Infini. In Corporate hierarchy, he’s above Geoffrey Lesage. Beneath Marc Duval.
(Everyone is beneath Marc.)
The glass door is shaded with blinds. I can’t even peer into the hallway. Trying not to stress, I kick back on a chair and I toy with a wooden puzzle from his desk. Also, I eavesdrop on his Corporate phone call.
“There’s nothing more I can do on this end.” Perrot (he goes by last name) perches his phone to his ear, anxious hand on his short silver hair. In his early fifties, he looks a lot like John Slattery, the actor from Mad Men. (Yeah, I looked him up on IMDB.)
I listen intently.
“Marc, I know. I’ve had the creative staff try to reason with the artists, but they aren’t budging just like New York and Montreal.”
My lips gradually lift. About three hours ago, Perrot shot out of his seat when
he learned the cast of Nova Vega and Celeste were nowhere to be found. All taking the day off. It’s now 10:00 p.m. in their respective cities, and the artists missed their openings.
To avoid local media coverage, Aerial Ethereal cancelled their shows five minutes before curtain-call, citing illness within the cast.
Like they all have the flu.
But the cast abandoned their shows to make a change. It’s not all about me or Bay. Most refuse to perform until Marc agrees that the no minors policy will never be implemented.
Still, my huge family and the Wrights have been seeking a dissolution to the contracts we signed five years ago. Brenden is advocating for Bay. Her aunt has even hired a lawyer, her husband’s colleague.
I eavesdropped on all the lawyer-talk. AE’s representatives harp on one thing: the contracts we signed were an opportunity. A so-called gift that no other minors—at least the ones caught having underage sex—received. They were fired. We kept our jobs.
And we had a choice. We could’ve not signed the contracts, quit AE, and then we would’ve been a couple. Maybe we would’ve went to high school together.
Had a semi-normal teenage life. Been happy or sad. Who can really know what our lives would’ve been like?
All I know is what happened. Where we are now.
Our lawyers have been combating AE, calling the terms of the contracts “grossly extreme” and an “abuse” of power. I don’t know if we really have a chance.
It could be wishful thinking, but to have her family, my family, fight for us this time—it’s validation I didn’t even realize I needed. Five years ago, we were just kids in their eyes, and nothing we said would’ve made a difference. We couldn’t change their minds.
We couldn’t make them see what we felt, and I really didn’t think we could change them now. But somehow, someway, they see Bay and me as more than young love. Maybe they pity us—for all that we went through—or maybe they sympathize and finally understand our pain.
I don’t know.
I don’t need to know their motivations. It doesn’t matter to me.
Just knowing their voices aren’t rivaling ours, that they’re shouting in certainty and solidarity—it’s enough. Our families finally believe we’re worth the fight.
Perrot has his hand to his forehead. “No. Marc, it’s almost eight p.m. here. Viva already missed their show—I know. I also heard that Seraphine’s cast is missing.” He checks his watch. “It’s almost one p.m. in Tokyo, so there’s time…wait.” He rolls forward on his chair, eyes widening at the computer screen. “Dammit. The artists for oceanic touring shows are leaving—dammit.”
Perrot catches me smiling, and I can’t suppress this one. Not even if I tried. Because I’ve never been on this side of power.
By banding together, individuals can be mightier than the hands that encase us. That control us. I’ve been witnessing artists across the globe tear at red tape and snip the strings that force us every which way.
It seems unbelievable. I smile more. Unbelievable. Just like the circus. Where the impossible becomes possible.
Perrot cups the speaker with his hand, anxiety wrinkling his forehead. “You’ll know the outcome with everyone else,” he says to me. “You’re free to leave.”
I immediately spring up. He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I head to the glass door.
“Wait.”
I stop.
“My puzzle.”
It’s in my pocket. I lick my dry lips and then casually return the unsolved, wooden puzzle to his desk. “Sorry.” (I am sorry.)
He swivels in his chair, phone pressed to his ear again, and before I reach the doorknob, he exclaims, “Wait.”
“I didn’t take anything else.”
Perrot raises a finger at me to wait and speaks to Marc in fluent French. I understand only a few words. Billets (tickets) is one of them. Then he gestures me to sit again.
My lungs are heavy, and I return to the chair and lean back on its wooden legs. Pretending I’m not stressed when so much weighs on me. I still hear Timo and Kat’s screams…and I haven’t seen or talked to them since.
Nik has texted me they’re okay and sent me pictures of his suite. A lot of my cousins are drinking and playing cards. Eating takeout. Chilling.
Bay is there.
Nikolai said that Dimitri has been annoying her during their card game—his attempt at distracting her from everything.
I hope I made the right choice in letting Nikolai corral our family and confront Corporate. I hope I didn’t fuck it all up for no reason.
Perrot pockets his cell and high-tails his ass to the door. “I’ll be a few minutes. I need you to stay here. Do you understand?” His words almost slur together; he speaks that fast.
“Yeah, sure.” I’m being honest. I won’t leave.
Perrot is out the door in a snap-second.
Alone for the first time, I unearth my phone from my pocket and FaceTime Katya. I mutter beneath my breath, “Please don’t ice me out. Please don’t ice me out.”
It rings and rings.
I stare fixatedly at the screen, not blinking. “Come on.” I hunch forward, forearms on my thighs and phone cupped in my hand. “Come on, Kat.”
The call rings out. She doesn’t answer.
I inhale a sharp breath and run my hand through my hair. Okay, I’ll try Timo. I click into my favorites and find his name near hers. I press FaceTime and the ringing begins. And my apprehension elevates.
My hand is on my mouth, waiting. Waiting.
Timo answers.
A ceiling pops up, and I hear Kat say, “Turn the camera around.” She’s with him? I’m unable to move, like if I do they’ll disappear.
The camera spins. On screen, Timo and Katya sit side-by-side on her top bunk, an orange Noctis poster behind them. I don’t pretend that they’re emotionless beings who can accept what I did with a full-blown smile. I planned to leave without telling them, and they knew that.
They know everything now, and if I could do anything differently, it’d be saving them from the pain I caused.
Katya has dark circles beneath her eyes, and Timo wants to glare, a look he used to give Nik. Not me.
“Uh…” I start, lost for words for a second. I put my hand to my mouth, then my eyes. I break down, crying silently. “I’m sorry,” I mutter. “I’m so sorry.”
Katya sniffs. “How could you do that?”
I shake my head, and I drop my hand, my throat closed. I struggle to look at the screen.
Sounding wounded, Timo says, “We didn’t even earn a goodbye from you? Nikolai was that high on your list, but you couldn’t tell us or even leave a note. Would you’ve liked a note, Kat?”
“Yeah,” she sniffs again. “I would’ve loved a note.”
I stare off at the wall, dazed. Could I’ve written a note and changed this outcome? Probably not. We’d still be here, right now. Feeling each other’s pain.
“And you lied over and over again,” Katya cries. “I asked you about Baylee point-blank, and you told me…” She growls in frustration at her tears. “I really hate…what you did.”
“I know.” I shut my eyes closed. “I couldn’t tell you though.”
“Why?” Timo asks. “That’s what I want to know. We trust each other with everything. So what if the company told you not to, we’d never let it slip, man.”
My eyelids flit open, and I meet their hurt straight-on. “I couldn’t put this on either of you. It seems easy, okay? One secret, but it’s not like the time you two snuck out to a salsa club and I had to lie for you. It’s not like when I broke curfew to eat pizza on the subway and you made a pillow dummy on my bed for Nik to find. It’s bigger than that.” I sit up more, chest on fire. “It’s five years of holding your breath every time you see Bay in proximity to me. It’s five years of checking over your shoulder to see if Corporate is breathing down your neck. It’s five years of feeling like—if I say the wrong thing, I screw everyone over. And it’s not just ou
r lives at stake. You ruin children across oceans, across the world.” I take the biggest breath of my life. “That’s why I didn’t put this on you.”
That’s why.
Slowly, they both begin to nod.
Understanding.
Timo combs longer strands of hair out of his eyes. “We should’ve been the first to know you were quitting.”
“I love you two the most, that’s why you were the last.”
Katya huffs. “That makes zero sense. You know that?”
Timo’s eyes soften and sweep me. “It makes some sense.”
Katya frowns at our brother. “If he loved us the most, he’d tell us first.”
“Not if it hurt him to say goodbye,” Timo says. “It hurt that badly?”
My eyes burn, welling up again. “Dude, I don’t want to do that again. Ever.”
“You won’t have to.” Timo sits up straighter too, the bunk bed creaking, but my unknown fate strains the air.
This morning, I sent in a termination email. They could still fire me, even if I sent another that said: Disregard the last email. I do not want to quit Aerial Ethereal.
It’s all up in the air.
“Will you promise something?” Katya asks, still sniffling. “That you’ll tell us things in the future. I’d want to know if Geoffrey confronts you again.”
“Aye aye.” Timo nods. “Nik is the one who keeps us out of the loop in fear of hurting our childish sensibilities. We don’t do that to each other.”
Katya makes a circular motion, tying us all together.
“I won’t block you out,” I promise. “I’m not ditching you two for Nik or Serg or even Dimitri. It’s us three.”
“Until the end,” Timo says theatrically, fist to his heart.
“Until the end,” Kat smiles.
I smile back. “Until the—” The door whips open, and Perrot motions me forward, his face somber.
“Luka?” Katya says.
“Are you okay?” Timo asks.
“It’s, uh, Perrot. I have to go.” I stand up. “I’ll see you.” I end the call and pocket my phone. Perrot looks more uneasy than he did when Nova Vega’s show tonight got cancelled.
The blinds smack the door as he shuts it behind him. Before he speaks to me, his cell rings. “Perrot,” he greets, phone to his ear. “No, Marc just cancelled all three Vegas shows. It’s madness.” He sighs. “AE is telling the press it’s for stage maintenance…I hope so. We’ll see.” His gaze flits to me. “He’s here with me. I’m about to do it now.” He pauses. “No. No. Marc is stuck in Seoul. His flight won’t arrive until tomorrow.”
Infini Page 35