by Sarah Noffke
Zuma smiled as she closed her eyes. Yes, he is just a boy, she thought. That single idea seemed to make him smaller in her mind, less intimidating. She then turned her thoughts to the place she intended to dream travel to, the practice tent. Finley and she would practice there the entire night, their consciousness working on honing every detail of their acts until they were perfect. The rest of the circus was performing in the big top, ensuring that all the changes would be ready for the run-through in the morning.
The metallic tunnel wrapped around Zuma’s mind as her consciousness relaxed into the dream travel. This was her transport to any place and any time. This was the device that connected her with every Dream Traveler on Earth. Only they had access to these tunnels of consciousness, which bonded them as a race.
It always felt so strange to Zuma that she belonged to this race that most of the world was unaware of. She had often asked her parents why Dream Travelers were not well-known. They had said the same thing that Dave said about magic: People forget that which is fantastic. This was one of Dave’s other reasons for owning Vagabond Circus. He firmly believed if he didn’t take his show up and down the west coast every year, then people would forget that magic existed. He had said that people needed to be reminded because life was inundated with the mundane. And Zuma’s parents had said something similar about Dream Travelers, except no one regularly reminded the world that they existed. And as a race, most thought it was better that they keep a low profile. The rich shouldn’t publish their bank statements, the brilliant shouldn’t tout their IQ scores, and Dream Travelers should live amongst themselves quietly. That was for the best, most thought.
The tunnel disappeared around Zuma, as her conscious mind entered the practice tent. She was really there, her mind seeing it in real time. However, she was invisible to the physical eye. The tent was empty beside her, but only for a minute. Finley’s ethereal body flickered briefly before becoming almost solid. In the dream travel form, bodies have a whitish glow and are solid only to other Dream Travelers, but not to anyone in the physical realm. And to Zuma’s disappointment, looking at Finley in this form still made her feel outside her usual self. Just a boy, she thought.
“You’re late,” she said to him when he approached her, a speculative look in his eyes. He was studying her, like she’d changed somehow.
“I’m always late,” he said. She actually didn’t look any different to him. In dream travel form she was as beautiful as ever, except she glowed even brighter and he hadn’t thought that possible. She would make the brightest light look dull in dream travel form. Zuma was a star, through and through.
“Don’t you own a watch?” she said, trying to keep herself steady under his scrutinizing stare.
At this question, he dropped his eyes. She hated that she instantly longed for his gaze on her. Finley hardly owned anything. The clothes he wore to Vagabond Circus. The things they had given him since he arrived. But other than that he had nothing. He swallowed. “No I don’t.”
“Never mind then,” Zuma said, scooping Titus’s notes into her hands. “Did you read through these?”
He flicked his eyes at the papers. “No.”
“Well, you should,” she said, scanning the page. “A lot of these notes pertain to you.”
“I’m good,” Finley said indifferently.
Zuma looked up with offense. “What? You can’t just ignore Titus’s input. He’s the creative director.”
“I can though,” Finley said dryly. “I don’t work for him.”
“If you’re in this show then you do. And if you don’t incorporate his feedback into the act then you’re not going to work here for long,” she said.
“Do you forget that he said this was the show’s best act?” Finley said with an unruly smile.
She gave a tired sigh. “This bad boy act isn’t always entertaining.”
“But the act is entertaining some of the time?” he asked, amused.
“So you admit that it’s an act? What are you faking, and why?”
Finley lifted his hand. Zuma had known he was about to reach out for her, but she froze, interested in what he was doing. He tugged gently on a stray piece of her pink hair. “You’re one to talk about fake, aren’t you?”
Zuma slapped his hand away. “Actually, it’s totally real,” she said, stepping backward.
“What? That’s impossible,” Finley laughed.
“Not impossible. A tragedy can cause all sorts of crazy things to happen. People have been known to have white hair after something shocking occurred,” she said.
Finley measured up Zuma before he said, “That’s true. But pink?” After studying her, he thought her hair was slightly reddish, but it might also be the lighting. “What sort of accident?”
“My mother died, if you must know. I watched it happen,” she said, turning around to hide the guilty expression that would reveal her lie.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Finley had thought Zuma had a family. Maybe she was more like him, he realized. In that instant he felt a brand new draw to her. One to tether him to her more completely. He stepped around her, preparing to apologize, to comfort her, but instead he paused. He spied the tiniest crack in Zuma’s tough exterior. Not a painful emotion, like he’d think from an intimate admission like that, but rather a mischievous grin. A jokester’s smile. Heat flared across his cheeks. “Wait. Are you lying?”
Zuma burst out with an indulgent laugh. “You really think a tragedy could cause a streak of pink hair? Oh my god.”
He shrugged, turning around to hide his embarrassment. “I haven’t been out much to be honest. And I also didn’t realize people lied for their own entertainment.”
“You don’t seem like the honest kind,” she said playfully, not realizing how mad she’d made him.
He spun around and sharpened his eyes at Zuma. “So your mother isn’t dead, is she?”
Zuma tilted her head with a confident smirk that said “what do you think?”
He’d been played. A tool used for her amusement. He felt scorned somehow, although he realized Zuma was making it easier for him to push her away. He should have been grateful for that, but he wasn’t completely. “Do you like to lie about your parent’s death? About brutal things you witnessed?” Finley asked, his words sharp and growing hostile.
“Like it matters,” Zuma said flippantly.
“It would matter to you if they were actually dead,” Finley said and just then Zuma caught a haunting look in him.
“I’m sorry,” she said, shifting suddenly, her mind catching up with her unsympathetic heart. “Oh gosh, are your parents dead? Did you lose them?”
He wheeled around and marched off. “Hell, I don’t know. I’d love to. But you won’t find me pretending they’re dead to mortify a stranger.”
He’d almost cleared the practice tent when Zuma called out to him. “Finley! I’m sorry. I didn’t know. You’re right, I shouldn’t be so offhanded about my parents.”
He turned and looked at her with a pointed stare. Sunshine had mentioned that Zuma had a wholesome upbringing; the idea twisted around Finley’s brain like a noxious weed. “You have a family, don’t you?”
She nodded. “Yeah, a good one,” Zuma said in a hush.
“And you just left them to come to the circus? Who does that?”
A sound of frustration fell out of her mouth. “It’s not how you think. Dave is friends with my parents. I made the decision to leave them. And they don’t care.”
It wasn’t that Zuma’s family didn’t care, they didn’t feel it mattered if they did. She often thought they forgot about her, and the thought was just a thought, not something that plagued her. But Zuma’s family hadn’t forgotten her; that was impossible for anyone to do with Zuma. The truth was that Zuma’s family felt they couldn’t handle her. And Zuma’s parents, who craved little attention, always felt worn out when around her. It wasn’t the girl exactly, but rather the things that happened around her. It had been like that since she
was born. People were magnetized to the girl. And as with everything, the attention of people at restaurants, at school, and at parks had no real effect on Zuma. But to her family it was exhausting. They couldn’t go anywhere without Zuma being the center of unwanted attention. There was just something about the girl. She didn’t know what it was and hadn’t much cared. Her parents and siblings didn’t know either. But Dave Raydon had seemed to know. He told her parents, his childhood friends, that the girl had the mystery of the circus buried within her. Dave offered her the opportunity to join Vagabond Circus if and whenever she wanted. When Zuma turned fifteen she decided that she’d join the circus, her parents exhaustedly agreed, and so she did.
“And so you just make jokes about them being dead for fun?” Finley said, trying and failing to understand the girl who stood before him. She was beautiful, and yet had a dangerousness about her.
Zuma wore a toughened look in her eyes, one he hadn’t seen in her before, but realized it was always there. That look was a part of her.
“They wouldn’t care if I made those kind of jokes, at least I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t,” Zuma said.
Finley studied her with sharp eyes. He could dissect a frog with that glare. And Zuma felt that if she was an amphibian then he’d have split her in two. “You’re one of those types who doesn’t feel, aren’t you? You didn’t look back after you left, did you?” He paused, like waiting for her answer.
Zuma shrugged, mostly trying to dispel his cold words and the guilt they created, rather than actually provide an answer.
“And let me guess,” Finley said, his tone growing more challenging, “You don’t think about them now, do you?”
Another pause.
“You have a family who loves you and you came here for what? The love of strangers in an audience?” He said, and the idea was unfathomable to him. Why would anyone leave a good home? He shook his head at her, and it was that one movement that made her regret everything she’d done leading up to that moment. Finley looked absolutely repulsed by Zuma. “Yeah, I lost my parents but who knows how or when. I don’t remember much, but I remember enough to know I wouldn’t lie about the people who brought me into this world.”
“Finley—”
“No, Zuma, why don’t we count this as a failed interaction and promise not to have another one willingly? Let’s just perform together and leave it to that.”
She nodded to the dirt floor. “Yeah, sure,” she said and strode past him, almost breaking into a run. It was only when Zuma was on the other side of the tent that she allowed herself to pick up her pace, racing out of the exit. Once in the open air her face broke into one that revealed her anger. And then she was moving too haphazardly until she collided with another person. Zuma was appalled, but arms wrapped around her at once and she realized she’d rushed straight into Jack. His arms did something to her. They softened her, making hot tears full of her humiliation spill over. Jack startled at the sound of her cries. Then he pulled her into his chest. Zuma didn’t cry; at least he’d never seen it happen.
Never had she felt him this close in this way. They’d been close before, bodies arched together for a stunt in the act, but never like this and for the intention to comfort. They’d never allowed themselves this closeness, afraid of what it would lead to, both reading the desire in the other one’s eyes. Jack’s arms now tightened, pressing Zuma so firmly into him she gasped from the gesture. He patted her back and whispered, “It’s okay,” into her ear although he didn’t know what was wrong and that it wasn’t okay.
And then she forgot her momentary distraction related to Jack’s arms and Zuma’s mind flashed to Finley. He was right and it made her all the angrier. She was a deserter. She’d been doing it easily her whole life. Leaving people behind. She’d dropped so many people like they were disposable parts of her life, meant to be discarded and replaced by someone with a fun new personality. And circus life was easy for her, whereas it should have been difficult, at least at times. Most kids had trouble adjusting when coming to Vagabond Circus, but Zuma had no problems. It was like she had been hatched rather than born to a loving family.
Jack pulled back, pushing Zuma’s hair out of her face. “What has my girl of stone so worked up?”
“It’s nothing, Jack,” she said, already corralling her emotions, pushing them inside the vault. The tears dried up as quickly as they came. And then Zuma sensed Finley approaching, before his movements registered any sound. His footsteps on dirt and hay grabbed Jack’s attention, but Zuma knew Finley had no intention of stopping where they stood.
Jack’s eyes diverted to Finley’s and then back to Zuma. He pinned both hands on her shoulders and stared into her eyes. “What did he do to you?”
“I told her she was calloused,” Finley said as he passed by.
Jack tilted his head in confusion. He wanted to question why something like that would bother Zuma. People had said much worse things about her. She never cared. And yet, Finley casually stating the obvious had the girl shedding what seemed like her first tears.
Jack flicked his eyes at Finley, who continued to march away from the tent. “He made you this upset?”
Zuma raked her hands through her hair. “I don’t know. No, not him,” she said, injecting conviction into the last statement. “I’m just feeling the pressure of the new show.”
Jack eyed her suspiciously and then nodded. “Why don’t we practice together, since it appears your rehearsal with Finley has been cut short?”
Finley walked until he now stood in the place he’d hid before officially coming to Vagabond Circus, right outside Dave’s office. What had just happened had been too easy. Finley had planned to pick a fight with Zuma so he could have an excuse for not practicing with her. However, he didn’t realize that the fight would actually make her upset. Pissed, yes. That was the goal. But Zuma had seemed to be hurt. Like he struck something in her. And hadn’t that been the goal? However, when he passed her in Jack’s arms and saw the expression in her eyes, one filled with raw pain, he instantly regretted everything. Why did being hostile to her have to be a part of the plan? It felt wrong to him. But he was here now, as he intended, standing outside Dave’s office, watching the ringmaster through a crack in the tent. This was where he would spend the rest of the night. And although he could have used the extra practice with Zuma, being here was his very reason for being at Vagabond Circus. He wouldn’t fail this mission.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Zuma had the intention of working with Jack. She knew she needed to rehearse. But who she needed to practice with was Finley. Her head clouded with frustration each time she tried to focus. His eyes, haunted with his mysterious pain, kept swimming into her vision. Finally she acquiesced to the distraction and threw herself down on the mat.
“I need a break,” she said to Jack, lying on her back and throwing her arm over her eyes.
“Yeah, I was going to suggest that, since you keep losing your balance,” Jack said and she sensed him take the seat next to her. “What can I do to help?”
“Distract me from this maddening chatter going on inside my head,” Zuma said.
“Oh,” Jack said, disappointment in his tone. He had half hoped that Zuma was going to want to talk about it. Maybe it wouldn’t help her, but he thought if he could understand what was going on between Finley and Zuma then he might feel better. Jack half wanted to believe that they really despised each other, but he couldn’t bring himself to accept this. There was something in the way they stared at each other. It wasn’t a rehearsed look like how most people do, where they see people without really seeing them. Zuma and Finley looked at each other every time like that was the first time they had met and they hardly believed the other person was standing in front of them. At least that’s how it appeared to Jack.
“So…” Jack sang, searching for a topic that would pull Zuma’s thoughts away from her troubles. “Jaz joined a dating site.”
“Has she met any nice girls?” Zuma a
sked, her words muffled from her arm draped across her face.
“I don’t think so, but she’s trying.”
“That’s admirable,” Zuma said absentmindedly and then rolled over on her stomach and looked up at Jack. “Finley called me out for leaving a good family. That’s what you really want to know, isn’t it?”
Jack gave her a half smile. He hadn’t realized she’d dipped into his thoughts.
“I just skimmed them,” she said, returning the smile.
“Okay, you can get out now,” he said with a grin that contradicted his request.
“And there’s no connection between Finley and me,” Zuma said, then her hand propped up her head. It looked strained, like it also held up all her burdens.
“There is,” Jack argued, “and it’s not like I thought it was entirely a bad thing. Kind of intriguing. Kind of frustrating.”
“You ever get tired of me being in your head?” Zuma said.
“Not at all,” Jack said honestly. “You and I don’t keep secrets. Well, maybe you keep them from me, but I think most of the time you’re straight with me. It’s relieving that the one person who can read my thoughts is someone I trust.”
“Well, there is Sunshine too,” Zuma reminded him. “She can read all sorts of stuff about you.”
“I don’t mind her either. There’s something about that girl that earns trust, not sure what it is,” Jack said.
“It’s that you feel sorry for her,” Zuma said, almost laughing.
Jack shrugged. That wasn’t it, but he wasn’t arguing the point when there were other things more important to discuss. “So, your family…”