by Sarah Noffke
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 asked, 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…”
“Right,” Zuma said, sitting up because her hand had fallen asleep under her weight. “Am I heartless not to think about them more often?”
“I don’t really think about my family,” Jack said, his tone commiserating.
“Yes, you do. You despise them every chance you get, as you should. They’re all a bunch of haughty jerks who can’t see how amazing you are in your own right,” she said.
“Don’t ever change, Zuma,” Jack said with a wink.
“So you have a reason to not want to be around your family, but I don’t. My parents are great people. My brother and sisters are lovely. And still…”
“Well, when we pass through there do you want to stop by for a visit?” Jack asked.
“Honestly?”
“I hope you never give me anything but that,” Jack said.
“Well, honestly I don’t want to stop by when we pass through,” Zuma said with a sigh. “I know I should, but I’d rather stick around the circus.”
“That’s the thing I’ve noticed about you, Zuma,” Jack said, his voice introspective. “You never get enough of the circus. Some people need a break from it. They get away when they can. You don’t tire of these trailers and the big top. You’re like Dave in that way.”
“Yeah, it’s like I’m a homebody,” Zuma said.
“And this is your home,” Jack smiled in agreement. “So it’s not that you don’t love your family, it’s that you prefer this one.”
The tension that had been in Zuma’s chest since her argument with Finley dissipated, like a tight knot was unraveled by Jack’s words. “You’re right,” she said. “There’s just something about the chaos of the circus and the constant adrenaline that calms me somehow.”
Jack laughed. “Pandemonium makes you feel at peace,” he said, marveling at her. “You really are one of a kind, Zuma.”
“Thanks,” she said, her voice softening. “And Jack?” Zuma waited until he pulled his eyes from the mat and met hers. “If you want me to, I’ll go with you if you want to visit your family.”
“You know, Zuma, I think if I showed up with you on my arm then I’d actually get some admiration from my family.” Jack laughed suddenly, his eyes imagining the scene. “My brothers would envy me for once.”
Zuma wasn’t one to blush, so she just smiled wide at Jack. “So that’s a yes?”
He shook his head. “No, but thanks for the offer. You’re not really mine, so the attention I’d get wouldn’t really be genuine.”
Zuma agreed with a solemn nod. It hurt her to see the look that plagued Jack’s eyes when he reminisced over his family. Whereas she needed none of her family’s approval, Jack would never be complete without it. She hoped one day they saw him for who he was, extraordinary in his own way.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Finley stared at his image in the full-length mirror. The skin-tight suit was decorated with the colors of Vagabond Circus, teal blue and neon green. They alternated around the suit, the blue specked with wisps of smoke and the green arranged like flames. It wasn’t a distracting suit like in some acts, it was complementary to the performance. Finley almost felt like a real performer now.
After the dress rehearsal he’d have a break before his first show.
His first show.
At the circus.
The idea seemed strange running through his head.
“I’m in the circus,” he said out loud and smiled at himself in the mirror. “You got this,” he said and gave himself a cheesy thumbs-up and then promptly laughed at himself. The sound seemed strange coming out of his mouth. Finley didn’t laugh. He hadn’t really been given any opportunities to do so. There was nothing fun or funny in his life. But this was his new life.
He exited his trailer to find Zuma leaning against the RV, one foot propped up behind her. He hadn’t felt nervous thinking about his first show, but staring at her made his throat prickle with tension. Everything about her demeanor was casual: the way she leaned against the white trailer, the way her arms were crossed in front of her, and the way she lifted her eyes to look at him. She was wearing a white gown. It was her costume for the first part of the show where she’d be locked up in a clear orb that was lifted to the top of the tent and then filled with colored gas before night came in the story.
The nightgown wasn’t loose like most, although it flowed at the bottom. It was tight at the bodice with a low neckline. Pieces of chiffon formed the bottom of the dress and the long train she had tucked under her arm. She seemed unconcerned about the potential of getting the white dress dirty by leaning on the trailer or messing up the intimate series of braids her hair was arranged into. The pink in her hair threaded through various braids, solitary diamonds pinned in multiples places.
Finley struggled to swallow and the attempt produced a startled cough from him. If Zuma noticed his nervous reaction then she covered it.
“What were you laughing about?” she asked, pointing to his trailer. “I heard you in there.”
He arched a disapproving eyebrow at her before turning around and stalking off a few feet. Finley was glad he could avoid Zuma’s question by pretending to still be angry with her.
“We need to talk,” she said.
He halted. Turned and appraised her.
And then quite deliberately Zuma checked out his suit and looked away, feigning boredom.
“I thought I made myself clear that we should refrain from talking in the future,” he said, trying to match her casual stance. “It gets us nowhere.”
“Thing is, Finley,” Zuma said, her voice dull, “that communication between acrobats is kind of key to their performance.”
“Oh sure, we can talk about the act,” Finley said. “We can discuss timing, arrangements, and whatever else. But let’s limit it to that.”
She kicked off the trailer and stood tall. “Look, I’m sorry if I offended you. It appears I’m good at it. But you and I are in this act together and the show rests on our performance. You may be able to wall off your emotions but I can’t go out there and put on show after show with a guy who hates me. Acrobats don’t just need to communicate about logistics, they need to communicate in other ways. They need to know each other and you’re not even trying on that front.”
The idea of knowing Zuma was exhilarating. It was the other part that created a chorus of no’s in Finley’s head. Zuma couldn’t know him, not who he really was. “I think we’ve proved that we work just fine with the way things are. Dave and Titus loved our act.”
“Damn it, Finley. There are several times in this show that I’m trusting you with my safety and I’m not sure why I’m doing that since you’re a complete jerk to me half the time. And why should I trust you at all when you won’t even tell me the first thing about you? You aren’t even trying to meet me in the middle here!” Zuma’s voice rose until she was yelling, her face flushed pink as her hair.
“I won’t ever drop you,” he said through clenched teeth, a heat in his eyes.
“What?” she said, her voice low again.
“That’s what you’re worried about, right? That I can’t be trusted? That I’m going to hurt you in the act? You’re worried that I might drop you because of what you don’t know about me. And you’re afraid of me because of what you do know about my attitude toward you.”
“No,” she said quickly, then took it back with a slight nod. “I mean, maybe. But more than anything I worry how I’m going to maintain focus working with a partner who won’t communicate with me.”
“Is this another attempt to get in my head?” he said.
“Well, that’s part of it,” she urged. “If I just knew you were okay up there,” she said, pointing to her own head, “If I could get a glimpse, then maybe I’d understand you. Maybe I could trust you.
And also, don’t you see that we would be able to communicate throughout the act without saying a word to each other? It’s very efficient.”
Finley hid the shiver that transpired through his body at the idea of Zuma in his head. There would be nothing worse. He shook his head roughly. “It’s just not necessary.”
“Damn it, Finley—”
“You know, maybe I should have made my last name Finley and changed my first name to Damn It, since that’s what you prefer to call me,” he said, grateful for the opportunity to divert the conversation.
“Seriously though—”
“Seriously though,” he said cutting her off again, “I do find your attempts to try and get along with me kind of cute.” He also found it was threatening his resolve to push Zuma away.
“Well, we really have a lot of people counting on us and the last thing I’m going to allow is for something to make this circus fail,” she said, stomping her foot into the earth, a frustrated determination on her face.
He saw in her right then a passion that froze his heart and injected it with its drug. Zuma was in love with Vagabond Circus. It was so clear in the way her eyes changed talking about it. He took a step toward her. “I will not fail the circus. There’s little more important to me than ensuring that Dave’s circus is a success.”