The Cirque

Copyright © 2013 Ryann Kerekes

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes only.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously.

Cover Design by KaNaXa

Edited by Pat
Thomas and Lesley Carson

A good girl trying to find herself.

A troubled boy running from his past.

The seductive allure of the cirque.

One summer that will change them both forever …

Eighteen-year-old ballerina Ariel is determined to experience life outside the dance studio. She auditions for the cirque on a whim, and though ballet training didn’t prepare her for dodging knives, she refuses to flinch and wins the spot of target girl alongside Gabriel, the mysterious knife-thrower. There’s something unmistakably dangerous yet tempting about Gabriel’s crystal blue eyes and tattoos. She’s determined to solve the mystery of his past after learning he’s on the run from the law. Especially since the distraction is just what she needs to avoid admitting to her parents she was dismissed from her ballet contract.
The more she learns about Gabriel, the scars on his body, the foster homes he grew up in, and his fascination with knives, she knows she should run the other way, but that boy’s like crack, oh so bad for you, yet addicting as hell. When he’s arrested and forced to deal with his past, she has to choose between putting her own life back together and dealing with her parents, or taking a chance on Gabriel, as no one else has.

I would not cry.

Nope. No way.

I remained stock-still, knowing if I moved, if I so much as drew a deep breath I would lose it. And I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of watching me break down. I’d do that later, once I was alone. Too numb to even form tears, I stared down at my worn-out pointe shoes listening to the company director.

B
eing dismissed from your contract…understudy will take over your spot.... You’ve lost your passion for dance.

Even as I recognized the truth in his words, they rang empty in my ears. This was who I was, what I
did
. If you stripped away ballet…what else was there?

I knew the moves as well as anyone else. My pliés were deep and balanced, my pirouettes were smooth and graceful, but there
was something missing, and I saw it whenever I caught myself in the mirror. And finally, the company director had seen it too. He’d fiercely studied me in the few months leading up to my high school graduation. When he was watching, I’d lift my chin higher, push my jumps farther. But even so, he’d discovered my secret. I hated ballet. I hated the way it strained my relationship with my mother, took over every inch of my life and left room for nothing else. But most of all I hated that now that it was over, I was empty and lost without it.

Perhaps it wasn’t the tears I feared – they were a natural response to the dismissal. It was the numbness in my chest, the complete and total indifference I felt about leaving ballet school.

I nodded wordlessly and left. There was nothing to be said. His mind was made up, and I wasn’t about to argue with him when I didn’t have a fighting chance in hell. And really, I didn’t want to change his mind. 

I needed some air and stepped outside, still dressed in my tutu and
tights. I leaned against the side of the building, pondering what to do. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. Not Jenna who was probably wondering why I wasn’t in conditioning or my mom who would freak when she heard. No, definitely not my mom. Just imagining the shrill of her voice when I told her sent a shiver over my skin.

I stood watching the traffic pass when, like a sign from above, a colorful flyer carried by the wind dropped down and tangled itself around my ankles. It was an advertisement for auditions at a traveling cirque-style show called Aerial Mystique. I’d stared at the flyer in my hand
s, a crazy plan forming before I could even comprehend it.

***

I sat on a cold metal folding chair, clipboard balanced on my knee, and carried on an impossible conversation in my head. I should leave. That much I knew. But I also knew I wouldn’t. Not now. Not after being dismissed this morning. Apparently my fragile ego needed this. Needed to dance, to show someone I was talented and accomplished. To hear someone praise me.

I read over the remaining questions on the application. Backbend from standing?
Check
. Full one-hundred-and-eighty degree splits?
Yup
. Free handstand for more than ten seconds?
Obviously
. The last question stopped me –
Are you able to do two shows a day when you’re sick, injured or tired and keep smiling?
I hesitated a moment, then darkened an X through the
yes
box and signed my name at the bottom.

I’d only come to watch the auditions, to get my mind off what happened earlier, but when they assumed I was here to try out – and handed me an application – I didn’t correct anyone. After the way my morning had started, I was in no position to argue, especially about something as absurd as joining the circus. If by some small miracle I made it through these auditions without embarrassing myself, I’d stuff the compliment into my pocket to savor for later to balance against the ballet rejection.

So far, it was just the distraction I needed. The room buzzed with nervous energy. Some auditioning performers paced the room, others stretched on the floor, and a guy with a badly dyed blue mohawk juggled a set of colored balls, swearing under his breath each time he dropped one. I sat glued to my chair. I knew if I stood up I would lose my nerve and leave.

The double doors swung open and a tall thin woman and a short bald man strode in together. He wore a button up shirt and plaid bow tie, and she was in a revealing cocktail dress.

“Welcome,” the man said. “I’m Del, the artistic director for the Aerial Mystique Cirque. Each of you will audition for me and Marta today.” He gestured to the willowy woman at his side. He gathered up the stack of applications and surveyed the room. “You,” he said pointing at me. “Do your parents know you’re here?”

My heart squeezed and I blurted out, “I’m eighteen.” I knew I looked too young for my age. I’d been told my eyes were too big, giving me a look of innocence, and the pink leotard and tutu certainly didn’t help.

He scrutinized me for a second longer, but seeming satisfied, he nodded and left with the stylish woman, Marta.

Once they left my anxiety increased, but it would be rude to leave now. And I didn’t want them thinking I was sneaking out because I was just some kid trying to run away with the circus.

The performers were called out for their auditions one by one. They left confident, their chins up and shoulders back, just as I’d been reminded to do my whole ballet life. But after this morning’s rejection, I couldn’t put forth the effort. My mind raced, searching for something I could do to impress them. A pirouette seemed too cliché.

I heard Marta call my name and almost jumped. I had serious doubts about my ability to pull this off, but I followed
her into the gymnasium. She joined Del at a folding table with the applications spread in front of them.

“Okay, let’s see what you can do.” He motioned for me to begin.

I stood in front of them, still considering what to do. I decided to perform the act I’d been rehearsing for
Sleeping Beauty
, proving once again that ballet was the extent of what I knew. I ducked my head and walked to the center of the gymnasium. I could feel their eyes studying me, and sensed their patience was wearing thin. Thankfully my performance nerves had worn away long ago. I took a deep breath, thrust my chin up, then lifted my arms above my head. Regardless of what happened next, I would do my best.

I curved my wrists and pointed my toes to the sides. Carefully raising one leg, I extended it until my foot was next to my head. At least I had stretched that morning. I swung my leg down and as soon as my foot touched the ground, I leapt off and nimbly turned my body, soaring through the air. I repeated the moves in my head and my body obeyed.
Assemblé. Brisé.

Ballet was like breathing, though it brought me about the same amount of joy.

“Stop,” Del called.

I stopped mid-step and my heart dropped. Though I told myself not to take this audition seriously, that it was just a silly distraction, a lump rose in my throat. I walked back to center stage and stood in front of them. Del was quiet for a minute and squinted at me.

“You’re a trained ballerina. What are you doing here?” He gestured to our surroundings, but my eyes stayed locked on his, knowing what he meant. These auditions were being held in an elementary school gymnasium, and we both knew, theirs was a second-rate circus.

I swallowed and straightened my shoulders, taking a moment to decide what I wanted to tell him. The truth would have to suffice. “I am a ballerina. I mean I was… But I lost my spot in the show, and now….”
I have nothing.
“Surely you can use me some way in your show.”
Otherwise I’ll have to go home and face the wrath that is my mother
. “Please.”

He frowned and fiddled with the applications on the table in front of him. I figured they were cutting me and I shifted a step toward the door. “Wait. I have an idea,” Del said. He leaned toward the lady next to him and whispered.

She pursed her lips and nodded.

“Gabriel,” he called.

I looked around, wondering who Del was talking to.

“Gab-riel,” he repeated in a clear, loud voice.

I hadn’t realized anyone was in the gym with us, but a guy a few years older than me was sitting in the corner. He lifted his head. He was tall with dark disheveled hair and was reading a book so well read it was missing the cover. Del waved him over.
Crap.
My embarrassment over getting fired had been on display not only for Del and Marta, but now this hot guy. I should be shot.

He set the book down and picked up half a dozen knives lying beside him. When he met my gaze, sky-blue eyes pierced mine. There was something unnerving about
it, like he was the hunter and I was the prey. I instinctively took a step back.

I heard a commotion behind me and turned to see a stagehand wheeling out a large wooden board about the size of the door. Gabriel stopped in front of me and looked me over. His eyes traveled over my body, not lingering anywhere for long, like he was ju
st getting the lay of the land. But damn if my body knew that, I broke out in shivers as his hot gaze raked over my skin. Gabriel, seemingly satisfied with what he saw took a step closer. I looked to Del, trying to understand what he intended.

“Gabriel’s very good with knives,” Del explained. One side of his mouth tilted up. “You can be the eye candy.”

If Del meant for me to stand there and be impaled by Gabriel, he was crazy. “I...I....”

“Are you sure you want to be here?” Del asked.

I looked to Gabriel with his knives and back to Del, and my stomach flipped, but I managed a nod.

“If we hire you, I want to be sure you won’t bolt in two weeks. You’d have to commit to the show for the summer.”

“I understand,” I squeaked out. I didn’t exactly know what I was agreeing to, but I at least needed to see what was going to happen next.

Gabriel walked toward me. His face was expressionless as he gripped my upper arms, his large hands
were warm and nearly curled all the way around. He walked me backward until my back was pressed against the wooden board. “Stay very still.” His voice was deep, yet soft. I caught a hint of his scent – spicy and all male.