Page 40 of The Circus

“What did you do? What dancer?” I hiss.

“It will make more senseafteryou put this on.” He reaches for the garment bag, but his mom pulls away slightly, a reprimand in her matching eyes.

“Nah ah. Out.”

He smirks like the Devil himself.

“Mom,” he says, gripping both her shoulders and giving her a gentle shake for emphasis. “I’m going to see Eden buck ass naked in like, eight hours, tops. There’s no need for arbitrary discretion anymore.”

“Oh my god, Teddy!” I squeak at the same moment his mom swats him.

“Theodore Alexander Poe, I didnotraise you like that!”

His laughter follows him out of the bathroom, and his mother and I stare at one another with red cheeks and wide eyes.

“That boy,” she mutters, hanging the bag on the back of the door and unzipping it to distract herself. Clasping my clammy hands together, I remain on the counter, unsure of what to do. The dresses I was raised in felt like wearing a burlap sack. I highly doubt whatever Teddy helped make for me is anything close to that.

Through the slit in the bag, black and crimson appear, tulle and silks and ribbons all unfurling out of the cover like a gothic waterfall. My breath stops in my throat as she fully releases it and steps to the side, revealing what must have taken hours—days—to complete. I only asked this of Teddy a week or so ago. He must’ve started on this that very night, meaning he knew precisely what I would want, what I would feel comfortable in.

Maybe he has seen me all these years. Maybe he was just stuck in his own hell.

“It’s…beautiful,” I whisper. She bites her bottom lip to hide her grin, though it is as wide as Teddy’s, the two so much alike that I find it comforting.

“Hop down, let’s make sure it fits,” she says excitedly. For some reason, undressing in the same room as her isn’t as awkward as I thought it would be, and I need her help zipping it, anyways.

I never had a mom who would be so kind to me, one who would teach me how to be feminine, one who would chastise me gently instead of beating me with a broom handle before locking me in the hall closet.

Once the dress is settled on my frame, she backs away and stares at her finished work, eyes overflowing with pride. Holding my arms out, I peek at her from under my new, long lashes.

“So perfect. Teddy knows you well, dear, look, look,” she encourages, hands gently grasping my shoulders to spin me to the mirror on the back of the door.

And the moment my brain registers that the gothic, punk princess in the mirror isme, I begin to cry.

TWENTY-FOUR

EDEN

“You look stunning,”Teddy says for the fiftieth time, slipping his palm over my thigh and giving me a squeeze. The corsage on my wrist is heavy but exquisite, matching my dress perfectly. Peeking up at him, I smile softly, the sunset playing with his eyes, setting that teal ablaze. In the front seat of Cash’s Mustang, Tara rides, the two chattering about the weather while my world tilts, shifts, and becomes inexplicably entwined with Teddy’s in the backseat.

“Helena?” I ask softly, smiling. His fingers give another squeeze, and butterflies erupt in my stomach.

“Duh. May have been a little bit of a fantasy on my end.”

My cheeks heat, and I turn away, staring out the window. His soft chuckle rumbles to me. But as we draw nearer the hospice center, the thicker the silence grows.

By the time Cash parks, my hands are trembling.

“We’ll meet you two inside,” Teddy says, and Cash salutes him, striding away with Tara, so debonair in his tuxedo.

Teddy, though.

When I glance at him in confusion, my mind becomes befuddled all over again. He’s sinfully handsome, sporting an allblack suit and tie, the only red accent his boutonniere. His hair is slicked back, his keen eyes dancing at me through the sunset.

He turns, scooting a knee onto the tough leather seat, facing me as fully as the lack of space will allow. “Nervous?”

I shrug, stuffing down my emotions like hoping to fit your socks into an already overflowing drawer. No matter how hard I try, different feelings are going to escape and roll across the floor. “It’s just…a lot, all at once. I’m not used to…having friends.”

His eyes darken a few shades, and all traces of humor that normally surrounds that smart mouth of his are gone. At that moment, the sun descends behind Mt. Rainier, bathing us both in violet twilight. He clears his throat, reaching for my hand, his nails sporting a new coat of black polish. Boys aren’t allowed to do anything deemed effeminate at our school, so this little ‘fuck you’ at the end of our senior year feels appropriate, somehow.

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