Page 137 of The Failed Audition

A piece of pie lodges halfway down.

Nikolai smacks the back of Timo’s head and says something in Russian that I’m almost certain has to do with tact.

Timo touches his chest innocently. “I’m friends with her.”

“That doesn’t mean you can ask her that.”

“Do you not know the answer?” Timo wonders with the tilt of his head.

I can’t let this progress any further. I simply say, “I was eighteen. But in all honesty, I wish I waited for the right person.”

“Nikolai?” Luka adds.

Nik is about to smack his head, but he sways out of his reach with a humored laugh. And with the extension of Nik’s arm, I notice his tattoo again: long black lines, inked on the inside of his bicep, creating trees at the end. I’ve never asked what it meant to him. There are questions that always sit on the tipof my tongue, but I struggle to let them out. Not knowing the perfect time. Not knowing the perfect way to ask.

I’m not good with words.

At least I’ve known that for a while.

Timo catches me scrutinizing Nikolai’s arm with confusion. He waves his fork at one of the shorter lines. “That’s me.”

My heart skips, and Nikolai meets my gaze with a nod, likehe’s right.He motions to the other series of lines that form trees, starting with the shortest. “Katya, Timo, Luka, Peter, Sergei, and…my parents.”

His family.

The symbolism is sweeter than he realizes.

Katya asks softly, “What do you think they’re doing today?”

“Eating pie,” Luka states plainly.

“They don’t celebrate Thanksgiving,” Timo interjects, deconstructing any fantasy that Luka and Nikolai fog her in.

“You don’t know that,” Katya retorts with a frown.

“Ask Nikolai. It’s an American tradition. Dad hates that shit, doesn’t he?”

Nikolai has his eyes on me, more rigid. He sets down his fork. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Does she not know?” Timo squeezes my shoulder. “He didn’t tell you, Thora James?”

Chills snake up my spine. What am I missing? “Tell me what…?”

Nikolai runs a hand through his hair. “She knows, Timo. Let it go.”

“Then why are you being so weird about it?” Timo asks, his features darkening. “You’re keeping something from us then…?” They stare at each other for a long moment, both good at reading body language. Both superior at compelling one’s attention. Both exceptionally talented. And yet, it’s clear who’ll leave with the upper-hand.

Timo shakes his head first, more confused than before. Same. I sit in a mystery with the rest of them.

“Talk about something else.” Nikolai looks to Luka, to save him from this. His younger brother opens his mouth, but Timo springs to his feet, silencing Luka.

He gains a height advantage that he probably rarely has over Nikolai. “I hatewhen you do this,” Timo proclaims. “I’m not a little kid anymore. I can handle whatever you’re keeping from me. We all can.” He gestures to Luka and Katya. “It’s not fair tous.”

“It makes no difference,” Nikolai says to him. “Just sit down, Timo.”

Timo shouts something in Russian, pained, and he points to his chest. His determined tone reminds me of when he had a long screaming match with Nikolai. Months ago, in The Masquerade’s lobby. It didn’t end well.

Katya leans into me. “I hate when they fight.”

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