Page 80 of The Failed Audition

I gauge that height and halt not even halfway up. I exhale through my nose and tighten my clutch. Then I begin to extend my legs out, toes pointed. The muscles in my forearm burn and my body shakes.

“Use your core, Thora,” he says again.

It’s natural to want to use my arms as the force behind my power. I shut my eyes, exhale again, and try to focus on my abdomen, flexing and extending my body outward. In a curved line.You need to be horizontal, I tell myself.

I have to lift more of my weight. And I need to release one of my hands.

It seems impossible.

Try.

I will.

Two more breaths. My muscles constrict as I raise my body another degree. Every tendon burns. Sweat beads off my forehead.

No longer vibrating, I dig deeper and channel strength in my quads, in my core.

I am horizontal. Then I slowly release one hand. And I immediately grab the pole again. My legs drop like someone poked a balloon, busting whatever helium kept me afloat.

I feel heavier. Sagging in defeat, I slide down the pole, careful the friction doesn’t burn my bare thighs. I touch the blue mat and finally meet Nikolai’s narrowed gaze.

“You look upset,” he says.

“I just thought today I’d be stronger.”I feel like I’m wasting your time when I fail.It’s not a good feeling.

His eyes smile. “Today you were much stronger than yesterday. And tomorrow you’ll be even stronger. That’s the great thing about practice, myshka, you can only go up.”

I’m weightless again. It’s rare that someone else boosts me more than I do myself. “Thanks. I’ll try again tomorrow then.” I figure he’ll want to do some sort of workout: dead lunges, crunches, sit-ups, pull-ups—

“No.” He fractures my thoughts.

“No?”

“We’re moving on.” He nods to the aerial silk.

My shoulders rise, and I’ve already begun to smile. “But I didn’t—”

“You held your weight with one hand. Even for a millisecond, it was a millisecond more than most can do.” He studies me for asecond, and I realize that I’m rocking on the balls of my feet, too excited to stay completely still. “You know the basics?” he asks.

I nod rapidly. “Yeah. I can do a Half-Moon and Back Walk-Over and other…stuff.” He’s trying to contain a smile of his own. “What?”

“Nothing.” He places a hand on my shoulder, but his fingers caress my neck, so subtly that chills prick my arms. “This way.”

My heart beats quicker, curious about what he’ll have me do. We reach the red silk, rigged to the high ceiling. But we don’t immediately start. He makes me stretch my arms first.

After that, I slip off my acro-shoes and Nikolai leaves my side. He pulls the fabric apart, displaying two silks. “I need to see your skill level. Show me the splits, a Back Walk-Over, and a simple single-foot-tie-in.”

Before he passes me the nylon material, he grabs a bottle of resin nearby and approaches, the aerial silk skimming my cheek as a foot of space separates us. The fabric opens up, and we’re almost cocooned within the crimson, wispy material.

His intimate gaze cuts through me for a second. He pauses and soaks in my features.

My breath shallows.

“Hold out your palms,” he whispers lowly, the words sounding like sex.

I flip my hands over, and he sprays resin on them, which’ll help my grip on the silk. When he sprays some on his palms, I realize that he may demonstrate later on.

He passes me the silk. “Show me.”

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