Page 17 of Wristlocked
I got lucky and found circus. Jamie found pills.
I knew what I was signing up for the day Celeste scouted me, her cool fingers on my arm in the back of her town car, taking me to some fancy dinner after practice where I couldn’t even read the menu. But I was seventeen, invincible. She felt like the kind of twisted fairy godmother my wicked soul deserved, and although I tried to convince her to bring Jamie along, I still said yes when she refused.
Jamie and I made a plan. I’d save my money and, when I turned eighteen in a year, take over his guardianship. He could finish high school in Vegas and go to community college—all the lies of a normal life. He was stoned and pretended he didn’t care, and I told myself he’d be okay.
He disappeared from the group home two weeks after I reached Vegas, and I didn’t hear from him for almost three months. I begged Celeste to send me back, to let me look for him. She gave me an Al-Anon pamphlet and a lecture on enabling, then told me to make a choice. I could have a one-way bus ticket back to Oakland, but if I left, I wasn’t coming back.
I stayed.
“Gale?”
I’ve been quiet for too long, drowning in the demons of our fractured past. I’m sitting on the cool cement floor, my back pressed against the wall, grip slack on my phone.
“Yeah, I’m here.” I think about the cash I have stashed in the bottom drawer of my nightstand upstairs, whittled from the allowance I get each month as part of my “scholarship.” Money I keep out of the bank account where the deposits land that Celeste co-signs. The Jamie fund that turned into my escape fund.
I’d still give him every dollar if I thought it’d set him free. “I can Venmo you three hundred tonight,” I tell him. A petty,hollow victory. Fifteen blues instead of twenty. “It’s all I’ve got till next month.”
“Jesus, man, whatcha spending it all on? High-class Vegas hookers and blow?”
I made the mistake of telling Jamie my price tag way back when it still seemed like dream money. He’s never believed I need it all to live. Can’t bullshit a bullshitter.
“Congrats on the new place and the job,” I say, ignoring the jab. “Hope it sticks.”
“Yeah, it’s gonna be great.” He sounds almost young, like the old Jamie, oblivious to the bitterness in my voice. “Maybe Zara and I’ll catch a bus out to see one of your shows this year.”
“There’s one at Christmas,” I tell him, like we don’t do this dance every six months or so. He never comes.
I never go back.
11
Lyot
After making good on my internal promise to devour every whiskey-scented inch of Gia’s body, I force myself to tread carefully, keeping a tight lid on my jealousy and trying not to make too many demands on her time. Her relief is palpable, a dull ache under my skin, but there’s no way in hell I’m letting her know how much it hurts. If she’s still not ready to admit we’ve been skating over the line of our “friends with benefits” label for years, I can play along a while longer.
So I dive into my classes and return her smiles and pretend I don’t see the hunger in her eyes when she watches Shepard in the gym. Or the feral way he watches back.
He’s still an arrogant asshole during our straps lessons, and any grudging respect I might have felt for him after his display of support with Chloe quickly evaporates under the onslaught of his goddamn ego. Unfortunately, I can’t pretend his straps skills haven’t become impressive as fuck in the two years since Gia and I first saw him perform, and I have to work my ass off to try and keep my edge.
Gia insists the attitude is part of his appeal, of course, and eventually, I give up trying to argue. She knows I’ve tamed myshare of cocky assholes in the past, and I’m tired of fighting with her about it and coming out bruised.
“Look.” She bursts into my room waving her phone, a whirlwind of flushed skin and a vibrant smile. “They posted the showcase lineup.”
Ren and I are deep in a game of Mario Kart on his vintage N64, leaning against the side of my bed to face the TV on my dresser. She throws herself down on my mattress, sticking her head between us, and shows us the announcement page on the student portal.
“They gave Shepard a spot?” Ren says, his voice envious. “Lucky cunt.”
Gia stares at me, her eyes bright and pleading, like it’s the answer to her fucking prayers.
“She thinks we can get him to use us in his act,” I say, keeping my voice carefully neutral.
“Really?” He turns to give her an incredulous look. “That’s pretty fucking ballsy.”
“And highly unlikely,” I add, turning back to the game so she at least has to use her words instead of her big stardust eyes.
“I know, I know.” She smacks the back of my head lightly. “No one puts newbies in the showcase, blah, blah, blah.But…” She slithers off the bed and wedges herself between us. “They’ve never let a junior direct a spot before either. It’s perfect.”
“It means he’ll have that much more to prove,” I remind her, knowing it won’t make a difference. Gia and I might have come to a tentative understanding about why she’s dying to work with him, but the obvious chemistry between them is not getting any easier to ignore. I’m not sure I can survive three months in a practice room, watching them figure out what they actually want from each other.
