blue, peach. Perfect for me, don’t you think?” Gem says as she models a silvery ring with a gleaming aqua sunburst in the middle. I’m not sure if she means the ring or the rainbow of daisies, but my answer’s the same either way.
“Yes,” I say as she roots around in her purse for cash. She finds some bills. She plunks them down on the counter and smiles at the clerk. The clerk hands Gem some change, and she thanks him.
“You’re cute. Do you want to go out sometime?”
He smiles, blushes, and says yes. Then they exchange numbers.
I’m all grins and awe as we leave. “How did you do that?” I ask her with the same sort of admiration that nonelemental artists probably feel when they see us make fire or air. Still, asking a guy out seems about the equivalent.
She shoots me a look like I’m crazy. “You saw it. There was no voodoo. Just a simple ask.”
“I’m impressed.”
She shrugs happily and admires her ring. “This ring is awesome.”
“Have you talked to him before? Do you know him?” I press on, wanting to know how she can be so gutsy to ask out a guy she doesn’t even know. Kissing a boy on my last night in town is one thing, but laying it out there—
you’re cute, do you want to go out
?—is entirely another.
“No. But now I can get to know him,” she says, and the smile on her face is so natural, so normal that I bet Gem never had to keep the kind of secrets I keep.
A few days later, my phone buzzes with a text from Elise.
Mindy invited Jana to the mall today. J said couldn’t go. Said she had to spend the day at swim practice. She’ll come over later though for dinner.
My spine stiffens. I write back, pressing hard against the dial pad.
See if her hands are cold.
Really?
Yes.
After practice that evening Elise replies.
Hands are warm. Said she was tired from swimming all day. She went home.
I call Jana at home. She doesn’t answer. No one answers. I finally reach her the next day.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You didn’t answer last night.”
“I fell asleep.”
“Is Dad working you too hard in the water?”
“No. I just—”
But she’s cut off by the sound of my father. “We need to go.”
“High tide is soon,” she whispers to me. “He wants me to become stronger by swimming against the tide.”
Swim away from him. Swim across the ocean, I want to say.
14
Looking Out
By the time the first show rolls around a few weeks later, the legend of the fire twin has been scratched from the lineup. I’ve been relegated to the “chorus,” where I back up the better elemental artists.
We perform in Intrepid Arena, which was built several years ago in the middle of the green fields of Central Park for the New York Yankees but has become better known as the home for the Coeur de la Nature show, the name for our troupe. The Yankees still play here, but only in the mornings now, and the ground crews have to slap up sliding walls over most of the seats because the team only generates a fraction of the crowds that they did back when spectators used to watch big boys smash balls.
A slice of the ground has been left exposed, a canvas of dirt and grass for the earth artists to paint on. On each side of our stage is a glittering black curtain that shimmers in the breeze, with silver—real silver—streaked into it to make the arenaappear as some ethereal night. The stage itself is set like New York City, with backdrops of tall buildings, glowing streetlamps, and luminous building stoops after a rain.
There is no starlight in New York City. There is too much light pollution. But tonight, it’s my task to make starlight. It’s one of the hardest tricks I’ve had to master in the last year because it requires pinpoint precision and patience. Tonight I craft the tiniest little flickers, scatter them above me, and keep them stoked because my starlight becomes the backdrop for Mariska as she makes the ground in Central Park rumble, the
“Yes,” I say as she roots around in her purse for cash. She finds some bills. She plunks them down on the counter and smiles at the clerk. The clerk hands Gem some change, and she thanks him.
“You’re cute. Do you want to go out sometime?”
He smiles, blushes, and says yes. Then they exchange numbers.
I’m all grins and awe as we leave. “How did you do that?” I ask her with the same sort of admiration that nonelemental artists probably feel when they see us make fire or air. Still, asking a guy out seems about the equivalent.
She shoots me a look like I’m crazy. “You saw it. There was no voodoo. Just a simple ask.”
“I’m impressed.”
She shrugs happily and admires her ring. “This ring is awesome.”
“Have you talked to him before? Do you know him?” I press on, wanting to know how she can be so gutsy to ask out a guy she doesn’t even know. Kissing a boy on my last night in town is one thing, but laying it out there—
you’re cute, do you want to go out
?—is entirely another.
“No. But now I can get to know him,” she says, and the smile on her face is so natural, so normal that I bet Gem never had to keep the kind of secrets I keep.
A few days later, my phone buzzes with a text from Elise.
Mindy invited Jana to the mall today. J said couldn’t go. Said she had to spend the day at swim practice. She’ll come over later though for dinner.
My spine stiffens. I write back, pressing hard against the dial pad.
See if her hands are cold.
Really?
Yes.
After practice that evening Elise replies.
Hands are warm. Said she was tired from swimming all day. She went home.
I call Jana at home. She doesn’t answer. No one answers. I finally reach her the next day.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You didn’t answer last night.”
“I fell asleep.”
“Is Dad working you too hard in the water?”
“No. I just—”
But she’s cut off by the sound of my father. “We need to go.”
“High tide is soon,” she whispers to me. “He wants me to become stronger by swimming against the tide.”
Swim away from him. Swim across the ocean, I want to say.
14
Looking Out
By the time the first show rolls around a few weeks later, the legend of the fire twin has been scratched from the lineup. I’ve been relegated to the “chorus,” where I back up the better elemental artists.
We perform in Intrepid Arena, which was built several years ago in the middle of the green fields of Central Park for the New York Yankees but has become better known as the home for the Coeur de la Nature show, the name for our troupe. The Yankees still play here, but only in the mornings now, and the ground crews have to slap up sliding walls over most of the seats because the team only generates a fraction of the crowds that they did back when spectators used to watch big boys smash balls.
A slice of the ground has been left exposed, a canvas of dirt and grass for the earth artists to paint on. On each side of our stage is a glittering black curtain that shimmers in the breeze, with silver—real silver—streaked into it to make the arenaappear as some ethereal night. The stage itself is set like New York City, with backdrops of tall buildings, glowing streetlamps, and luminous building stoops after a rain.
There is no starlight in New York City. There is too much light pollution. But tonight, it’s my task to make starlight. It’s one of the hardest tricks I’ve had to master in the last year because it requires pinpoint precision and patience. Tonight I craft the tiniest little flickers, scatter them above me, and keep them stoked because my starlight becomes the backdrop for Mariska as she makes the ground in Central Park rumble, the
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