27. Act Twenty-Seven
ACT TWENTY-SEVEN
S hay is leaving in ten minutes. After washing his face, we sit on the edge of the Dionysus fountain, staring at the revolving doors that lead out of The Masquerade.
Our friendship has never been this strained. Miles and miles apart and my aspirations have begun to destroy it. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
He lets out a heavy sigh. “Thora…” He looks to me, his eyes reddened. “I don’t want you to make this mistake.”
“I know.” I know. My chin almost trembles, and I bite down. “But you have to let me make it.” I really, really hope it’s not one.
He rubs his eyes and then stares at the ceiling. For answers.
His jaw is already tinted red. “Your interview…” I trail off, imagining him shaking hands with the boss: split-knuckles, bruised cheek and swollen eye. His chances of landing the job are now slim.
“I wasn’t excited about it anyway,” he says under his breath. “I hate the idea of being an athletic trainer, watching other guys compete in the sport that I still want to be in—it’s depressing.”
I don’t ask why he’s taken the classes to pursue this career. His parents pushed the plan as a back-up when gymnastics ended. Shay qualified for the Olympics one year, but he never made the national team. It’s not a pursuit he’s ever tried again. He said the training was too rigorous, and he knew he wouldn’t make it a second time around.
“What are you going to do then?” I ask, my voice soft.
He shrugs and shakes his head a few times. “I have no fucking clue.” He turns and smiles weakly at me. “What a life, right—or I guess you wouldn’t know…You’ve had this crazy circus idea in your head since you were fourteen.”
“You remember how old I was this time?”
His gaze falls to his hands, his bloodied knuckles ten times worse off than my swollen ones. “I remembered before. I just hoped you’d reconsider this.” He checks his watch. “I have to go.”
We both stand and I almost start to cry—scared of him leaving again. It was easier the first time. When I still kept strings attached to him and me. When I knew I’d see him another day. This feels like the end of a novel together, not a chapter.
I hug him.
He hugs me tighter. “Be safe, okay?” he whispers, choking on the last word.
I squeeze him. “Be happy, alright?”
I wait for Shay to say: I am .
But he stays quiet. Then he lets go, picks up his duffel that he left with the concierge, and exits through the revolving glass doors.