Lingering for a short second, I ask Nik, “Why aren’t you taking Kat to the doctor?”
“Because I have a show, and I’m sure she’d rather you do it.”
(True.)
My brother must assess Thora’s features because he states, “Something happened.”
She lets out a breath. “You’re not going to believe it.”
I check my emails on my way out. The seminar is scheduled for 7 p.m. Thirty minutes from now. I realize that I’m going to have to choose between the seminar and my little brother.
Really, the choice isn’t hard at all.
Act Sixteen Baylee Wright
The Masquerade uses their third-floor conference rooms for banquets, family reunions, conventions, and apparently sexual harassment seminars, set-up purely for the seven of us.
We’ve been sitting on uncomfortable fold-out chairs, facing a blank projector screen, for about an hour now. Geoffrey emailed and said the lecturer was running late. And apparently so is Luka.
“It’s all a lie,” Zhen theorizes between Brenden and me.
“Geoffrey wants us to sit in silence,” Brenden agrees.
“We’re in time-out.”
“No one is coming.”
I stand up, needing to walk around and to mentally separate myself from Brenden and Zhen. My temples pound and my stomach growls. None of us had time to grab food, and it’s already 8 p.m.
I did spare a second to snatch my journal from my bunk.
Even though I’m slightly terrified, I’m giving my list to Luka tonight. No welching. No backing out at last minute. I’ve cemented my decision in my mind.
My palms sweat the longer he’s absent. I slide down the gold wallpaper and sit on the cream carpet, journal clutched tight. I worry that Luka won’t show up and it’s some grand sign from the universe. Telling me that I’m not supposed to reach out to him.
Yelling at me to stop.
I swallow hard and observe my surroundings. Sergei sleeps upright on his chair next to a preoccupied Dimitri who texts on his phone.
Thora reads a paranormal romance novel, and her scowl withdraws when she casts smiles to the door. In the squared window, I spot the outline of her tall boyfriend pacing back and forth. Nikolai has been outside for five minutes, waiting for this to end too.
“Maybe we should feel badly,” Zhen suddenly says from the front row. “We laughed at something inappropriate. We embarrassed our choreographer.”
Dimitri pockets his cell. “You better be joking.”
“I’m not.” Zhen turns partially around. “I can’t expect you to understand, but we are in the wrong. Whether we put together the prank or not.”
Brenden thinks about this. “Zhen’s probably right.”
Dimitri leans back. “And what’s that supposed to mean, Zhen? I can’t understand? Understand what? Sexual harassment? If this is about Baylee’s juggling balls, we’ve been here. She doesn’t care what I call them. I asked.”
I don’t want to take sides in fights that have already ended years ago. Or at least, they were supposed to end.
“This seminar could help everyone,” Thora chimes in, trying to mediate. “I mean, it could be fun? Who knows…?”
Dimitri gives her a once-over. “Fun? Does the chair and the floor excite you too?”
“Dimitri,” Zhen says with the shake of his head.
“I said excite, not arouse.” Dimitri outstretches his arms, but off of Zhen’s stone-cold disapproval, his defenses lower. “Fine. I’ll take the seminar seriously.”
“Thank you.”
My mind reels, and from the floor, I end up saying, “You know who should’ve been called into one of these seminars? Kirk Evans.”
The second I let loose Kirk’s name, Luka saunters inside the conference room. He carries three to-go bags with a bright red Retrograde logo, an Elvis-themed diner inside the Masquerade.
“Who’s Kirk Evans?” Sergei yawns, waking up.
Luka holds my gaze as he nears the cluster of metal chairs. So much is buried beneath that single look—I can’t even uncover all the sentiments. My chest falls in a shallow breath.
“A dick,” Dimitri says curtly.
“What’d he do?” Thora asks. She’s really new to AE and hasn’t been around for the huge drama.
Luka is almost invisible to everyone. He sets down two to-go bags on an empty chair. I have trouble watching anyone else but him.
As the air conditioning kicks in, Brenden zips up his windbreaker, and he answers, “Kirk ‘jokingly’ opened shower curtains on girls.”
“No,” Sergei says, disbelieving.
“Yeah.” Brenden nods. “And he thought it’d be funny to slap all of their asses before opening night.”
Including mine.
Luka looks at me again. Noticing me staring. He actually…he starts to walk over. I sit up straighter, knees bent.
Thora scowls. “Kirk was fired then?”
The room tenses.
“No,” Zhen replies. “He was transferred to Montreal.”
“Last I heard,” Brenden says, “he got a raise.”
Aerial Ethereal might’ve done little to nothing, but Kirk did get decked in the face—by none other than Dimitri Kotova. He doesn’t unearth that fact. He’s competitive when it comes to Nikolai, but with other things, Dimitri doesn’t really ask for praise.
A few feet away from me, Luka glances back at the others. “Hey, I brought food.”
Dimitri reaches for a bag. “Thank God.”
Brenden glares. “Stolen?”
“Greasy?” Zhen wonders, plucking a second bag.
“Receipt’s inside, and it’s mostly grilled chicken and vegetables.”
If he were anyone else, Brenden would immediately say thank you but a painful, awkward second passes. Luka doesn’t acknowledge me until Zhen hands Brenden a to-go container and inspects the contents. My brother finally nods to Luka in appreciation.
Just like that, they all start eating and their irritations about Luka’s tardiness vanishes. His generosity goes a long way.
I’d say it was all a ploy, but he probably would’ve brought food regardless of being late.
Without a word, like this is as common as any other day, Luka sits right beside me.
Knees bent, leaning against the wall. We’re so close that I see the rise and fall of his chest when he breathes.
I inhale. His shampoo must be citrusy, but he smells mostly like peppermint candy. It’s a scent that I want to lean into, but I’m afraid to risk it in front of Dimitri.
His cousin is eyeing us a little, but he’s mostly busy eating.
I watch Luka open his paper to-go bag. He pulls out candy boxes of Swedish Fish, Hot Tamales, and then a can of original Pringles. Lastly, he hands a plastic container to me.
I put my journal on my lap and grip the container. Snapping the lid open, my heart skips.
He bought me a grilled cheese.
I’m floored for a second. That he remembered how much I like grilled cheese, especially after my dad died. That he thought about me when he ordered.
My throat closes. I don’t think I’ll ever find someone like him. The thought devastates me, but I’m also just happy to have this moment. Torn. I wonder if I’ll always be torn when I’m near him now.
“Thanks,” I say quietly.
Luka nods and pops a can of Fizz Life. Gently, he tilts his head towards me and speaks hushed so no one else can hear. “You’ll tell me if I overstep or anything? The line’s kind of…fuzzy.” The intensity of his gray eyes pummel me. It’s like he’s asking if I’m okay with him moving closer in my life or if it’s too uncomfortable for me. Wondering if I’m scared.
I am scared.
I’m terrified, but I want more of him. So much. “Yeah,” I say, breathless. “Actually, I need to ask you—”
“Hey, you two,” Dimitri calls us out loudly and makes a gesture that means separate.
All eyes plaster onto us, and the chatter dies down. I reluctantly pick myself off the floor and carry my grilled cheese and journal.
Luka follows.
When I sink beside my brother, he shakes his head at me.
“What?” I whisper with a shrug. I could cry. I’m just…I hate this. I hate lying to Brenden, and I hate that he believes the worst about Luka. To the point where I can’t even sit next to him without seeming weak and disloyal.