“Yeah.”
I start typing, trying to figure out what to say to my older brother as Luka. This is bad. Bad, bad, bad. “We’re going to hell for this,” I tell Luka.
His lips stretch. “At least we’ll be together.”
I lean into him, and he wraps his arm around my shoulders, kissing the top of my head like usual. The tension lessens in my limbs, and I breathe easier. “There.” Pressing send, I flash the phone at him.
Luka reads my message.
I’m being truthful. I really have no idea where she is. If I hear from her, I’ll let you know. Thanks :) Luka tilts his head at a me. “A smiley face?”
“What? It’s nice and a tone indicator.”
He shakes his head again and starts laughing, which causes me to laugh just as much. The noises cease the moment another ping resounds, his phone in my hand.
The text isn’t from Brenden.
Come dance with me at Hex!! I’ll be there at 1 :DD – Timo I wonder how many people have been texting Luka tonight.
Luka sees the message from his little brother. “I’ll reply back later.”
Another text.
Ok – Brenden That’s better than before, at least.
Luka stands and gestures to the bathroom, where he’s headed, but before he leaves, he says, “You can look at my messages.”
“Are you sure?”
“I can tell you’re curious.”
I am curious, but I’m afraid I’ll see something I won’t want to know.
“Okay,” is all I say before he disappears. I waver but then tap into his feed of text messages from the top senders.
Timo’s going to Hex tonight. Can you keep an eye on him? – Nik How do you have a fake ID and I don’t have one? :( -- Katya The next thread is from earlier tonight, so Luka has already replied.
Send me a pic of your blind date – Dimitri No. – Luka She that ugly? – Dimitri stfu – Luka Someone needs to get laid. – Dimitri It’s normal. Nik being concerned and asking Luka for help. Katya getting older. Dimitri being crude. I like that he let me see his family-life.
When Luka returns, I use the bathroom and then we order room service: creamy pasta, which I only eat when I don’t have practice the next day, and a bottle of whiskey.
I curl up against him on the bed, and we spend the next couple of hours eating, drinking (a lot), laughing (even more), and watching old reruns of Princesses of Philly.
“Wait, shh,” I say as one of the most climactic scenes of PoPhilly appears on screen. I lie against Luka’s chest, and he leans against the headboard, his arm draped over my shoulder, and we both sip our fourth—fifth or sixth glass of whiskey?
I don’t know.
Maybe less, maybe more. Who’s counting?
Luka is smiling, near-laughter. Where I’m a passionate-talker drunk, he’s a happy drunk.
On-screen, an altercation breaks out between Loren Hale’s half-brother and the youngest Calloway sister’s model boyfriend.
Punches are thrown, and then Julian, the boyfriend, touches his swollen eye and glares at Daisy Calloway, his young teenage girlfriend. But Julian and Daisy are no longer together, for obvious reasons.
“You’re just going to f**king stand there?!” Julian yells at her.
“What do you want from me?” Daisy Calloway looks petrified of her own boyfriend.
Watching the show, Luka grows more serious, his lips down-turning. “I really hope this is all staged.”
I know what he means. I want to reach through the television and protect Daisy Calloway.
Julian retorts, “For you to give me back months of my life that I wasted with you, you stupid c**t.”
“Jesus,” Luka mutters like he’s never seen the episode before, but this scene is still hard to watch the tenth time. I lower the volume. And he suddenly says, “I’m terrified of my sister growing up.”
“Technically she’s already grown up.”
Luka looks down at me. “You know she’s been saving up her money for something—and I don’t even know what it is.”
“Makeup,” I say.
“What?” He scrunches his face, but smiles wide.
I sip my whiskey and laugh off his smile. “You know makeup is really expensive.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” I kind of slur. I can’t believe I’m slurring, but then I can. “I guess it costs a lot to produce and package eye shadow and lipstick—”
He laughs. “No, Bay, why is she spending all this money on makeup?”
I shrug. “She’s figuring out who she is, and she wants to be more Posh-like.”
Luka nods, comprehending it now. “I guess it’s better than what I thought.”
“Which was?”
“She was saving up for a plane ticket to see our parents.”
I don’t see why that’s bad, and he must read my expression because he adds, “According to Nik, they really don’t want to see any of us since we’d have to take days off work. Be professional.”
The way he says be professional, I have a feeling he’s mimicking his father.
His phone suddenly chimes. Mine buzzes.
We search in the depths of the twisted sheets and covers, and I finally find my phone the same time as him.
Email notification.
We both read silently.
Date: February 28th Subject: MANDATORY PRACTICE TOMORROW
From: GeoffreyLesage, Choreographer Bcc: Baylee Wright, and other undisclosed recipients
Infini Artists:
I was not impressed by your clear lack of motivation today. No more lunch breaks. You don’t have tomorrow off. In fact, there are no free days from here on out. Be on Infini’s stage at 5 a.m. sharp tomorrow.
No exceptions.
Geoffrey Lesage
Infini Choreographer [email protected]
Holy shit.
It’s already 3 a.m.
We have practice in two hours.
“Fuck,” Luka curses. Fuck feels like an understatement. I’m drunk. I ate heavy food, and chances are, more than half of Infini’s cast is completely and totally wasted.
Act Twenty-Four Baylee Wright
46 Days to Infini’s Premiere
“What the hell was that shit-show?” Geoffrey nearly yells, shutting off the opening score to Infini before it plays through.
Dripping in sweat, 47 hung-over artists—including me—are scattered across the stage of a beautiful globe auditorium dedicated to Infini.
We’ve performed the opening dance and acrobatic sequence fifteen times already. I also have to juggle eight clubs, so I’m desperately trying not to drop one. My head pounds like a jackhammer lives inside my eardrums. I breathe deeply through my nose, and sweat continuously slides down my temples.
Everyone looks just as awful.
Most of the Kotovas are crouched with hands on their heads to keep from puking. Across the stage from me, Luka kneels and concentrates on one spot of the floor.
Beside me, Brenden shuts his eyes from the glaring lights and sways close to Zhen, who wears dark Ray Ban sunglasses for the same reason my brother won’t open his eyes.
I already told Brenden that I was drinking whiskey alone in my room, which spiked his worry, but at least he didn’t think I was with Luka.
Geoffrey scrutinizes us from the midnight-blue velveteen seats down below. This auditorium is identical to the one Amour and Viva share except for the color of the chairs (theirs are red) and the max occupancy.
Their auditorium is intimate and small.
Infini’s is grandiose and way too big. We have double the amount of seats that we need to fill. Which means double the pressure.
Brenden opens one eye to look at the trio of women sitting comfortably in the front row. He sways towards me and whispers, “I wish I were a clown.”
They’re exempt from Geoffrey’s commands because they’re not on stage during the opening number.
I whisper back, “You’re not funny enough to be a clown.”
Zhen laughs beneath his breath.
Brenden nudges me, his lips rising. I nudge back. He forgave me for being standoffish about an hour into practice. Nothing mends tiny spats faster than shared misery.