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I found them in the biggest tent in the middle of the circus, practicing.
Or, one of the Singh Sisters and a man were practicing. Then there was Folsom, hanging from a long piece of fabric so high up that I couldn’t even see her eyes.
I walked up to where JP was sitting and took the spot next to her.
JP looked over and smiled. “Look, I saw you coming.”
I blinked and looked over at what appeared to be some sort of map. On it was a red dot that clearly hovered over where we were currently sitting.
“Your mom put a tracker on me?” I questioned.
She smiled. “Actually, this one was me. I did it. I wanted to know where you were. But Mom has her own tracker. She doesn’t know you’re here, though. There was a girl that was supposed to perform with Caristonia, but something happened. Appendicitis, I think they said. She’s scared of heights, but all they really need her up there for is to look pretty and sparkly. So she’s doing it.”
I looked up.
She did look pretty and sparkly in her outfit. Her hair was down, and her dress was flowing.
I could definitely see how the circus enticed people to come watch with a vision like that.
That didn’t stop my freakin’ heart from pounding a mile a minute seeing her up there.
“She looks pretty,” I agreed. “Is this act happening tonight?”
“Yeah,” JP nodded. “Do you want some fake Skittles?”
“Fake Skittles?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she showed me the bag. They were boring ol’ white.
“No red dye?” I asked curiously.
“No red dye,” she confirmed. “Mom has been practicing on those for a while now,” she indicated the long sheets. “Though, she’s usually not more than ten feet off the floor. I asked her if I could do it, and she said no. The bruising was too bad for someone as small as me. She’s gonna be black and blue in the morning from that fabric wrapped around her thighs.”
I looked at the fabric again. It was wrapped rather tight.
And from the information I’d been able to procure on her and JP’s disease, they bruised very easily.
I wondered how easily, though. Would a simple bump into a corner bruise? Would holding them too tightly result in trauma?
I took three of her fake Skittles and popped them into my mouth.
They tasted like cardboard.
Poor kid.
“Do you like them?” she asked curiously.
I continued to chew, wishing I had some water to wash the cardboard slash fake Skittles down with.
“Ummm,” I hesitated.
“I know,” she nodded. “They tried. I guess that’s all I can ask for, right?”
I looked down at her with a wink. “Have any water?”
Giggling and making my heart feel like it was ten times lighter, she handed me her bottle of water that looked to be barely touched. I took a drink and handed it back.
She eyed it. “Mama told me never to drink after anyone because boys have bad stuff.”
