A Magician Never Tells His Secrets

The week went by. And then another. I told myself I was too busy to go over to the Lost Kid’s camp. Too busy to go to see Tori in her show. But I was lying.
In truth I was avoiding him. There were always two conflicting emotions I felt when I thought about him. Curiosity and fear. They were the main ones. Not to mention being in awe of his beauty, and chagrin when I knew how sad it was for me to be so obsessed.
But that wasn’t the only reason I steered clear of that side of the showground. I didn’t want to push my new friendships. Daw and I were really close, and Liam I considered to be my friend as well. I knew how they felt about the other half of the camp, so I stayed away.
I was more certain about my actions in the second week of my being there.
It was hot in the little town we were staying in, bordered by dry fields of wheat and under the omnipresent gaze of the sun. None of the caravans had air conditioning so to cool off everyone sat around in the afternoons before a show. It was the day before our last in that town, and the temperature was 98.
Liam and I were sitting precariously near the other camp, due to the fact the largest tree happened to be right near where they had set up. He was smoking and I was sipping a coke, which had perspiration dripping down the can.
We weren’t talking. Liam was in a foul mood and I was too hot. All it took was some smart mouth Gypsy kid to walk past, eye Liam and snort a laugh, for the latter to jump him. It took two Russians and Shaoran to break up the fight and drag Liam away. I saw Vera glaring at him so strongly I was afraid she’d set a hex on him or something.
Since then I haven’t even contemplated going over.
I wasn’t miserable though. There was so much to do, so much to see, that I didn’t have time to worry about him or Tori. Or worry about him and Tori.
After a fortnight we packed up again and hit the road.
Daw drove while I enjoyed the uncomfortable ride with Peter, Shaoran and his sister Mayling. I hadn’t talked to Peter Prescott in weeks, yet suddenly he was smirking at me from the front seat. The car was silent. But our silences were all different.
Daw’s was an angry silence. She was mad that Peter always insisted on riding with her, even though he only did it to ruffle her fur. Shaoran held a distrusting, hostile silence. I knew he didn’t trust Peter as far as he could throw him. I wouldn’t trust him either due to the fact that Peter kept making kissing noises to Mayling, who looked about to cry. Her silence was shy and scared; a different type of mistrust.
My silence was uncomfortable.
We stopped at a diner and Daw went around the side of the building to call Liam. He drove his own car and Daw told me he always sped. She wanted to make sure he wasn’t lying in a morgue.
Peter said he was going to the bathrooms so Mayling, Shaoran and I went inside to order.
“How could she submit to bring that fool?” Shaoran spat as we waited in line. I looked up at him, his strong brow arched down.
I said nothing, but went outside to find Daw.
The sun glinted of the pavement and made my eyes water. I was almost at the corner when I heard Daw’s voice.
“Okay, I’ll talk to you later. Keep to the speed limit. Yeah. Bye.”
I kept my pace and was about to turn when someone else spoke.
“I don’t like that guy.”
It was Peter. I stopped walking.
Daw sighed. “Can we not do this again? I’m sick of talking about this.”
“Well, you’re so worried about the guy. If it was anyone else in my place they’d be jealous.” His voice was lofty, as if he didn’t care. But I could hear the tension in his tone. My brain was ticking into overdrive. No way . . .
“What do you want me to do?” She said in a strained voice. “I won’t abandon Liam.”
“But you would, right? You would if it meant you could be with me.”
Her silence spoke more then her words.
“What’s the point of these hypotheticals?” She groaned. “Even if I did, it still wouldn’t be the end of our problems. No one will ever accept us. And you wouldn’t make me ditch Liam anyway.”
I heard Peter breath out a laugh, his voice gentle.
“True. I love you too much.”
“You love me so much you have to flirt with other girls, tease me all the time, and call me ugly…” Her voice was accusing, but only half-heartedly.
“You know I have to do it,” he said sadly. “If I tell you you’re beautiful will it make up for it?”
“Yes.”
He didn’t though. I heard the sound of their lips breaking apart and reconnecting. I stumbled back inside in a daze.