Levitating Las Vegas(2)
Author: Jennifer Echols

“Ha! Irony. It’s broken, all right, but we make and repair everything ourselves because my dad doesn’t want to give away any of his trade secrets.” She wiggled her fingers spookily on trade secrets because her dad talked about them like they were the Headless Horseman. “But if you want to see some magic . . .”

“I do,” he said quickly. He kept smiling at her, but a blush crept across his cheeks, as if he really liked her but was afraid of looking too eager because then she wouldn’t like him as much—exactly what she was thinking about him.

She inched closer, feeling her own face grow hot. “The other shows around town send my parents complimentary tickets. Sometimes I take my girlfriends with me to the matinee on Saturday, but if you’re not working—”

“Yes!”

“You’re working?” Holly asked, determined to stay cool through her disappointment.

“No! Yes.” He closed his eyes and swallowed. When he looked at her again, his bravado was back. “Yes, I would love to go with you on Saturday. Are you doing research for your future act?”

“Yeah, well . . .” She glanced sidelong at him. He was still listening. “I start talking about this and I feel like the youngster at the family cheese business who’s going to implement all these newfangled, more efficient manufacturing practices and ultimately ruin the family’s tradition of handcrafted cheese. But I swear, my parents are doing essentially the same act they’ve been performing for a decade and a half. Audiences keep paying to see it because nobody can figure out how my dad levitates. He gets written up in the guidebooks as one of the ten biggest mysteries of Las Vegas.”

“Really!”

“Yes,” Holly said proudly. “He is number four. But at some point, my parents have got to update their act, make it more hip and stylish. Otherwise the crowd will start skipping magic altogether in favor of Cirque du Soleil. But my parents won’t listen to me. When I have my own act, I can do what I want, and it will be so cool!”

He narrowed his eyes at her, as if squinting would help him see her more clearly.

“Does that make sense?” she asked, losing her confidence.

“Yeah, but I don’t think it’s like cheese.” He grinned.

As the bell rang to tell them they were late for class, they said a quick good-bye and dashed in opposite directions. Scooting down the hall to math, she marveled that the entire population of the school had cleared out and settled into their desks without her noticing because she’d been so absorbed in Elijah’s gaze. He seemed too easy, standing so close over her, looking so hot, saying such perfect things. She was in heaven. More of his texts floated her through school, through the ballet class her mom insisted she attend to improve her poise onstage, and through her homework, reading the last act of Romeo and Juliet.

It was Monday, her family’s one night off from the casino. Her parents had plans for dinner at an expensive restaurant where it was nearly impossible to get reservations, then cocktails at a high-end club that Holly’s friends would have killed to sneak into. But the Starrs were down-to-earth. Her mom had sighed when she came in from tending the desert garden around their mansion to get ready for the outing. Her dad had been pissed when he realized he would miss the Lakers game. They dressed up in public and occasionally made appearances like this because looking like they were made of money was good for the magic business.

Before they left, her mom made Holly’s dinner (salad with edamame for protein, whole wheat toast, no butter—“We showgirls have to watch our figures, you know”) and sat down with her to make sure she ate it.

“How was school?” her mom asked conversationally as she frowned at her manicure, touching red polish to nicks in her long nails.

Holly swallowed a bite. What she wouldn’t give for a hamburger for dinner, just once! But even edamame tasted okay on the best day of her life. “Elijah Brown asked me to the ninth-grade prom.” She tried to say this casually. She didn’t want to let on how much she liked him, lest she earn herself a lecture on Safe Sex while trying to down her rabbit food. “Maybe you know his mom? She’s a dealer at the casino. He’s so cute and really nice, Mom. Could you pleeeease take me shopping for a prom dress next Saturday morning? And I invited him to go with me to the show that sent us tickets for the matinee, if that’s okay.”

Holly’s mom was younger than Holly’s friends’ moms. The downside was that Holly’s friends wanted to know whether her mom had been an Unwed Pregnant Teen. Holly thought this was likely, considering how often she got the Safe Sex lecture. But she didn’t know for sure. Her parents refused to talk about that or where they came from or anything concerning their family’s origins. They fostered the notion that they were magical gypsies who’d materialized out of thin air—and they were, as far as Holly knew. On the other hand, the upside of having a young mother was that she was still very pretty, if you could see past her thick showgirl makeup.

Now, for the first time, Holly’s mom looked old. As Holly watched, her mom’s face fell into wrinkles Holly had never noticed. Then her mom shouted, “Peter!”

“What?” Holly’s dad walked in, his muscled chest bare.

Without taking her eyes off Holly, her mom said carefully, “Elijah Brown asked Holly to the ninth-grade prom, and she invited him on her own date.”

Holly’s dad’s hands balled into fists. “You’re not going,” he boomed.

Holly was shocked. She’d half expected the Safe Sex lecture. She definitely had not expected this decree, as if she’d done something wrong. She’d never gone on a real date before, but she had to go sometime. “Yes, I am,” she insisted.

“No, you’re not,” her parents said simultaneously. Her dad added, “Not with Elijah Brown, you’re not.”

“What’s the matter with Elijah Brown?” Holly had never heard a single bad thing about him.

Her parents looked at each other.

“Just what you said.” Holly’s mom twisted her largest diamond ring around on her finger. “His mother is a dealer at the casino. We can’t have you fraternizing with the son of a dealer. We have a certain image to uphold.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Holly said. “The diamonds, and the date at the fancy restaurant, and your matching fur coats in March—all that is for the cameras, for the public. It’s not real. Elijah is real.”