Grey

But why?

There was no telling what Avery and the others were probably saying about me. This was rapidly moving out of the realm of quirky. This was teetering on insanity. I put my head between my knees and prayed for the bell.

My pride sank to the bottom of my Converse as I stood in front of the call-board, staring at the audition sheet for the drama department’s production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. My name was in the middle of the page. Mitchell had signed me up for auditions, the next afternoon.

The fact that he’d done it while I was hiding out backstage was just plain irritating. If I backed out now, they’d never let me live it down. But I wasn’t an actor and had no intention of embarrassing myself – or Shakespeare – for that matter. As much as it stung my ego, I was going to have to bail out.

As I continued my inner debate, the door to the auditorium opened. Class was over and everyone had filed out to lunch, so I assumed Mitchell had returned to gloat. But no one appeared. Then, someone knocked on Ms Lucian’s door. Since her office was around the corner, I didn’t see who had entered. But I could certainly hear the voice.

‘Excuse me, Ms Lucian. Could I speak with you?’

It was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard.

Ms Lucian gave a polite reply and enquired as to how she could help. The voice spoke again.

‘I’d like to audition for the play, if that’s still possible.’

The teacher gave an enthusiastic affirmative, followed by instructions for finding the call-board.

‘Thank you,’ said the voice.

There was silence. Then I panicked. The voice would soon be at the call-board. I shivered harshly. Something in my gut told me to get out of there before it was too late.

But just as I reached up to scratch off my name, I caught a whiff of perfume. No, not perfume. It wasn’t like the overpowering department store stuff that Emma wore, or even the fresh, fruity concoctions Katie slathered on every morning at her locker. Not that those weren’t nice. But this was more like a scent; exotic, like flowers and spices from some strange place I could never afford to visit. My fingers froze over the ‘4:00’ time slot. Then, another hand hovered over mine, gracefully wielding a pink pen. It wrote a name with a gentle flourish.

Josephine Romany

I couldn’t remember how to breathe.

The voice drifted across my ear. ‘Are you auditioning?’

‘No,’ I managed. ‘No, I’m not.’

There was a delicate intake of breath behind me. My cheeks burned, and my feet felt bolted to the floor. I couldn’t move, much less turn around.

‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream is a great play,’ said the voice: Josephine Romany’s voice. ‘I’m sure they’ll need plenty of guys.’

‘Well, I don’t know about that. I mean, yeah, it’s a great play…I just meant…I mean, I’m not sure yet…about auditioning. I haven’t thought much about it.’

What was I saying?

‘Well, you really should.’ Her voice was liquid sunshine. ‘Everyone should give live performance a chance.’

‘Okay,’ I said, trying desperately to remember why I’d been so intent on scratching my name off in the first place. ‘I’ll do it.’

‘Good.’ There was the click of a pen and the pull of a backpack zipper. ‘Well, I’ve got to stop by the registrar’s office. I’ll see you later…’

She trailed off purposely. My name, I realized with a start. She wanted my name! It took me a second to figure out what it was. ‘Sebastian.’

I smelled that sweet, exotic scent again. It made me dizzy – but a good kind of dizzy – a swirling bliss that I didn’t want to end. I put a hand on the call-board to keep from pitching forward.

‘I’ll see you later…Sebastian.’

The way my name sounded in her voice sent a current of electricity pulsing down my neck. It surged along my skin, unlike anything I’d ever felt before. I turned just in time to catch a glimpse of green shirt passing through the doors. I wiped my hand across my eyes, trying to sort out the craziness in my head.

I felt sick, almost queasy, but also elated, as though I was floating miles above that cloud nine place people talk about. How could such bizarre emotions exist at the same time? And why did they revolve around Josephine Romany; a girl I hadn’t even had the nerve to turn around and meet properly? My gaze drifted to the sign-up sheet. Fate, it seemed, had decided to give me another chance. There, right above my name, was hers.

We were auditioning in the same time slot.

‘You’re auditioning for the play?’ James looked at me incredulously.

‘It’s against my will, believe me.’

I’d barely walked through the door of the shop before he’d started yelling for some fresh paper towels. No one else was around, so I plucked a roll from under the counter. A young woman was his latest victim. She leaned over the back of his leather office chair as the burly man finished up an elaborate rose and butterfly combination on her back. She was quite the bleeder, and James kept dabbing his cloth, mopping up the red droplets seeping through the design.

‘Nice work,’ I commented.

‘Thanks,’ James muttered, concentrating on the last bit of shading. The needle stopped and he grunted in satisfaction. ‘Check it out and see what you think.’

The customer scrutinized her fresh ink using the long wall mirror. ‘It’s great, James,’ she cooed. ‘Thanks a lot.’

The woman left and James followed me into the waiting room. He deposited money into the register. ‘So, why the school play, Sebastian?’ he asked. ‘I didn’t think you were the acting type.’ Before I could answer, he snapped his fingers. ‘Oh, I got it! It’s a girl, isn’t it?’ He rocked back on his heels triumphantly, daring me to disagree.

‘Mitchell signed me up.’ I wasn’t about to mention my encounter at the call-board. The guys gave me a hard enough time about my dating life as it was. ‘As a dare.’

‘School play?’ my brother asked causally as he emerged from his room.

How did Hugo do that? Even fifteen feet down the hall, behind a closed door, and with a tattoo pen buzzing, he’d still managed to hear my news.

‘Yeah,’ I admitted. ‘Auditions are tomorrow.’

‘O-kay.’ He drew the word out sarcastically. I shuffled towards the couch. ‘Hey, don’t sit down yet,’ he said. ‘I need you to pick up some Chinese takeout. We’ve got a busy evening.’

I sighed and held out my hands, waiting for Hugo to fork over the money. ‘I don’t get paid enough for this.’

He grinned back at me. ‘Yeah, you do.’

I ran the errand, and within minutes, we were all sitting around the coffee table, piling up plates of Mongolian Beef. I didn’t have the healthiest of diets, I realized, as I topped mine off with a helping of crab Rangoon.

‘So what do you have to do for this big audition tomorrow, Sebastian?’ Vincent asked around a mouthful of noodles.

‘Read from the script, I guess.’ I wiped my hands against my jeans before snatching up the last box of rice. ‘I’m scheduled for 4 o’clock.’

Vincent chuckled. ‘You look freaked out.’

‘More like petrified,’ agreed Kris.

I pressed my fork into the carton, smashing the rice until it resembled mashed potatoes. ‘Well, it’s just…there’s this new girl in school…’

‘I knew it!’ James declared. ‘You’ve got a thing for her!’

Ugh. It was like having a pack of annoying big brothers.

‘No, I don’t, James.’ I raised my fork and stared at the chunk of disfigured rice clinging to it. ‘I figured I’d be up on stage with Katie, or even Mitchell. But this girl’s the only one in my time slot. I’m just a little nervous, I guess.’

Kris whistled. ‘Must be one intimidating chick.’

‘That’s just it. I don’t even know her.’ I took a bite and chewed thoughtfully before continuing. ‘But, you know, the strange thing is, when I heard her name yesterday, I got this really weird feeling that I should. I can’t explain it.’

Hugo shoved his plate aside. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘Well, because it’s not possible. She’s new at school – as in – she literally just registered for class. Katie says she’s part of that carnival that came into town yesterday. It’s called the Circe de…’

‘We know the one,’ Hugo said curtly.

Everyone paused.

Then Kris cleared his throat. ‘Well, I think you’ll ace it, Sebastian.’

Vincent jumped in. ‘Still can’t figure out why you’d want to audition for something like that, girl or no girl.’

‘I’m just doing it to save face, Vincent. It’s not like Ms Lucian will cast me.’

My brother returned to his food, as did the others, and we passed the rest of the meal in silence. But the room felt tense, and I began to wonder if Hugo had issues with the carnival, or maybe somebody who worked there. Hugo was pretty opinionated. Whatever the case, I could tell he wasn’t going to talk about it that night, and I’d learned, if I pushed my brother for details when he was in shut-down mode, I found myself with an additional list of chores.

I had way too many chores already.

After dinner, I bagged everything up and hauled it out to the dumpster behind the strip mall. The air was cool, and a gentle breeze rustled through the treetops. The stars were barely visible through the haze of city lights. I loved the night. Everything was quiet, peaceful. Comfortable. I sighed contentedly, despite the fact that I was carrying smelly trash to an even smellier dumpster.

When I returned, the crew had cleared out, but Hugo was waiting for me. He motioned me to follow him down the hall. Something about the way he squared his shoulders as he stepped inside his workroom made me uneasy.

‘Sit down, kid.’ He patted the second-hand dentist’s chair he used for costumers. ‘I think it’s time you had a little initiation.’

My eyes widened. ‘Are you serious?’

Hugo had always been against my getting a tattoo, which was a little hypocritical of him, in my opinion. I was the legal age, and I was planning on going into the business after graduation. I couldn’t see his hang-up. But every time I mentioned it, he’d tell me there was no need to rush. A tattoo artist telling someone not to rush into a tattoo? Something had to be wrong with that picture.

I eased into the room with about as much confidence as a rat approaching a chunk of cheese in a trap. ‘So what’s changed?’

Hugo positioned his rolling chair, and a strange look flashed across his face, followed quickly by a cool smile. ‘I thought you might need a little good luck for the audition tomorrow.’

I settled into the orange fabric of the dentist’s chair and regarded my brother suspiciously. This wasn’t the Hugo I was used to; the one who treated me like a kid. Auditioning for a high school play didn’t seem important enough to change his strict opinion. But here he was, setting up his workstation for my tattoo.

My tattoo.

‘Wait.’ I sat up rigidly. ‘Just what exactly did you have in mind?’

Sure, I wanted to be inked, but I hadn’t actually decided what I wanted yet. Hugo didn’t answer. He meticulously poured ink into small containers and then mixed the colors. He used black and white, as well as a shimmering silver ink I didn’t remember seeing in his supplies.

‘What’s that?’ I questioned, pointing to the ink.

‘It’s a new color I’ve been wanting to try,’ he said, flatly, absorbed in his preparations. Okay, so maybe I wasn’t a rat. I was a guinea pig. But all the guys in the shop had been the test subject for one tattoo project or the other over the years. Looked like it was my turn now.

When Hugo was ready, he grabbed the pen, his demeanor business-like. His foot hovered over the pedal. ‘Ready?’

‘No stencil sketch? No Sharpie drawing?’

In all the times I’d watched Hugo at work, I had never seen him simply take the needle to skin. He put a hand on my shoulder. The smile that tightened his lips was genuine enough, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

‘Trust me,’ he said. Hugo’s eyes glazed as if he was concentrating on something only he could see. He shoved up the left sleeve of my jacket and flipped my arm over, exposing the pale skin along the inside of my wrist. ‘Now, hold still.’

I swallowed hard. ‘Don’t do something stupid, please.’

Hugo didn’t respond. He was already focused on his task. His foot pressed the pedal, and the familiar hum of the pen filled the air. I looked away, setting my jaw in preparation. The initial touch stung, the needle moving in and out of my skin so fast that my arm tingled. The tingle grew into pain which intensified as Hugo began to carve a design into the tender flesh of my wrist.

Adrenaline kicked in, engulfing my body in an exciting buzz. But my arm ached, sort of like the time I’d hit my elbow weird on the edge of the counter while dodging one of James’s wrestling moves. It made my eyes water, and I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to laugh or let out a string of unpleasant words. Though I was tempted to watch the process, I focused on the wall. At last, the mechanical drone of the pen ceased. The wheels of Hugo’s rolling chair squeaked as he pulled away from me.

‘You’re done.’ He sounded oddly relieved. ‘Go ahead, check it out.’

The tattoo was black and gray – Hugo’s specialty – but I was startled by the design. Permanently inked into my wrist was a dandelion flower. Each gray petal was painstakingly detailed and eerily lifelike. The stem and two jagged leaves wrapped around the outside of my wrist. Of all the things I thought Hugo might be putting on my skin, this image didn’t even appear on the radar. I could feel my brother waiting for my reaction.

‘What is this?’ I asked, stunned.

Hugo tossed a wad of paper towels into the trash. ‘I think my artwork’s pretty decent. Can’t you tell?’

‘I know what it is, Hugo. I mean, why this? I was expecting tribal artwork or, at the very least, something black and tacky. But…a flower?’ The shock was wearing off. Had my foster brother seriously just inked me with a dandelion?

‘It’s what you’re supposed to have.’ The tone of Hugo’s voice squelched my rising irritation. ‘Don’t doubt your brother, Sebastian.’

James’s bearded face appeared in the doorway. ‘Look who’s finally been initiated, Vince!’ he boomed over his shoulder. ‘Sebastian’s gotten his first ink!’

Vincent entered the room and grabbed my arm. His gaze flicked briefly to Hugo, who was leaning against the wall, watching silently. I felt that vibe again, as if there was something they were keeping from me. My shoulders tightened.

‘So what’s really going on, guys? Is this some kind of joke?’

‘Not at all,’ Hugo replied. ‘We’ve been talking about your apprenticeship for a while. And I’ve finally decided that you’re ready.’

I blinked, still leery. ‘That’s it?’

‘I was going to surprise you next week, but in light of your audition tomorrow, I thought you could use a little good news. So, what do you say, Sebastian? Are you ready to join us?’

‘So that’s what all the weirdness has been about? All the talking behind my back was because you were keeping this a secret?’

James snapped his fingers. ‘Yep, you got us.’

I stared at my new tattoo. The elegant detail Hugo crafted into it made the dandelion look ancient, not just minutes old; as though I’d always had it there, perched gracefully along my wrist. ‘So what does this dandelion have to do with being an apprentice?’

The others looked at Hugo, but he kept his gaze on me, regarding me carefully. ‘Not much, actually. It’s more a matter of clan tradition.’

‘Clan?’ I glanced around the room, but the others continued staring at my brother. ‘Am I missing something here?’

‘We’re Gypsies, Sebastian,’ said Hugo.

‘Well, that explains a lot.’

‘I’m serious.’

‘Gypsies?’ I repeated, sitting up straighter. I thought about the shop, its name, and all the paraphernalia. Even the folk music they’d occasionally play in the lobby. I’d always assumed it was just a theme; a gimmick for the tattoo parlor. ‘You mean like, real Gypsies?’

‘Yeah,’ he replied. ‘Like real Gypsies.’

‘So, what, do you like tell fortunes on the side?’ I quipped, still convinced this was part of the joke. ‘Got a crystal ball hidden under the counter I don’t know about?’

‘Don’t believe all the crap you see in movies, Sebastian.’ Hugo began cleaning up the workspace. ‘My parents come from a long line of Roma.’

It had only been over two years since Zindelo and Nadya Corsi had left for Europe, but I had a hard time remembering their faces. ‘Roma?’

‘Some people consider the term “Gypsy” disrespectful,’ Hugo continued. ‘It’s a name given to us by the gadje, the non-Roma. The truth is we’ve been called lots of things: Travelers, Black Dutch, Tinkers, you name it. But Gypsy suits us just fine.’ He crossed his arms, looking proud. ‘You could say we move in different circles.’

James cuffed me on the shoulder. ‘That just means we do our own thing around here.’

I glanced at my brother, feeling the sting of betrayal. ‘Why haven’t you ever told me?’

‘You never asked,’ Hugo replied lightly, but his smile faded as he caught my look. ‘I picked my own time to tell you, Sebastian. Who we are…our lineage…it isn’t something to be taken lightly. It’s important that this remain a secret from anyone outside of the Roma.’ The corner of his mouth tightened. ‘We keep a low profile.’

‘Who is we?’

Hugo flicked his head at the others. ‘Clans are made up of different Gypsy families, with one head family usually in charge. We all belong to the same clan: the Corsi.’

I stared at the men; the ones I’d come to regard as family. I’d never seen them so serious before. Suddenly, they didn’t look like the same ragtag gang of tattoo artists who hung around my brother’s apartment and doted on me like a kid brother.

‘And the flower?’ I asked again, holding up my arm.

‘The dandelion’, Hugo corrected, ‘is symbolic. It’s been used by all the Outcast clans for centuries. It represents persistence and survival.’

‘So it’s a good thing, right?’

Hugo laughed; an oddly choked sound. ‘Of course it is, Sebastian. Why else would I have given it to you?’

‘I don’t know. Payback, maybe? For all the times I bugged you about getting a tattoo?’

‘It’s an important part of our heritage,’ he explained. ‘I wanted to wait until the right time, that’s all.’

I studied my foster brother, trying to take it all in. Thinking of Hugo as a Gypsy was just, well, weird.

He knelt next to my chair. ‘But keep that heritage bit to yourself, Sebastian. There’s a lot more of us than you might think, and not all clans get along.’

‘What, like rival gangs or something?’

Vincent snorted from across the room. ‘Hardly.’

‘We just like to stay out of each other’s way,’ said James.

‘I’m starting to get that,’ I replied, looking at him dubiously.

‘But it’s nothing you need to worry about,’ Hugo interjected. ‘Just don’t go telling all your friends that you live with a bunch of Gypsies, okay?’ His smile returned. ‘Low profile, remember.’

‘A funny request, coming from a guy who named his shop the Gypsy Ink.’

He looked smug. ‘Ever heard of hiding in plain sight?’

‘Okay, okay,’ I relented. ‘I’ll keep your little secret. But I do have one question.’

‘Shoot.’

‘If you’re Gypsies, what does that make me?’

A singular look came into Hugo’s eyes. ‘Does it really matter?’

I frowned. ‘No, I guess not.’

‘Good.’ Hugo held out his hand. ‘Then welcome to the clan.’

4. Rise and Fall

I was pouring a glass of orange juice the next morning when Hugo shuffled into the kitchen. He was rarely ever up before nine, and it was only a little after seven. ‘Hey,’ I murmured, cautiously. Hugo was about as much of a morning person as I was.

He almost smiled, which I took as a good sign, so I proceeded to make myself a heaping bowl of cereal as he fumbled with the coffee maker. I curled up at the kitchen table, and after Hugo poured his coffee, he joined me.

‘So how’s the tat?’ he asked over the rim of his mug. I set down my spoon and pulled up the sleeve of my shirt. Hugo gave it a casual glance, and then a double take. He lowered his mug. ‘Whoa,’ he breathed, suddenly awake.

‘Okay, not the response I was expecting,’ I said, checking out my arm to see the cause. The top layer of skin had peeled away during the night, leaving the design intact, glaringly detailed against my pale skin. I shifted my glance to Hugo, bewildered. ‘What is it?’

Hugo took my wrist, held it closer, and examined the tattoo with an expert’s eye. ‘I’ve never seen a tat heal this fast,’ he commented. ‘There’s no redness, no swelling.’ He ran a finger over the dandelion. ‘Is it tender?’

‘Nope.’

Hugo dropped my arm – almost too quickly – it seemed. ‘Guess you’re a fast healer, kid.’

‘Or maybe I just heal faster than Gypsies do,’ I ventured. ‘We should run a study or something.’ My brother returned to his coffee, ignoring my attempt at humor. I gritted my teeth, still not completely over my feelings from the night before. Hugo had always been pretty guarded, but I didn’t think he’d keep me in the dark about something he considered this important. ‘Sorry,’ I said after a few minutes of silence, choosing to push away the left-out feeling. ‘It’s just that I’m having a hard time believing you guys are Gypsies.’

‘Why? Everyone has a heritage, Sebastian. We all come from somewhere.’

I jammed my spoon into my cereal. ‘Yeah, I guess you’re pretty lucky to know yours.’

I could feel Hugo’s eyes on me, but I didn’t press the issue; either about my foster brother’s Gypsy roots or the lack of my own. I was dangerously late for school already. I polished off a third bowl of cereal without saying another word. Hugo still hadn’t finished his coffee by the time I dumped my leftover milk and grabbed my backpack.

‘Well, I’ve gotta get to school.’

‘Yeah,’ Hugo replied, staring hard into his mug.

I paused in the doorway and tilted my head, trying to figure out if I was being paranoid or if Hugo was acting a little strange. With it being so early in the morning, it was difficult to tell. ‘Okay, well, I’ll see you this afternoon, I guess.’

Hugo snapped out of his preoccupied silence. ‘I expect a full report later on about this whole audition thing,’ he said with a wide grin.

I groaned. I’d almost forgotten about my impending torture. ‘Well, don’t get your hopes up. There won’t be much to report.’

As soon as school ended, I raided the vending machines. My nerves had returned, and with them, my appetite. Lunch had been the equivalent of eating rubber. I polished off three packs of crackers on my way to the auditorium, and was opening my fourth when a sharp pain cut through my wrist. I dropped the package, and wrapped my fingers around my tattoo. Maybe I wasn’t as quick a healer as Hugo thought.

I spread my fingers and examined the dandelion. It looked exactly the same as it had at the breakfast table, but my skin throbbed like bad sunburn. I shook out my arm, collected my spilled snack, and opened the front doors.

No one was in the lobby when I arrived, and I was glad for the chance to collect my thoughts. But just as I leaned against the wall, the door flew open and the stage manager – sporting a clipboard and an attitude – burst into the lobby.

‘Aren’t you in the 4 o’clock slot?’ he demanded.

‘Yeah,’ I replied.

‘Well, you’re late.’

‘What?’ The clock above the door read 3:50. ‘I thought…’

‘Never mind,’ he huffed, cutting me off. ‘The rest of your group’s already inside.’

I followed him in, and the door clanged shut behind me. The stage lights were on, but the rest of the auditorium was dark. The stage manager scurried down the aisle as I found a seat in the back row. On stage, Katie and Avery were in the middle of reading a scene. Avery’s booming voice echoed through the house. He was good.