Love Is in the Air (17 page)

Still, their presence taints the entire show. By the time intermission comes around—right after a really fast-paced juggling act done by five guys to jazz music—my stomach is in knots. Megan stands and stretches, arching her back more than is probably needed. Show-off. Branden stands a moment after. She takes his hand and guides him out into the lobby.

“Did you want to mingle?” Riley asks.

“No, thanks,” I respond. “I think I'll just stay here.”

“Suit yourself.”

She and the boys leave. I stand and stretch but don't leave my spot. It's stupid and I can't believe I'm hiding in here, but I really don't want to see Megan and Branden together. It's bad enough knowing they're out there right now.

Ugh. I'm so pathetic.

“Jenn?”

I turn around. It's the boy from earlier, the one who complimented me after practice. I almost didn't recognize him without his practice clothes—he's in a button-down shirt with a bow tie. It looks like he's going to the opera, rather than a circus. He starts walking down the row toward me.

“Hi, um . . .” I trail off, because I don't think I ever got his name.

“Luke,” he says. He extends his hand. “Sorry, guess I never introduced myself before.”

“It's okay.”

“Enjoying the show?”

I glance around. The place is still empty, but I'm not really looking for anyone. Staring at empty space is just a lot easier than making eye contact with Luke; his gaze is intense, and I don't know the last time a guy's looked at me like that besides Branden. Like they say: When it rains, it pours.

“Yeah,” I respond, not meeting his eyes. That's when I catch a familiar silhouette in the door. Well, two silhouettes—Branden and Megan have perfect timing. I look back to Luke ­immediately.

“Cool,” he says. His hands are stuffed in his pockets, and for a moment he bites his lip, which makes him look incredibly young. “Hey, um. You seem really cool and stuff. Would you maybe want to go to the dance with me?”

I open my mouth, slightly aghast. Definitely not where I thought this conversation was going: I'm used to being the girl who'd be asked if her best friend was taken or not. Why in the world was he asking me? Especially when I don't even know him. I think of Josh and being stood up, wonder if maybe this is the same thing. I'm about to say no out of habit—I mean, obviously this is some sort of mistake or mix-up—but then I see the way Megan's clinging to Branden. They're only a few rows away. Branden makes eye contact with me for just a second, then looks
the other way, somewhat abashed. That's all the sign I needed. There's no way he'll be asking me, and I don't want to be going alone. Even Riley mentioned having her boyfriend Sandy driving out for the dance and final show.

So, once Branden's within earshot, I turn on Showbiz Jennifer and give Luke my most dazzling smile.

“Sure,” I say, beaming. “I'd love to go to the dance with you.”

I keep smiling and hope—really, desperately hope—that Branden sees it. I don't know why, really. It's not like I want revenge. I just want him to see that I'm not lost without him. Even if I did wish it was him standing in Luke's shoes right now. This is precisely what I wish I could have done to Josh after he stood me up—showed him my life wasn't over, and that he was missing out.

“Great,” Luke says. The nervousness fades from him in an instant. “Well, um, looks like the show's about to start. I'll see you later.”

Then he makes his way toward his seat, brushing into Megan and Branden as he goes. He looks back at me before sitting down. The smile he gives is oddly comforting. When the show begins, I find I'm not so bothered by Megan and Branden anymore. Life might actually be on the upswing.

•  •  •

Later that night, when we're back in the dorm and Riley's finally stopped going on about the show (she didn't talk about anything
else the entire ride back), I manage to tell her about Luke. I was considering not saying anything, but after we turned the lights off and I snuggled under the covers, I realized I probably wouldn't get much sleep if I didn't spill.

“Wow,” Riley says when I've filled her in. “That's . . . kind of unexpected.”

“I know, right?” I prop my head on my hand and look over to her. She's already cuddled in, a pile of juggling equipment littering the ground beside her bed. “He's barely spoken to me at all and then—bam! Do you think it's a trap?”

She chuckles. “I don't see how it could be. I mean, it's not like he's going to dump pig's blood on you or anything. Maybe he was just too shy to talk to you earlier. Guys can be shy too.”

“Really? He doesn't strike me as the shy type.”

“Take Sandy,” she says with a dreamy sigh. “He slipped ­anonymous love notes in my locker for almost a month before finally actually saying hello. When he did, he blushed brighter than my hair. It was adorable.”

“I still can't help but think this is something Megan put together.”

“I'm sure she has nothing to do with it. I've never seen those two talking to each other. Why can't you just believe that Luke actually likes you?”

“Years of practice,” I mutter.

“Yeah, well, retrain yourself. You're awesome. Luke recognizes it. Go with it!”

I sigh and reach up to turn off the bedside lamp.

“If you say so,” I say. “But if this is a disaster, I blame it on you.”

“Whatever you say. At least we've got one hurdle out of the way.”

I turn off the light. “What's that?”

“We know you can dance.”

Chapter
Twenty-One

I
tell Kevin and Tyler
all about Luke asking me to the dance over breakfast the next day. Not because I want to, but because Riley forces me into it. They're just as reassuring as she was, saying that my performance was definitely worthy enough to grab any boy's attention. The whole conversation lasts maybe five minutes—then it's right back to discussing the show last night and the different pieces of choreography they want to incorporate into their act. Even Riley gets in on it, discussing some new passes she wants to add into our routine.

“But we perform tomorrow,” I say, my gut dropping.
And we practice in front of everyone else this afternoon!

She just shrugs. “Fortune favors the brave. What's the worst that could happen?”

“I lose an eye, or a tooth, or get knocked unconscious, or fall on my—”

“That was rhetorical,” she says, laughing. “You'll be fine. If we can't work it out by lunch, we don't have to put it in.”

“Right,” I say. “I'm not so sure I believe you.”

“I wouldn't,” Tyler says, leaning across the table. “I know that look: You're stuck with her crazy ideas whether you want to be or not.”

•  •  •

Practice that morning is a nightmare. Riley wasn't kidding about trying new tricks, and she also wasn't kidding about only putting in the ones that we master. The trouble is, that means she's not letting things slide; no, she runs the passes over and over again.
Mastery
isn't really an option—it's a demand. Every practice before this was filled with idle conversation about where we grew up and what movies we were looking forward to. She doesn't talk at all during this, save for calling out drills and telling me what I'm doing wrong. Her tongue sticks out between her lips with determination, and after an hour and a half, I'm not the only one sweating.

Still, after the first hour, we've managed to nail down three new passes. Even the coach, Jim, comes over to tell us he's impressed with our progress. This doesn't mean Riley backs off in intensity, though; she immediately begins working the new passes into our old routine, blocking us through choreography and counting beats and calling moves. It's a miracle I'm able to keep up. I think, after
Tyler's training for the talent show, my body somehow managed to figure out how to remember choreography. Which is very impressive, seeing as my lack of muscle memory was a huge reason I never took dance.

The last hour of practice is for getting the entire juggling group in sync. We need to fit all of our individual acts together into a cohesive whole. Thankfully, there aren't too many of us, and after a few minutes of chatting, we have everything basically plotted out. Riley and I are scheduled to go on first, since we already have everything choreographed to music. I could cry in relief—after spending all that time waiting during the talent show, I don't think there's any way I could do it again. I can only hope my luck holds and the jugglers will be among the first to perform, like in the show we saw last night.
Don't let us be the finale!
The rest of the jugglers will filter in after us, and a few are going to just do some passes in the background of Riley and me. It should be simple. Fun. We've got upbeat music and crazy tie-dye costumes dredged up from the depths of the costuming department. Kevin had been pretty off in his guess of theme: We're doing Psychedelic Seventies.

My adrenaline is high when Riley and I leave the practice tent and head toward lunch. My stomach is also grumbling like it hasn't eaten in a month.

“We're going to kill it tomorrow,” Riley says, beaming. She slaps me on the back. “Just make sure you don't mess up the ­‘chocolate bar,' and we'll be golden.”

“I'll do my best,” I respond, once more wondering who named these moves.
No pressure or anything.

“Hey, Jennifer!” someone calls from behind. I pause, feeling my heart drop to my toes. I turn and try to give Luke a winning smile.

“Hey,” I respond.
Smooth, smooth.

“How was practice?” he asks, catching up and matching my pace. I glance to Riley, who gives me a hopeful smile and a thumbs-up before walking a few steps away.

“It was good,” I respond. Suddenly I'm really wishing eloquence was my thing. I was never this tongue-tied talking to Branden. He was just so easy to be around. “How about you?”

“Great!” he says. “Everything really came together last minute. It's gonna be explosive. I can't wait for you to see it.”

“Likewise,” I say. We're nearly to the door, and my skin is practically crawling at how awkward it is trying to make conversation with him. I just hope that he doesn't try to talk at the dance tonight. It's not that he's creeping me out or anything—I can't really put my finger on it, but it just feels weird. And now that Megan's not around to one-up, I'm starting to doubt my choice of saying yes to him. “Um, what are you doing in the show?”

“Cyr wheel,” he says. “It's that big metal hoop thing. I get to spin around and try not to throw up.”

I laugh, because I know that's what I'm supposed to do, but in the back of my head I can only think of Branden's Cyr wheel performance at the demonstration at the beginning of camp. It
seems like forever ago, but it was only a few days. Crazy.

“Awesome. I don't think I could do that. I get sick on the teacups at Disney.”

“Me too,” he chuckles. “I don't know why I do it to myself. Maybe because it looks so cool.”

We step into the cafeteria, and I catch sight of Tyler and Kevin already sitting at the table, talking animatedly. Tyler catches sight of me and waves.

“Well,” I say, trying to come up with a non-insulting reason to leave Luke in the lunch line. I can't think of anything. “Guess I'll see you at rehearsal?”

“Guess so,” he says. He sounds a little disappointed, but I don't know if I can stand much more time chatting with him. When I leave his side and head over to the boys, I realize why.

Branden stands up at a table near the back and my heart does a double take. Even though Luke asked me to the dance, even though Branden's apparently completely entranced by Megan, seeing him still causes butterflies in my stomach.

You still like him,
I think.
And because of that, going to the dance with Luke makes you feel like a traitor.

I shake my head and try to push the thoughts out of my mind when I sit down across from Tyler, but it doesn't help.

I still have feelings for Branden. And unless one of us makes a move soon, camp will be over before it comes to anything.

Chapter
Twenty-Two