Love Is in the Air (9 page)

Chapter
Ten

T
he rest of the afternoon
passes in a fairly contented blur. It's hard to focus on not getting into flying trapeze when there are juggling pins being hurled at my head. Riley's decided she and I are going to do a partner act for the final show. But she wasn't happy with just a normal ground routine, no. She wanted to add “an extra level of danger.”

Which, to her, meant doing the entire routine on top of rolling globes, which are exactly what they sound like—giant plastic balls I'm somehow supposed to balance on while throwing pins. Our coaches taught us how to stand and even walk a little bit, and although I only fell off a few times, I have a feeling it's going to be nearly impossible to combine it with juggling. Still, Riley is relentless with her optimism, and when the first session of practice is over
four hours later, she's already discussing our music choices as we wander over to dinner.

We pass by one of the smaller circus tents—the blue-and-gold one—and Tyler steps out with a couple of other acro kids. He's covered in sweat and chatting animatedly with Kevin. When they walk, the backs of their hands brush.

“Hey, boys,” Riley says, jumping over to walk beside Tyler. “How was practice?”

“Awesome,” Tyler says. “I made it to nine chairs.”

“It was really impressive,” Kevin replies.

The four of us head to the dining room together. We don't talk about TV shows or video games, not like my other friends. No, the entire way there we talk about practice and how sore we are and what we're envisioning our routines will look like. Even though I've only been doing this a day, it's easy to get swept up in it, to start dreaming of my life under the circus lights—albeit in a different act. I won't lie, though—even with Riley's excitement, I'm still a little ashamed I won't be making my big debut on the trapeze rig. It's one of those things I try not to think about, otherwise I just get sad. So I let myself fall into Riley's dream of a fantastic partner act and try to mimic her enthusiasm.

When we get to dinner, however, the exhilaration of practice quickly plummets. Branden is standing in line for food, and Megan's right beside him, one arm looped through his like Riley's doing with me. Only their pose is definitely
not
in friendship. Megan is leaning into Branden and giggling about something
that's probably stupid. He doesn't really react, but he isn't pushing her away, either.

I stop dead. I can't help it.

“Crap,” Riley says, catching my glance. She takes a steady breath and looks at me. “Okay, maybe he
was
playing you.”

“What a jerk,” Tyler says.

“What's going on?” Kevin asks, looking between us and Branden. I shake my head.

“It's nothing,” I respond. “It was never anything.”

Then, before anyone can ask if I'm okay for the hundredth time today, I step forward into the dinner line and do my best to firmly push Branden and his new girlfriend from my mind.

•  •  •

Tyler and Kevin sit with us at dinner, and my friends fill Kevin in on everything that's happened—or, in this case, that hasn't happened—between Branden and me. For my part, I sit facing away from Megan and her new catch and try to ignore everything but my quinoa bake and sautéed greens. Branden is currently the last topic I want to be discussing. Mainly because I want to run over there and scream in his face for toying with me like that.

“What do you think the game will be tonight?” Tyler asks.

“No clue,” I say. “But I'm hoping it doesn't involve dress-up.”

“Oh, come on, you looked so cute as a fairy.”

“I don't care what it is so long as we don't have to run,” Kevin admits. “Seriously, I don't think I've worked out this much all year.”

“This is just day one,” Tyler says. “If you think it hurts now . . .”

“Easy for you to say,” Kevin retorts. “You were doing handstands all afternoon. So I'm going to cross my fingers for dodgeball.”

“Or tennis,” Riley adds.

“Or arm wrestling,” I say.

“I hate you,” Tyler says. “All of you. But especially the redhead.”

“Hey!” Riley and Kevin say at the exact same time. We all burst into laughter.

•  •  •

It turns out that none of our guesses are correct. Thankfully, the night's game doesn't actually involve running, either, so Kevin did partially get his wish. About half an hour after dinner, we all gather back in the gymnasium for the night's game. The lights are low and the radio's playing again. We all settle along the same wall; there are tables set up in the opposite corner, each one covered in a blanket hiding a lumpy mass. A few counselors are wandering back and forth over there, talking to themselves and holding up the blankets to one another so only they can see what's underneath.

“What do you think it is?” Riley whispers.

“I almost don't want to know,” I reply.

The lights go up the moment Olga walks in. Once she appears, everyone goes quiet—we're all waiting for her announcement.

“Good evening, campers!” she says, smiling warmly. “I hope you all had a great first day. I've spoken with the coaches, and they agree that each and every one of you has brought a great deal of talent on board. We're already very excited for the final
show, and we know you are as well! But we don't want to get too ahead of ourselves, now do we?

“Tonight's game is to help us prepare for the show. You're already doing so much to enhance your skills, so now we want to focus on a very important aspect of circus: stage presence. It's not enough to be good at an act. You have to be able to perform. And often, that involves a lot of improvisation and a strong rapport with your fellow cast members. Obviously, we can't just teach you to do this—you have to practice and discover the spark within yourself. To that end, allow us to introduce tonight's game: Improv Superstar!”

Epic music blares through the speakers. When it's done, Olga continues.

“You will be broken up into four teams at random. Each of you will then pick a table. Under each sheet is a set of props that you will need to integrate into a series of improv skits. Your fellow troupers and coaches will be the judges. And as usual, the winning team will get a special surprise.”

“It better not be more granola,” Tyler whispers in my ear.

One of the coaches comes around the group with a top hat then, and we each draw out a slip of paper with a letter on it. I pull an
A
, and am more than a little disappointed to realize that I'm the only one in our group to get it. Riley and Kevin both got
B
, and Tyler pulled
C
.

There's no time to get sentimental; we break up into our teams almost immediately. I head over to the juggling coach, Jim, who holds a large sign with
A
over his head. And then I get my next
unfortunate surprise that night: Megan is on my team. At least she doesn't look happy about this either.

“Hey, guys,” Jim says, “looks like we have a strong team here.”

And I suppose he's right—we have three of the kids who I know auditioned as clowns, so comedy should be pretty easy for them. They'll make up for my lack of funny. Unless I have to do a skit with Megan. If I get to make fun of her, I'll have a field day. And I know I'd get points from Riley and Tyler, at the very least.

Jim goes over some basics of improv: Always say yes; if repeating something, use the rule of three; and never turn your back on the audience, unless it's entirely necessary and intentional.

“The important thing is to have fun. Chances are, if you're having fun, so is the audience.”

“Actually,” Megan whispers beside me, “the important thing is not to choke. Think you can handle that, Jennifer? Or should I keep a bucket handy?”

I bite my tongue and glare down at her—I don't feel I have much to use against this girl, so my height is my only resort. There's no point getting in a fight now. She's not worth it. It's like dealing with Internet trolls: If you say nothing, they fade away. And I really, really want this one to fade away. Or fall flat on her face. I'm not above taking the low road from time to time. Well, hoping for it, at least. I just wish I could figure out why she hates me. If I'm not a threat, why am I even on her radar?

Thankfully for her, there's no time for me to retort or for her to make another jab. Olga announces it's time to begin, and as a
team, we run toward our table and get a look at our props.

I have no idea where they assembled all these things, but I have a solid suspicion that most of them are on loan from the clowns. I'm also really eager to see what the other teams got.

Our table is laden with odd props. There's a gramophone speaker that's painted pink and orange, dozens of silly-shaped sunglasses, tubes of foam and clown noses and a plate of silver spoons. And that's just on one corner of the table. There are also fake flowers and oversize watches and juggling pins and more. It's like some crazy clown aunt emptied her attic and left us with the bits she couldn't send to a thrift store. I stand there and stare down at it all and can't even begin to imagine how to use any of it in a skit.

Thankfully, Olga isn't just abandoning us.

“Okay, troupers!” she calls over the din of excited chatter, “your first skit is in thirty seconds. You'll need at least four team members, and the theme is ‘awkward bus ride.' ”

She's not even done speaking before Andy—one of the clowns—takes control and starts handing out props. He thrusts the gramophone speaker into my hands and asks, “How is your singing?”

“Not bad, I guess.”

“Excellent,” he says. “Just keep singing as loud as you can and play along!”

Thirty seconds later Olga calls the first team forward—of course,
A
goes first—and we assemble in the middle of the gym, right under the spotlights. I can feel the rest of the troupe watching us—watching
me
—and a cold sweat breaks out on my skin. I sense
Megan's glare in particular; she wasn't cast in this skit, so I imagine her there, in the shadows, throwing mental daggers at my back.

The four of us sit down on the floor in three rows—me all alone at the back, Andy at the front, and two others wearing giant hats and sunglasses in the middle. Andy nods to me, and I start to sing. Very off-key. And very loudly.

“Excuse me, ma'am,” one of the middle kids says, “could you please turn that down?”

“Of course, dear,” I say, and start singing louder.

Andy stops the imaginary bus and comes back to try to get me to quiet down, and there's a moment where he tries to pull the gramophone from my hands and falls on top of the other passengers. Much to my surprise, the audience starts laughing.

The skit lasts about a minute, maybe less—it's really hard to tell when you're acting—and by the end, everyone on the bus is singing along to my terrible song. Andy yells out, “Scene!” and we stand and do a quick bow.

“That was great,” he tells me as we rush offstage. I just smile, suddenly very grateful I didn't leave that afternoon.

Chapter
Eleven

R
iley and Kevin's team goes
next. Kevin and three other guys I've never met before go onstage for this one, and their bus ride skit involves Kevin getting soaked with a lot of water. I can't say I understand much of it, but it's still fun to watch. I glance over to Riley while the show is happening and know she wishes she were out there—she'd probably make the whole thing much funnier. She's good like that.

Next up is Tyler's team, and there's a small kick to my stomach when he and Branden step out into the spotlight. Try as I might, I can't even focus on the other performers—my eyes are glued to Branden, and I can't tell if the queasy feeling in my gut is anger or desire. The only consolation is the fact that every once in a while, I catch Tyler throwing Branden a small death glare. Knowing that Tyler's definitely still on my team makes me feel
much better. If only I could get over my attraction to Branden.