Love Is in the Air (4 page)

“So you've never kissed a boy either?”

I shake my head. Definitely no way I'll get my words to work for that response.

She sighs very dramatically. “It's worse than I thought,” she bemoans.

“Oh, come on,” I say, rediscovering my voice and giving her a little shove. “It's not that bad. Is it?” The last bit comes out as a squeak.

“No. No, definitely not. It's totally normal.” Like Leena's smile, I don't believe she's being entirely honest. “But it does mean we're going to have to act fast. Branden's kind of perfect, and you're
going to have to nab him before someone else does.”

I bite my lip. Be more interesting than a circus girl? Like that will be an easy task.

“What about you?” I ask, trying to turn the tables. “Why don't you want to date him?”

“I'm taken,” she says. She holds out her right hand—there's a tiny silver ring with a ruby on her pinkie finger. “Sandy and I have been together for almost a year now.”

“Sandy?”

She hops off the bed and pulls her phone from a pocket in her duffel bag, then thumbs through the gallery until she holds it out to me. Onscreen is a gangly, mousy-haired boy with more freckles than Riley and a doofy grin on his face.

“Isn't he dreamy?” she asks.

I smile. “Totally.”

“He's a stilt walker. And he juggles. We even have a partner routine together.” She grins at the photo, then me, and slides the phone back in her bag. “I tell you, circus boys are the best. If you can get them to stop practicing, that is.”

She looks back to me.

“This is going to be great. We're totally going to get you a boyfriend!”

I shake my head. “Good luck,” I say.

“I don't need luck, I have skill. And a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

She doesn't answer, just takes my hand, pulling me off the bed.

“Time for dinner!” she says with a wink.

I interrogate her the entire way to the cafeteria, but she doesn't divulge her secret agenda. Not one bit.

•  •  •

Tyler meets us in the hall as we head to dinner. He hugs both of us the moment he sees us. Again, we've only known each other for an hour or so, but there's a camaraderie that feels like it's years in the making.

“How's the room?” he asks as he follows us into the cafeteria. Only half the space is in use, since there are so few of us. The other part is just storage from the rest of the year.

“Tiny,” Riley says. She grins at me. “Good thing Jennifer doesn't smell bad. Otherwise it would be nasty.”

“Lucky you,” he replies. “I don't think my roommate knows what a shower is.”

“Ew,” I respond.

“You have no idea. And hopefully you never will.”

Dinner that night is pretty good: roast veggies and chicken, a big pasta bake, lots of fresh bread and salads and sides, and even a huge sheet cake with the words
WELCOME TO THE CIRCUS
written in purple frosting. I help myself to a little bit of everything; I don't think I've had so many options in my life.

I'm so engrossed in talking to Tyler as we leave the line that I don't even realize where Riley has guided us until it's too late: right next to Branden. He's sitting at a table with a few other guys, all of them talking about some show they've just seen and the cool
tricks they want to learn. I nearly drop my tray when I see him. I glare at Riley instead.

“Hey, guys,” she says brightly, ignoring my furious stare. “Mind if we sit here?”

And even though I'm purposely avoiding his eyes, I can feel Branden watching me. “Sure,” he says, and I'm trapped.

We sit down, and the guys all introduce themselves. I'm too busy trying not to shake or drop my tray to catch any of their names, and I'm so absorbed in the task that I don't even realize when the introductions roll around to me.

“And this is Jennifer,” Riley says, coming to my rescue before I can blab out an apology. “She's actually a local, and what she lacks in eloquence she makes up for in raw talent.”

I try to grin.

“What she said,” I say.

It's impossible to actually pay attention to the conversation. My hands won't stop shaking as I try to eat my chicken, and taking a drink of water is embarrassing at best. Riley notices, I know—her nudge under the table is sign enough. But everyone else is either oblivious or too polite to say anything.

Until Branden stops taking part in the group's talk of who makes the best shoes for floor work and leans across the table toward me.

“So, what are you auditioning for?”

I nearly choke on my food.

“Flying trapeze,” I say, and I pray it doesn't sound like the question I feel it is.

“That's awesome,” he replies. “I live, like, half an hour away. Maybe we could start doing lessons together.”

I glance up at him then, and his brown eyes are so intent on me I could melt under them. But maybe he's just like Tyler was when I first met him—quick to warm up, easy to show interest. There's no way this guy is interested in me. I'm definitely not impressive enough for someone like him.

“That would be cool,” I say after too long a pause. I managed to forget that he was probably expecting an answer. In spite of my awkwardness, he smiles.

“How long have you been flying?” he asks.

“I haven't,” I respond, and I feel my stomach sink into the floor below. “This will be my first time.”

“Exciting,” he says. “Everyone has a first time. And you'll remember it for as long as you live.”

“What was your first time like?” I ask.

“Magical,” he says. Then he laughs to himself. “And terrifying. I think I nearly passed out.”

I let myself grin, but the knots in my gut just won't relax. If
he
was scared of his first leap, how in the world will I be able to manage?

“Well then, I guess you'll be in for a show tomorrow morning.”

And he smiles, so maybe I'm not as hopeless as I fear I am.

“Oh, don't worry,” Riley says to my left. “We'll all be there cheering you on.”

I don't know if that makes me feel better or worse.

Chapter
Four

O
lga makes an announcement halfway
through dinner, saying that we'll have half an hour after dinner to relax, and then it's off to team-­building games. She speaks a lot about the importance of building a community in a show this size, how everyone has to be able to depend on everyone else. So she asks us to wear our name tags to the games and introduce ourselves to at least ten different people before sign-in. Then she leaves us to our dessert and goes off to drink coffee with the rest of the coaches.

“Any idea what the games are?” Branden asks us. The other guys have gone from the table, leaving just him and Tyler and Riley and me.

“No clue,” Riley says, “but if it involves teams, I pick you guys.”

“Deal,” Branden says, and Tyler nods in agreement.

Riley opens her mouth to say something, then closes it when our table is breached by the Triplets.

The three blond girls sit down on the side with Branden, making themselves at home. None of them are carrying trays—maybe they ate already—but they each have a mug that I first think is tea, then realize is just hot water and lemon.

“Hi, there,” the oldest girl says, looking straight at Branden when she says it. “I'm Megan.” She holds out her hand. “It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

He raises an eyebrow but shakes her hand. “Branden,” he replies.

“I know,” she says. Then she winks at him.

Her sisters introduce themselves as Sara and Olivia, but none of them look at us when they speak. All eyes are on Branden. In fact, they don't seem to know we exist until Tyler clears his throat and introduces himself.

They practically sneer at him, but he doesn't back down, and he doesn't pull back his hand until they shake it. Then he introduces Riley and me.

“Where are you from?” Tyler asks, and I have to commend him for being civil. I kind of want to slap all of them for being so rude.

“Little Rock,” Megan says.

“That's a really long way to come for just a week,” I say.

Megan looks at me like I'm an idiot, and the urge to slap her comes back with a vengeance.

“No distance is too great to achieve perfection,” she sneers.

Riley coughs, but I know it's to hide a laugh. It sounds like
Megan's quoting something from an inspirational poster.

Megan turns her glare to Riley, but she gets the hint. She pushes herself from the table and nods to her sisters.

“We'll see you at the games,” Megan says to Branden, her sweet little smile returning in an instant. Then one more glare at us, and the Triplets leave.

“Wow,” Tyler says when they're out of earshot. “They really are cyborgs.”

I can't help it—I snort with laughter. Those three had me so stressed, so insecure with their good looks and confidence, that his joke is like a puncture to a balloon.

Branden chuckles as well, and soon all of us are doubled over with laughter.

When it's time to leave the cafeteria and head toward the gym for the games, Branden stays by our side. Well, by my side. I can't help but continually glance over at him while we walk. And I can't help but notice that he's doing the same.

•  •  •

Everyone's assembled in the gym by the time we get there. The mats have all been pushed to the sides, and the aerial equipment is pulled up into the rafters. The local radio station is playing on the sound system—one of the few stations that isn't country, thankfully—but it's hard to hear it over the sound of everyone talking. I don't know if it's intentional or not, but I find myself standing a little closer to Branden. It's like there's a static between us, a pulse pulling me closer into his orbit. We huddle in beside some of the guys from
dinner—I'm pretty certain they're the acrobats, judging from how they were doing flips off one another when we walked in. I don't miss the way Tyler smiles at one of them, a short, muscular guy with red hair who introduced himself as Kevin earlier on.

“What do you think they're going to do to us?” Branden asks me through a grin.

“No clue,” I respond, and Olga Karamazov steps forward before I can finish the train of thought.

“Welcome, troupers,” she calls out. Her voice carries to every corner of the room, confident and strong, and the camp quiets down immediately.

“Tonight we're doing a costume challenge. To begin, we're going to break you up into teams based on your halls. If you could please find your hall counselors, we will then tell you what to do next.”

“Aww,” Riley says, looking to Tyler and Branden. “And here I was hoping we'd all be one happy family.”

“Me too,” Tyler says. “Now I'm gonna be stuck with my smelly roommate.”

Riley hugs him. When she steps back, she has a wicked grin on her face. “Don't think I'll take it easy on you, girls,” she says. “This is war.”

Then she steps beside me and takes me by the arm, dragging me away from Branden before I can even say good-bye.

“What was that for?” I whisper to her when we're out of earshot.

“The grand exit?” she asks. “Please. You were looking at him like you were ready to propose. You need to play hard to get. Otherwise he's going to think you don't like him.”

“That makes no sense,” I say, sidling up to the rest of the girls in my hall.

“Boys never do,” she responds. It's the most solemn thing I've heard her say all day.

We line up and my stomach does an angry little flip when I notice that Megan and the rest of the Twisted Triplets are with us. How did I miss that they were in our hall? This better not mean I have to pretend to be their friend. Megan catches my eye and gives me a wink, which she somehow manages to make full of malice. Oh yeah, we're definitely not going to be good friends. Like Riley said, this is war. I glance to Branden across the gym. If the war's over him, I better win. Though against these girls . . . I don't know if I have much of a chance.

“All right, everyone,” Olga calls out. “Each hall must work as a team if you hope to win, and the winners will get a special treat before sign-in tonight.

“The way it works is simple: Each of you must dress up one of your team members according to the prompt. The other coaches will be the judge of who accomplished the task best; there
is
a time limit, and the first team to complete the task will get an extra point.

“The first look is . . . steampunk court jester. Go!”

It's an explosion of motion. Our group runs together, and in seconds we've nominated Riley to be the one who gets dressed up. Then it's off to our hall.

The hall is filled with the sounds of banging doors and slamming dressers as the rest of the girls search through their wardrobes
for something that can work. I don't really have anything that fits the description, but I do have a pair of argyle leggings I just bought. Riley's grinning like the Cheshire Cat as she searches through her clothes, pulling out tutus and top hats and stage makeup. Then there's a knock on our door, and it's some girl from the hall who tells us we need to meet back at the gym. Riley and I bolt.