Love Is in the Air (6 page)

•  •  •

Just my luck: I find out what Tyler meant on the
sooner
side.

A few minutes after breakfast, we all gather in the gymnasium for group warm-ups. According to the program, this will be a daily thing—another team-building activity to keep us all on the same page. Except today, rather than gathering with our practice groups after, we head straight into auditions.

We start with some simple cardio: We run a few laps around the gym, then do some jumping jacks. It just gets worse from there. After jumping jacks, we pair off into two lines and start doing what they call “floor work.” Cartwheels (both sides), somersaults (front and back), and then these inchworm things that are more like moving push-ups.

Ten minutes in and I'm already sweating more than I ever have before; not even gym was this intense, and our gym teacher is known throughout the district as being one of the meanest there is. Mr. Jeffers has nothing on these circus coaches.

I stand beside Riley after we're done doing the inchworm things, trying not to look like I'm panting as hard as I really am. Riley looks a little winded, but nowhere near as bad as I am. When I look over to Tyler, I'm jealous to see he's barely broken a sweat. I do everything I can not to look at Branden—if I'm being that obvious to my friends, I can only hope he hasn't caught on as well.

Not that there's any time to worry about that. Right after we do the floor passes, Leena—who's taken charge of warm-ups this morning—calls out that it's time to partner up for some light
conditioning. I glance at Riley. She winks at me. And then, before I can safely call her my warm-up partner, she skips off toward Tyler and takes him by the hand.

I glare at them.

But then there's a tap on my shoulder.

“Want to be partners?”

I look back and my heart skips a beat. Branden.

“Um, sure,” I say.

“Cool.”

He's in gym shorts and a tank top again, and he looks even more muscular up close. Like Tyler, he doesn't look like he's even winded after all the warm-ups. Riley gives me a little wave and wink as Branden guides me toward another side of the mat.

First conditioning activity? Sit-ups. Great. I don't think I've done a sit-up outside of gym class in months.

“Ladies first,” he says.

“You're
such
a gentleman,” I respond.

“I know.” He grins. “How was the rest of your night?”

“It was all right,” I say, lying down. “How about you? What was your prize?”

He laughs as he kneels on my feet. “Granola bars,” he says. “And OJ. Super-awesome prize.”

I want to make small talk, but then Leena blows her whistle and it's workout time. I cross my arms over my chest and start doing sit-ups. This is
not
how I'd hoped our first encounter was going to go. Here I am, sweating and trying my hardest not to
grunt, and every time I sit up I'm greeted by Branden's brown eyes staring intently into mine. It's too much, too embarrassing, and I know the red on my cheeks isn't just from exertion. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to pretend I'm anywhere else, doing anything else. When the whistle finally blows again, I flop back on the mat and let out a huge sigh.

“Not bad,” he says. He pats me on the knee. “You only looked like you were going to pass out for part of it.”

“Thanks,” I say. “I think.”

Then we switch places. When Leena blows the whistle, I look everywhere but at Branden—otherwise I know I'll blush again. I spot Megan paired up with one of her sisters across the gym. When she catches my eye, she scowls.

For the first time in this entire warm-up, I smile.

Chapter
Six

A
fter a few more embarrassing
partner exercises—the worst being a split stretch, where I learned Branden was actually a
lot
more flexible than me—we break off for auditions. It quickly became apparent during the warm-ups that that wouldn't be my big chance at impressing him. Which means my last and only hope is trying out for the flying trapeze. But first, I have to try out for a ground skill, which means Riley takes my arm at the end of warm-ups and drags me out of the gymnasium.

“I hate you,” I say when Branden's out of earshot. He had told me he was trying out for the acro class. While he was doing push-ups, of course.

“No, you don't,” Riley says.

I want to refute her, but it's not worth it. Because she did
exactly what she said she would—she got me to talk to Branden before lunch. If only it had been more than a few sweaty snippets. We head out of the gym and to one of the small tents set up outside. It's still a little chilly, but the moment we step inside the red-and-yellow tent, goose bumps are the last thing on my mind. The early day sun makes the canvas glow, so the interior has a warm, unearthly sort of feel. And it smells like damp grass and vinyl, some strange mixture that immediately makes me think of all the shows I saw growing up. Today I'm actually a part of that history.

I know it's silly, but it's honestly like being onstage. There are juggling balls and pins and rings set up on a few tables in the center of the tent and a single row of bleachers along the side. So, yeah, no audience, but this is the first time I've stepped into a tent knowing that I was going to perform. Well, audition. But still, I'll be doing it in front of people.

“What did he say?” Riley whispers while we wait for the coaches to show. “Did he ask you out? Did you ask
him
out?”

“No,” I say. I keep my voice down; even though none of the Twisted Triplets are here, I don't want this conversation getting back to them. Growing up in this town has taught me one thing: Gossip carries fast in small crowds. “It wasn't exactly good timing.”

“Pansy,” she responds. The coach entering the tent prevents me from responding.

The guy is in his late twenties, and he's got a huge handlebar mustache and goatee and paisley shirt. Definitely the juggling coach. The woman who comes in with him is a little more refined,
with long hair in a ponytail and leggings under her short, flowery skirt.

“Hey, everyone,” he says. “I'm Jim, and Hilary and I are the juggling coaches for this session.” Hilary does a little curtsy. “We're actually going to do a mixture of floor work here, including rolling globe and rolla bolla, and we're not into the whole competing-for-a-spot thing. If you're here auditioning, you have a spot in the show.” He looks around at the assembled kids—there are maybe ten of us in all, including Riley and me. “That said, we'd still love to see what you're bringing to the table. Who wants to show us what they've got?”

As expected, Riley's the first to raise her hand. She goes up while the rest of us take our spots on the bleachers. Once everyone's settled, she picks up six juggling balls and begins tossing them while doing a little dance. When she's done, everyone applauds, and she sits down beside me.

I wait until the very end to go up. At first I wasn't nervous, but then everyone else goes up and shows off tricks I couldn't even dream of doing, and I really wish I had just gone after Riley. I know Jim said that we didn't need to be experts already, but when I finally step up and grab three balls off the table, I wish I'd had more than a night's worth of practice. My hands are shaking; I hope no one notices.

“I'm Jennifer,” I say, trying to focus equally on Jim, Hilary, and Riley, “and I'm . . . well, I'm actually entirely new to this. But Riley taught me the basics last night, and I'm hoping I can learn more
while I'm here.” I don't say that I'm only here because I'm terrified I won't be good at flying trapeze. I have a feeling that wouldn't leave a good first impression.

Much to my surprise, I don't mess up; I manage nine full tosses before I catch the last ball and set them down on the table.

“Very nice,” Jim says as I sit down. “Especially for an absolute beginner.”

He glances down at his watch.

“Well, it looks like we've got about twenty minutes before your next set of auditions, so if you'd like, we can just start in on a little lesson. I'm feeling pretty good about this group, aren't you, Hil?”

Hilary nods. “Definitely. I think we'll be able to do a lot with these guys. I'm already dreaming up some choreography.”

Jim grins at her, then hops from the bleachers and has us gather around the table.

“Nice job,” Riley whispers into my ear. I smile, suddenly realizing there's adrenaline pumping in my veins from putting on a show. It feels good. No, it feels
great
. And when Jim starts teaching us something called a “Mills Mess,” I actually start to feel like I belong here.

•  •  •

When the lesson is done and I've almost mastered the trick, Riley and I part ways outside the tent.

“Good luck,” she says.

“Thanks. What are you auditioning for now?”

She shrugs. “Nothing. I'm just focusing on juggling this time
around. Maybe next year I'll try climbing things. I just don't have the upper body strength yet.”

Neither do I,
I want to say, but then I might talk myself out of auditioning. Riley heads back into the tent to chat with the coaches, leaving me to stare out across the field to the flying trapeze rig. My heart settles somewhere up in my throat as I watch two people—I'm guessing it's the coaches—swing back and forth on the trapeze. One lets go and latches onto the other's hands, then releases and does a somersault to the net below.

“You ready for this?” comes Branden's voice. I jump and look over to him.

“I . . . honestly, no.” No point trying to play it cool—he already saw me sweating on my second push-up.

He pats me on the back. I can't help but wonder if his hand lingers there on purpose or by accident.

“I'm sure you'll be great,” he says. “My first time was terrifying, but it's a rush. You'll be addicted in no time.”

I try to smile, but I'm suddenly feeling nauseated as I watch another figure climb the ladder and then swing out over the net. Even from here it looks ridiculously high up.

“How was your juggling audition?” he asks.

“Great,” I reply. “I got in. Well, everyone got in, but I managed not to screw up.”

He chuckles.

“Better than me, then. I totally blew my floor routine. Managed to face-plant after a backflip.”

“Are you okay?” I ask, glancing over to make sure there's no bruising. But no, he looks just as gorgeous as he did doing sit-ups this morning. People shouldn't be allowed to look pretty while working out.

“Yeah,” he says. “Just hurt my pride.”

We walk slowly toward the trapeze rig. Only a few other campers are heading that way, and right now we're pretty much alone on the field. Maybe it's the excitement from the audition, but being with just him doesn't make me nearly as nervous as it would have yesterday. Maybe Big Top Jennifer is starting to flourish.

“So do you think you'll get in?”

He shrugs. “I don't know. But it's only a week, so it won't hurt my feelings too much. I mainly just care about flying trap—it's impossible to find schools near here. I've had to drive out of state for most of my training.”

“What's your dream?” I ask.

He pauses and looks at me. Crap, maybe that was too silly a question.

“My dream?”

“Yeah,” I murmur, trying to save face. “What do you want to do with all this training?”

He smiles at me. “Ideally, join a circus. Find some super-­attractive, talented trapeze partner to do some duo work with. But there aren't too many girls around here who do flying trapeze, either.”

And there's no helping it this time. I really do blush.

“What about you?” he asks, as though he doesn't even notice the brilliant red flush to my cheeks. It feels like my face is on fire. “What brought you here?”

“I've always wanted to do it,” I say for what feels like the hundredth time. “Maybe someday I'll be good enough to be part of a show. I mean, I'd love to be part of a show. Just have to survive that long, I guess.”

“We all have to start somewhere,” he says. He gives me a winning smile. I smile back. It's easy to be around him, easy to talk to him. I know it sounds stupid, but I feel like I've known him for more than a few hours.

“Speaking of,” he says, glancing to the rig, which we've almost arrived at. “I think it's time to fly.”

Chapter
Seven