Shooting Stars (8 page)

6

“That should be everyone,” Brad says as he fi nishes counting off Group B, which seems to consist of twelve people, including me. Everyone stares at him expectantly when he’s done talking, except for the kid who’s hidden under his hooded jacket and the other kid who has his back to the group and obviously doesn’t want to be here. Okay. At least we know the score.

“So, today we’ll be going out for a couple of hours to a workshop,” Brad continues. His eyes swiftly move over the group until stopping to rest on someone— Ned. “I just want to say that this has been carefully or ga nized. The location is very private and the instructors hand- picked. It will all be discreet and well handled. At no point will there be any interaction 212-47604_ch01_1P.indd 67

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with”— Brad pauses, looking for the right word—“outsiders.” By now, everyone is staring at Ned, and it’s more than slightly obvious that this is all being said for his benefi t. After all, no one could care less that the rest of us are here.

“Thanks, Brad.” Ned practically groans the words.

“Okay, then. We’ve got ten minutes before the bus leaves, and I need you all to go and get changed into something stretchy. Something you can really move in. Sweats, leggings, a T-shirt . . . you get my drift. See you back here in ten.” Katrina gives me a look. “I can’t believe I forgot to pack a tutu.”

I laugh. “Don’t worry, you can borrow one of mine.”

★ ★ ★

It doesn’t take Katrina and me long to throw on sweats- and-tees- type wear, though Katrina ends up looking supercool in black three- quarter leggings, gray shorts, and a Karen Walker tee, her hair up in a tight topknot, while I end up looking . . .

more like I’ve just crawled out of a Dumpster.

Still, what do I care? I’m not here to impress. There have been plenty of times I have just crawled out of a Dumpster and I haven’t cared how I look. Also, as Brad pointed out, no one’s going to be taking any shots. Well, except for me, of course.

“Ready?” Katrina calls out from the bathroom, where she’s touching up her lip gloss.

“Um, yeah . . .” I wildly look around me, trying to decide which piece, or pieces, of equipment to take. I decide it’s 68

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going to have to be the fauxPod— it’s the only option for a workshop- style situation. And I don’t even know how I’m going to get away with this much. As cover, I grab my backpack, empty it out, and shove a hoodie, my fauxPod, and a bottle of water in there. Katrina comes out of the bathroom and checks out the baggage situation.

“You’re taking a backpack?”

I shrug. “Hoodie, water . . . Be prepared, I say.” Prepared to work, that is. And because I don’t want to think too hard about what I’m going to do over the next few hours, I change the subject. “Let’s go.”

★ ★ ★

“Jo? Jo! JO!!!” With the fi nal “Jo” I get a dig in the ribs cour-tesy of Katrina’s elbow.

“Huh?” I’d been busy staring at the back of Ned’s head, watching him laughing and talking to some other guy from Group B. Katrina had fi lled me in on a couple of the other people’s backstories already, but not this guy, who Ned seems to be getting along with pretty well. “Sorry, did you ask me something?”

Katrina rolls her eyes. “Only about three times. I was just wondering what sort of workshop you think it might be.” I shake my head. “No idea. I just got here today, so your guess will be better than mine.” I give her a look. “It’s not going to be some torturous boot- camp thing, or something equally stupid, is it?”

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Katrina makes a face. “I hope not. I’ve only done one other workshop since I’ve been here and it was great. It was this Italian cooking challenge. All the groups did it. We had to make pasta and pizza from scratch. It was heaps of fun.” Hmmm. A couple of shots of Ned with fl our on his nose wouldn’t go astray. I take a sly look at him again. “So who’s Ned sitting with?” I ask Katrina. “You haven’t told me about him yet.”

Katrina takes a quick look. “Oh, that’s Seth. Car accident. He and his parents were fi ne, but his brother died.”

“Oh,” I say. Everyone’s story has been condensed like this, into just a few short phrases. “Hannah, lost her mother to breast cancer, not coping well. Jamie, thrown out of three high schools, rebelling against strict stepfather. Tori, parents trying to get her to break contact with older boyfriend and concentrate on school.” It makes me wonder what they’ll say about me. Maybe, “Jo, no specifi c issue, general head case, face always glued to her iPod.”

“Yeah, oh,” Katrina seconds, and we both stare at the back of Seth’s head for a moment or two. “Puts a lot into perspective, doesn’t it?” Katrina eventually says. “Especially if you’re just a whiny ballerina.”

I give her a look. “You’re not a whiny ballerina.”

“Okay, a whiny ex- ballerina,” she says, which makes us both laugh. Then we fall silent as the minibus turns right and pulls sharply into a driveway.

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“What did that sign say?” I ask Katrina, jumping around to try and catch a glimpse as we pass by.

In the window seat, she twists her long neck back to see if she can read it. “Something something gymnasium.”

“Oh, great,” I moan. “We’re going to be climbing ropes and vaulting over . . . what ever it is you vault over.”

“What do you vault over?” Katrina asks.

I moan again. “Who cares?” I can vault and somersault with the best of them to get a great shot, but in a gym? What’s the point? Just to say you can do it?

The minibus pulls up at the front door of the gym, and as we exit I’m pleased to see at least half the people leaving the bus obviously have the same feeling about this as I do—

especially Jamie, the three- school dropout, who still has his hood up, shading his entire face. Looks like he feels the same way about the gym as he seems to feel about . . . well, about his entire life, really. (I’m guessing the hiding- in- the- hoodie thing has been going on for a while now.) Brad herds us quickly inside the gym, and as three instructors walk up to us, it only takes me a second or two to work out exactly what’s going on here.

Maybe it’s the ribbons hanging from the ceiling, or the plates and sticks on the fl oor, or the trapeze.

Or maybe it’s because all three instructors are wearing red noses.

“Welcome to your circus skills workshop, everyone!” one 71

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of the instructors says a tad too cheerily and takes off his red nose with a laugh. “I’m Trent and this is Hope and Laura, and we’ll be leading you today. You’ll be split up into three groups and learning a variety of skills, both individual and in teams . . .” I tune out around this point and my brain clicks over into work mode, scoping out the stage I’ve been given and how I’m going to get the shots I need. It will be diffi cult with just the fauxPod, but at least there’s half- decent lighting in here and—

“Jo!” Katrina drags me over a few steps to stand beside her. “Hello?! Dividing up time. You’re in our group.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“Hey, again.” I get a wave from one of the other group members— Ned. He’s wearing gray sweatpants and a tight-ish gray T-shirt, and it’s all I can do not to go over and grab one of those silky ribbons, tie him up in a big bow, and take some shots.

Yikes. Sometimes I scare even myself.

“Hey,” I try to say calmly.

“Have you met Seth yet?” Ned asks me, and I shake my head.

“Jo, Seth. Seth, Jo.”

“Hey,” Seth says fl atly, waving the most disinterested wave I’ve ever seen, which is fi ne by me, of course. Now that I see him up close, I remember he was the guy with his back turned to the group in the foyer of the retreat.

“Hey,” I wave back.

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One of the trainers, Hope, guides the group to our fi rst activity. “We’re starting today with acrobatics, which is always tons of fun. We’re going to learn how to form a pyramid and also a leaning tower.”

The elusive Ned in pyramid formation. Now that I want a shot of.

“Okay.” Hope sizes us up and reads the name tags Brad had slapped onto us in the minibus. “Jo and Seth.” She looks at us both in turn. “You’re the two smallest . . . ,” she hesitates when Katrina grunts, “so let’s get you two at the back. Katrina, Ned . . .” She pauses again, really looking at Ned now and realizing he’s not just Ned, but Ned and then a second expression falls over her face that reads “Ah, so this is what I’m supposed to be discreet about.” “You’ll be at the front with me.” We all move into position, albeit some of us reluctantly.

“Now,” Hope continues, “the three of us at the front will bend our knees slightly and brace ourselves while standing up. Jo and Seth, you’ll start by jumping up from behind us and placing your right foot on one of our thighs and your left foot on the next person’s thigh. So you’ll be facing front, same as us, and you’ll have one foot on two different people’s thighs. Make sense? We’ll hold you in place with our hands so that you don’t fall, then you’ll reach your hands to the ceiling in a star position. All it takes is a little trust and—” I laugh. And I must have laughed kind of loud, because everyone stops bracing, stands up, and looks at me. I shrug.

“No,” I say, waving a hand. “I don’t think so.” 73

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They keep looking, so I shrug again. “I don’t do trust.

Not like this. On a plate and everything. Trust is earned.” There’s a pause. A long pause. A long pause in which Hope opens and shuts her mouth several times. Everyone keeps looking, though I’m not really sure why. Don’t they know it’s slightly odd to go jumping all over people you barely know and “trusting” them? As far as I’m concerned, I’d trust any of the people standing before me as far as I could throw them, and considering my size, that’s no distance at all. Sure, Katrina is nice and Ned is nice and Seth seems doc-ile enough, but that doesn’t mean I trust them, does it?

“So, you’re here on a trust issue . . .” Seth seems way more interested in me now.

“What?” I blurt out. “I’m not here on a trust issue, I just don’t like people telling me to trust someone whose name I only found out three seconds ago and who’s staring like there’s something wrong with me!”

“Is there a problem?” Brad appears out of nowhere to stand beside Hope.

“Yes,” Hope and Seth say.

“No,” I say.

Katrina and Ned remain silent.

“Jo seems to be having a small problem with trusting the other group members . . . ,” Hope starts ner vous ly.

“I don’t have a problem trusting others,” I say. “I just have a problem with being told to trust people . . . like it happens instantly.” I click my fi ngers. “Like I said, trust is earned.” 74

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“That’s very true.” Brad nods. “But I think you’ll probably be okay if you try this, Jo. Just stop and think for a second—

what’s the worst that could happen?”

“She might fall two feet onto the padded mats.” Seth practically guffaws and Brad shoots him an “Are you Jo?” look.

“I might fall two feet onto the padded mats and crack my teeth and need painful and expensive dental work because I trusted people I don’t really know that much about,” I say to Seth, before turning to Brad. “Anyway, that’s not the point.

It’s not that I think something bad is going to happen, it’s that I object to meaningless trust games. I don’t think anyone’s going to drop me, but I don’t think I’ll trust them any more if they don’t drop me, either.”

I look around to see the other groups have stopped what they’re doing and are watching me now. Ugh . . . how did we get here? From doing silly circus exercises to this? I don’t want to be arguing. It’s stupid, I knew it would be stupid, and I should just put up with it being stupid. You’re here to work, Jo, I remind myself. You’ve put up with way worse in your time. So what’s the problem?

“Look,” I say, shaking my head, “don’t worry about it. I’ll do it.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Brad says, doing his best “I understand you, Jo,” face.

Double ugh. There’s nothing to understand. “I said I’d do it,” I tell him from between gritted teeth. “Now can we just get on with it, already?”

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Ned takes a step forward and offers me his hand. “Come on, Jo. Walk all over me. You know you want to.” He’s trying to make light of the situation, which is sweet, but I’m still in a huff.

“Well?” I turn around to everyone else, but I take Ned’s hand, which is warm and strong, just like it was that night he picked me up off those concrete steps. Before I know it, he’s braced in the position Hope demonstrated before, and I’ve jumped on his left leg.

“Good work, Jo,” Brad says, and it takes every ounce of energy I have to ignore him. Could he be any more sharing and caring? I am so getting these shots and getting out of here. In the next fi ve minutes, with any luck.

Hope steps in beside me and I place my left leg on her right thigh, then I look to my right at Ned, to let him know I’m about to remove my hand from his. “I won’t drop you,” he says, as my eyes meet his and I start to say something because I think he’s being sarcastic, but when I see his expression, I realize he’s not. He’s not being sarcastic at all.