Текст книги "Love is in the air"
Автор книги: A. Destiny
Соавторы: Alex R. Kahler
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 12 страниц)
Chapter
Eight
I’m pretty certain I’ll never step outside of this dorm room again. I’ll wait until the camp is over, and then my mom and dad can come get me and drag me out, maybe with a blanket over my head so no one can see it’s me. I huddle on my bed, back against the wall and the sheets tangled around me, and I wait. If I got out my phone now, could my parents be here before the rest of the troupe knows and I’m the laughingstock of the camp? The only plus side to this debacle is that I don’t know anyone here from town. When break is over, I’ll go back to being miserable little Jennifer Hayes, and no one will know that I failed so hard.
It’s better if I don’t think of how I’ll answer my friends’ questions: How was it? Are you doing it again? Are you gonna run away to the circus now?
I’m not good at lying, but after this I think I might have to learn.
There’s a knock at the door a few minutes later, and I wonder if it’s my parents, alerted that I’m a failure at circus and they need to take me home. It’s definitely not Riley—she’d just barge in.
For some reason, I don’t move from the bed or call out. The knock doesn’t come again, so I figure they’ve moved on. But then the door opens, slowly, and Leena says my name.
“Yeah?” I respond. I pull the blankets tighter around me. Not that I’m cold—I’m still sweating from adrenaline—but I want to hide as much of me as I can.
Leena steps in. Her brown hair is in a braid, and she has cosmic-swirl leggings underneath her shorts. I wonder if they pulled her away from coaching the aerial hoop. I wonder if that means the whole company knows by now.
“Hey,” she says. She says it in that voice grown-ups use, like they’re talking to a caged animal or someone very stupid. “Are you okay? I heard what happened.”
“I’m fine,” I lie. See, Jennifer? Not so hard after all.
Sadly, Leena doesn’t take the bait. She steps into the room and closes the door quietly behind her.
“Let me guess,” she says, leaning against Riley’s desk. “Vertigo, right?”
I don’t say anything.
“Ugh, that’s why I hate flying trapeze.” She sighs. “You know, I’ve been doing this circus thing for ten years now and was a gymnast for ten years before that. And not once have I flown on a flying trapeze.”
“Really?” I ask in spite of myself.
“Yeah,” she says. She shrugs. “What can I say? I hate heights.”
I can’t help but laugh. “But you perform, like, every day. In the air.”
“It’s different,” she says. “When I’m on the hoop, I’m in control. I’m not being swung about, and I don’t dismount by landing on my face. Personally, I think they’re crazy. But I guess we all are.”
I don’t say anything when she quiets down. After a few moments, she continues.
“When I first tried out for lyra, I was horrible. I’d done gymnastics for years, like I said, but the hoop was a whole different beast. I still remember, I was with the rest of my gymnastics team—we were doing a weekend intensive for fun. I was the first one to go up and try it out. And I managed to fall flat on my face.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah, ouch.”
I expect her to say, But then I got right up there and tried again, like all those uplifting stories my parents would try to tell me when I wasn’t good the first time around. In other words, I expect her to be entirely unhelpful.
“My pride was hurt worse than my body. But you know what?” Here it comes. “I didn’t get back on that thing the entire weekend we were there. I just watched from the sidelines and took down notes and figured out what my teammates were doing wrong. I thought about it every night before bed, going over moves and sequences. And then, about a month later, I went in for a private lesson. It was the first time I’d been on a hoop since I fell, and I figured I’d be scared out of my wits. But I got on the hoop, no problem, and was able to do everything I’d seen my teammates do, but without making the same mistakes they did. I never was the first to be good at something, but I was always the one who refused to give up. I’m pretty sure that’s what made me stronger, and I know that’s why Olga hired me onto her show. She knew I wouldn’t give up, not when I was sick or tired or wanting to do something else. It was persistence, not sheer skill, that made me who I am today.”
I can’t help but look at her in a new light—I’d always seen her under the spotlights, always glittering and perfect. It’s nearly impossible to imagine her as anything else.
“So . . . ,” I begin.
“So, you shouldn’t let this get you down. Maybe flying trapeze isn’t your thing. Maybe it is. This week won’t ruin your career, trust me. If you’re really passionate about something, you’ll do it. Girls like you and me don’t give up so easily.”
“Easy for you to say,” I mutter. I don’t want to be whiny, not in front of her, but I can’t help it. “The whole camp knows I’m a coward by now. I’ll be the joke for the rest of the week.”
She shrugs. “Maybe,” she says. I look at her—that wasn’t the response I expected, but her honesty is, oddly, nice. If a little brutal. “I’m not going to pretend that word won’t spread. But I think you’ll be surprised—the kids who come to circus camp, well, they aren’t your normal jocks or gossip queens. Not usually. In my experience, we were all outcasts in some way, which is why we turned to the circus to feel at home. Give these guys a chance; they might actually surprise you in their willingness to look past your shortcomings.” She looks at me, considering. “That said, if by tomorrow you really want to leave, you’re more than welcome to go. We’ll even refund part of your tuition in hopes you try again next year. No one will hold it against you.”
She pauses to let what she said sink in.
“Lunch is in twenty minutes. The casting announcements will be posted near the end, so I’d recommend you try to make it. And by that, I mean you’re obligated to go to lunch.” She winks. “Can’t have you skipping out on meals—you need your strength.”
“What’s the point?” I ask, once again failing at the whole not-whining thing. “It’s not like I made it into flying trapeze.”
“You never know,” she says. “And there are plenty more skills to learn under the big top. Don’t discount them all just yet.”
She pushes herself from the desk.
“I’ll let you be. No doubt Riley will be back here soon to check on you. Do you need anything before I go?”
I shake my head.
“Okay then. Well, I’ll see you at lunch.”
Then she opens the door and steps out into the hall, leaving me with the empty room and the fragile hope that maybe the door hasn’t closed on my circus career just yet.
• • •
Leena was right about one thing. Not even two minutes have passed when Riley comes in, opening the door tentatively like it might set off a bomb. I wonder if she passed Leena on her way here.
“Jennifer?” she asks, peering around the edge of the door.
“Yeah,” I say, and she walks in. A small part of me is ashamed that Riley’s treating this like she’s intruding on my space when it’s her room as well. For some reason, it also makes me a little upset; I don’t want her to think she has to baby me. “It’s okay, I’m not going to snap at you.”
“Oh, I don’t care about that,” Riley says, sitting down on her bed. “I just didn’t know if you were still throwing up all over the place.”
“I didn’t throw up at all,” I say. I wanted to, but I didn’t.
“Yeah, I figured as much. Megan was telling everyone you got really sick on the trapeze. And I mean, really sick, like projectile-vomiting-across-the-field sick.”
I sit up a little straighter and push the blankets off me. Of course Megan was spreading rumors.
“She wasn’t even there,” I say.
“Don’t worry, no one else believes her either.”
“Why would she say that?” I ask, even though I know precisely why. For some reason, that girl has it in for me.
Riley shrugs. “Jealousy is an ugly monster,” she says. Then she looks at me, a little more serious. “How are you doing, anyway? Do you need anything?”
I shake my head. “I just froze. I’m not sick or anything.”
She nods. “Well, the offer still stands. Even if it means you need me to kick Megan’s blond butt.”
I laugh, which admittedly feels strange; I didn’t think I’d have the capacity for that anymore today.
“Thanks,” I say.
“That’s what friends are for—petty revenge.” She smiles, hops off her bed, and tries to pull me off mine. “Anyway, I’m glad you don’t need anything, because I actually just came here to drag you off to lunch.”
I put up resistance, but that eyebrow raise of her speaks volumes.
“Never get in between me and my food,” she says gravely. “Sandy learned that one the hard way. At least, that’s how I explained those hickeys to his parents.” To accentuate the point, she leans over and nibbles on my arm, making loud gnawing sounds.
I giggle and let her pull me off the bed.
“Okay, okay! I give. I need that arm.”
Riley stands straighter and smiles, then takes me by the arm and skips me out the door.
Chapter
Nine
Okay, I hadn’t honestly expected the entire lunchroom to stop talking and stare at me when I walked in, but the nagging fear was there as Riley half guided, half dragged me toward the cafeteria. So the fact that I’m able to not only walk in, but get my food and sit at a table without anyone so much as looking at me twice, kind of blows my mind. If this was high school, there’d be at least one group of girls snickering behind my back.
That said, I don’t even bother trying to find Megan and her sisters in the crowd—I’ve no doubt that they’re definitely talking about me. Maybe they’re still trying to spread the rumor that I threw up all over the trapeze rig. Having Riley at my side honestly makes me not care so much.
Riley and I sit next to Tyler and a couple of his acro buddies. They all give the cursory hello and then go back to chatting about the tricks they nailed or screwed up during auditions.
“I heard what happened,” Tyler says to me, keeping his voice low. “You okay?”
“I didn’t throw up.”
“Shame,” he says with a wicked smile. “It would have made such a good story. So what happened? Vertigo?”
I nod. “Turns out I don’t like heights.”
“Join the club,” Riley says around a mouthful of her burger.
“You are just the portrait of a lady,” Tyler says, staring at her.
She grins and lets a few crumbs drop from her mouth. “Yep!” she says happily.
Tyler shakes his head in mock disgust, then turns back to me. “Well, don’t worry about it. So long as you stay around this one, you’ll always appear to have more social grace.”
“I’m going to pretend I don’t know what that means,” Riley says.
“Please do. And chew with your mouth closed.”
In response, Riley makes her gnawing noise again and buries her face in the burger.
I laugh, then look across the cafeteria and spot Branden. My humor dies in my chest; he’s sitting beside Megan, her other sisters nearly blocking him from my view.
“What is she doing with him?” I say, not meaning to utter it aloud.
Tyler follows my stare.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “She doesn’t stand a chance.”
But there’s a sick feeling in my gut as I watch them talk. He laughs at something she says, and I don’t miss the way her hand brushes against his as she reaches for a napkin. Suddenly all I can think of is Josh, the guy who stood me up, and the way he went for a cheerleader not a week after tormenting me.
“You’re totally not listening, are you?” Tyler asks, nudging me with his elbow.
I jerk and look back at him. Was I really just staring at Branden like a lovesick idiot?
“Sorry,” I say. Because he’s right, I didn’t hear anything.
He sighs.
“I said, how was juggling? ” He asks the question unnecessarily slowly.
“Good,” I respond.
“Really good,” Riley says, wiping her mouth with a handful of napkins. “Jennifer’s picking it up real quick. I spoke with Jim after the audition, and I think we’re going to try to set up a partner routine.”
I look at her, surprised.
“What?” she asks. “I told him I wanted to work with you, and he agreed. So yeah. You’re definitely in.” She wraps an arm across my shoulders. “And you’re stuck with meeee!” she sings.
“I feel so sorry for you,” Tyler says.
“Could be worse,” I say. “I could be stuck in contortion with those three.”
Riley snorts with laughter.
“That would definitely be a worse fate.”
“What about you?” I ask Tyler. “What did you audition for?”
“Acro and rope,” he says. “Though I spoke with one of the coaches who works as a hand balancer professionally. I guess they don’t technically teach it during the camp, but he offered to train me on the side. Your boy Branden was there as well, auditioning for Cyr wheel. He’s good. Really good. Except at backflips—kid nearly broke his own nose. Too bad he plays for your team.”
“I thought you had your eyes set on the acro boy. Kevin?” Riley asks.
“Oh, I do,” he says. He grins at Kevin, who catches Tyler’s gaze, returns it, then blushes and goes back to talking with a couple of the girls from my hall. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t admire beauty. And Branden is pretty beautiful.”
I sigh without meaning to and catch myself staring again at Branden, who’s still sitting with Megan and her sisters. Branden, who looks so much more at home surrounded by that much talent and beauty. Tyler says Megan doesn’t stand a chance, but I think he’s just trying to make me feel better. Branden’s cut out to be with someone immensely talented. I’ve already proven that’s not me.
After that realization, it’s practically impossible to find my appetite. I pick at the fries on my plate and listen to everyone else talking around me. But I’m already drifting. They’re already moving faster than I ever will.
• • •
Near the end of lunch, right after they bring out a tray of what I thought were brownies but are actually chocolate-chip granola bars—a terrible misconception, albeit still tasty—Olga nonchalantly walks over to a bulletin board on the wall and pins up three sheets of paper. The casting announcements. She’s barely taken a step to the side before half the camp is jumping from their chairs to see them. I’m not among the first, that’s for sure; I already know I’m not getting into flying trapeze.
Still, when I do make it up there, I’m a little disappointed to see that I was right. Riley stands at my side and congratulates me on getting into juggling with her, even though that was kind of a giveaway. I feel a little sick to see I was the only one who auditioned who didn’t get into flying trapeze. Branden’s name is at the top, a reminder that he and I are on completely different social levels. And seeing as how we won’t have any training together, I might as well get used to that fact now.
“Such a shame,” comes a voice beside me. The drawl makes my skin crawl. “Here I was hoping we’d get to see more of your amazing aerial acrobatics.”
I glare at Megan, who is staring at the announcements with a contented, malicious smile on her face, like a cat who just ate a large and tasty mouse. Every part of me wishes I had some sort of snappy comeback, but I’ve got nothing. Not that I have any time to respond. She looks at me, her grin widening.
“It’s probably for the best. Can’t have you thinking you’re good enough for Branden, can we?” Then she winks and spins on her heel, walking off toward the exit, where the rest of her sisters are waiting.
“I really, really hate her,” I mutter.
“I think the feeling’s mutual,” Riley replies. I nearly jump—I’d forgotten she was even standing there. Just shows how much Megan gets to me, seeing as Riley’s hair makes her stand out in a crowd. I look around the cafeteria but Branden’s already gone, probably off to afternoon practice. “Come on,” Riley says, once more taking me by the arm. “Juggling will help. And if you’re really frustrated, we can just start throwing clubs at each other. That’s always helped me de-stress.”
Chapter
Ten
The 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.
