Текст книги "Love is in the air"
Автор книги: A. Destiny
Соавторы: Alex R. Kahler
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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 12 страниц)
Chapter
Twenty
I’ve seen the Karamazov Circus every year for as long as I can remember, but the show we go and see—which is almost an hour away by van—is a completely different sort of spectacle. The Karamazov show was always in a big top; even though there were sparkling outfits and grand music and bright lights, it had a sort of old-world charm, like it was all kind of antique. But this show, which is just called Nine Limbs, is entirely different.
For one thing, the show takes place in a theater. Riley and the boys and I grab a row of seats together near the front and pass our giant tub of complimentary popcorn back and forth between us. The stage is curtained with light-blue fabric that almost lets you see what’s going on behind it; there are shadows moving back there, shadows that look like people warming up and setting up props.
“This is going to be amazing,” Riley whispers into my ear. Then she pauses. “Uh-oh.”
“What?” I ask. But I follow her gaze, and the question is answered. Megan and Branden are sitting down a few rows in front of us. I can just see their heads sticking out above their seats. “Great.” Now I get to watch them make out the whole show!
“Ignore them,” Kevin murmurs beside me.
Thankfully, I don’t have long to watch. A few moments later the lights in the theater dim, and the show begins.
Like I said, I’ve seen the Karamazov Circus for years. What happens onstage with Nine Limbs takes my breath away.
Once the houselights go dark, the shadows behind the curtain start to move in unison. The music is driving but somber, all instrumental, and the shadows join and separate, making shapes that look like buses and skyscrapers and taxis. Then the backlights go bright and the curtain billows away.
Everything that happens onstage is a gorgeous mix of dance and circus and theater. The first act is a duo acro pairing that is honestly beyond words. They leap and twist in each other’s arms, the ballerina-like girl contorting into impossible shapes with her partner. It’s breathtaking, and the aerial silks routine that follows is just as spellbinding. It’s almost impossible to tell where one act ends and the other begins—everything weaves together, drawn by the gorgeous music and a trio of clowns that are dressed like lawyers.
Even though it’s beautiful, even though it’s impossible to look away, I can still see Megan and Branden. I don’t see them kiss, but she does lean her head on his shoulder once the show starts. For his part, he doesn’t wrap an arm around her. It’s a small victory. Very small.
Still, their presence taints the entire show. By the time intermission comes around—right after a really fast-paced juggling act done by five guys to jazz music—my stomach is in knots. Megan stands and stretches, arching her back more than is probably needed. Show-off. Branden stands a moment after. She takes his hand and guides him out into the lobby.
“Did you want to mingle?” Riley asks.
“No, thanks,” I respond. “I think I’ll just stay here.”
“Suit yourself.”
She and the boys leave. I stand and stretch but don’t leave my spot. It’s stupid and I can’t believe I’m hiding in here, but I really don’t want to see Megan and Branden together. It’s bad enough knowing they’re out there right now.
Ugh. I’m so pathetic.
“Jenn?”
I turn around. It’s the boy from earlier, the one who complimented me after practice. I almost didn’t recognize him without his practice clothes—he’s in a button-down shirt with a bow tie. It looks like he’s going to the opera, rather than a circus. He starts walking down the row toward me.
“Hi, um . . .” I trail off, because I don’t think I ever got his name.
“Luke,” he says. He extends his hand. “Sorry, guess I never introduced myself before.”
“It’s okay.”
“Enjoying the show?”
I glance around. The place is still empty, but I’m not really looking for anyone. Staring at empty space is just a lot easier than making eye contact with Luke; his gaze is intense, and I don’t know the last time a guy’s looked at me like that besides Branden. Like they say: When it rains, it pours.
“Yeah,” I respond, not meeting his eyes. That’s when I catch a familiar silhouette in the door. Well, two silhouettes—Branden and Megan have perfect timing. I look back to Luke immediately.
“Cool,” he says. His hands are stuffed in his pockets, and for a moment he bites his lip, which makes him look incredibly young. “Hey, um. You seem really cool and stuff. Would you maybe want to go to the dance with me?”
I open my mouth, slightly aghast. Definitely not where I thought this conversation was going: I’m used to being the girl who’d be asked if her best friend was taken or not. Why in the world was he asking me? Especially when I don’t even know him. I think of Josh and being stood up, wonder if maybe this is the same thing. I’m about to say no out of habit—I mean, obviously this is some sort of mistake or mix-up—but then I see the way Megan’s clinging to Branden. They’re only a few rows away. Branden makes eye contact with me for just a second, then looks the other way, somewhat abashed. That’s all the sign I needed. There’s no way he’ll be asking me, and I don’t want to be going alone. Even Riley mentioned having her boyfriend Sandy driving out for the dance and final show.
So, once Branden’s within earshot, I turn on Showbiz Jennifer and give Luke my most dazzling smile.
“Sure,” I say, beaming. “I’d love to go to the dance with you.”
I keep smiling and hope—really, desperately hope—that Branden sees it. I don’t know why, really. It’s not like I want revenge. I just want him to see that I’m not lost without him. Even if I did wish it was him standing in Luke’s shoes right now. This is precisely what I wish I could have done to Josh after he stood me up—showed him my life wasn’t over, and that he was missing out.
“Great,” Luke says. The nervousness fades from him in an instant. “Well, um, looks like the show’s about to start. I’ll see you later.”
Then he makes his way toward his seat, brushing into Megan and Branden as he goes. He looks back at me before sitting down. The smile he gives is oddly comforting. When the show begins, I find I’m not so bothered by Megan and Branden anymore. Life might actually be on the upswing.
• • •
Later that night, when we’re back in the dorm and Riley’s finally stopped going on about the show (she didn’t talk about anything else the entire ride back), I manage to tell her about Luke. I was considering not saying anything, but after we turned the lights off and I snuggled under the covers, I realized I probably wouldn’t get much sleep if I didn’t spill.
“Wow,” Riley says when I’ve filled her in. “That’s . . . kind of unexpected.”
“I know, right?” I prop my head on my hand and look over to her. She’s already cuddled in, a pile of juggling equipment littering the ground beside her bed. “He’s barely spoken to me at all and then—bam! Do you think it’s a trap?”
She chuckles. “I don’t see how it could be. I mean, it’s not like he’s going to dump pig’s blood on you or anything. Maybe he was just too shy to talk to you earlier. Guys can be shy too.”
“Really? He doesn’t strike me as the shy type.”
“Take Sandy,” she says with a dreamy sigh. “He slipped anonymous love notes in my locker for almost a month before finally actually saying hello. When he did, he blushed brighter than my hair. It was adorable.”
“I still can’t help but think this is something Megan put together.”
“I’m sure she has nothing to do with it. I’ve never seen those two talking to each other. Why can’t you just believe that Luke actually likes you?”
“Years of practice,” I mutter.
“Yeah, well, retrain yourself. You’re awesome. Luke recognizes it. Go with it!”
I sigh and reach up to turn off the bedside lamp.
“If you say so,” I say. “But if this is a disaster, I blame it on you.”
“Whatever you say. At least we’ve got one hurdle out of the way.”
I turn off the light. “What’s that?”
“We know you can dance.”
Chapter
Twenty-One
I tell Kevin and Tyler all about Luke asking me to the dance over breakfast the next day. Not because I want to, but because Riley forces me into it. They’re just as reassuring as she was, saying that my performance was definitely worthy enough to grab any boy’s attention. The whole conversation lasts maybe five minutes—then it’s right back to discussing the show last night and the different pieces of choreography they want to incorporate into their act. Even Riley gets in on it, discussing some new passes she wants to add into our routine.
“But we perform tomorrow,” I say, my gut dropping. And we practice in front of everyone else this afternoon!
She just shrugs. “Fortune favors the brave. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“I lose an eye, or a tooth, or get knocked unconscious, or fall on my—”
“That was rhetorical,” she says, laughing. “You’ll be fine. If we can’t work it out by lunch, we don’t have to put it in.”
“Right,” I say. “I’m not so sure I believe you.”
“I wouldn’t,” Tyler says, leaning across the table. “I know that look: You’re stuck with her crazy ideas whether you want to be or not.”
• • •
Practice that morning is a nightmare. Riley wasn’t kidding about trying new tricks, and she also wasn’t kidding about only putting in the ones that we master. The trouble is, that means she’s not letting things slide; no, she runs the passes over and over again. Mastery isn’t really an option—it’s a demand. Every practice before this was filled with idle conversation about where we grew up and what movies we were looking forward to. She doesn’t talk at all during this, save for calling out drills and telling me what I’m doing wrong. Her tongue sticks out between her lips with determination, and after an hour and a half, I’m not the only one sweating.
Still, after the first hour, we’ve managed to nail down three new passes. Even the coach, Jim, comes over to tell us he’s impressed with our progress. This doesn’t mean Riley backs off in intensity, though; she immediately begins working the new passes into our old routine, blocking us through choreography and counting beats and calling moves. It’s a miracle I’m able to keep up. I think, after Tyler’s training for the talent show, my body somehow managed to figure out how to remember choreography. Which is very impressive, seeing as my lack of muscle memory was a huge reason I never took dance.
The last hour of practice is for getting the entire juggling group in sync. We need to fit all of our individual acts together into a cohesive whole. Thankfully, there aren’t too many of us, and after a few minutes of chatting, we have everything basically plotted out. Riley and I are scheduled to go on first, since we already have everything choreographed to music. I could cry in relief—after spending all that time waiting during the talent show, I don’t think there’s any way I could do it again. I can only hope my luck holds and the jugglers will be among the first to perform, like in the show we saw last night. Don’t let us be the finale! The rest of the jugglers will filter in after us, and a few are going to just do some passes in the background of Riley and me. It should be simple. Fun. We’ve got upbeat music and crazy tie-dye costumes dredged up from the depths of the costuming department. Kevin had been pretty off in his guess of theme: We’re doing Psychedelic Seventies.
My adrenaline is high when Riley and I leave the practice tent and head toward lunch. My stomach is also grumbling like it hasn’t eaten in a month.
“We’re going to kill it tomorrow,” Riley says, beaming. She slaps me on the back. “Just make sure you don’t mess up the ‘chocolate bar,’ and we’ll be golden.”
“I’ll do my best,” I respond, once more wondering who named these moves. No pressure or anything.
“Hey, Jennifer!” someone calls from behind. I pause, feeling my heart drop to my toes. I turn and try to give Luke a winning smile.
“Hey,” I respond. Smooth, smooth.
“How was practice?” he asks, catching up and matching my pace. I glance to Riley, who gives me a hopeful smile and a thumbs-up before walking a few steps away.
“It was good,” I respond. Suddenly I’m really wishing eloquence was my thing. I was never this tongue-tied talking to Branden. He was just so easy to be around. “How about you?”
“Great!” he says. “Everything really came together last minute. It’s gonna be explosive. I can’t wait for you to see it.”
“Likewise,” I say. We’re nearly to the door, and my skin is practically crawling at how awkward it is trying to make conversation with him. I just hope that he doesn’t try to talk at the dance tonight. It’s not that he’s creeping me out or anything—I can’t really put my finger on it, but it just feels weird. And now that Megan’s not around to one-up, I’m starting to doubt my choice of saying yes to him. “Um, what are you doing in the show?”
“Cyr wheel,” he says. “It’s that big metal hoop thing. I get to spin around and try not to throw up.”
I laugh, because I know that’s what I’m supposed to do, but in the back of my head I can only think of Branden’s Cyr wheel performance at the demonstration at the beginning of camp. It seems like forever ago, but it was only a few days. Crazy.
“Awesome. I don’t think I could do that. I get sick on the teacups at Disney.”
“Me too,” he chuckles. “I don’t know why I do it to myself. Maybe because it looks so cool.”
We step into the cafeteria, and I catch sight of Tyler and Kevin already sitting at the table, talking animatedly. Tyler catches sight of me and waves.
“Well,” I say, trying to come up with a non-insulting reason to leave Luke in the lunch line. I can’t think of anything. “Guess I’ll see you at rehearsal?”
“Guess so,” he says. He sounds a little disappointed, but I don’t know if I can stand much more time chatting with him. When I leave his side and head over to the boys, I realize why.
Branden stands up at a table near the back and my heart does a double take. Even though Luke asked me to the dance, even though Branden’s apparently completely entranced by Megan, seeing him still causes butterflies in my stomach.
You still like him, I think. And because of that, going to the dance with Luke makes you feel like a traitor.
I shake my head and try to push the thoughts out of my mind when I sit down across from Tyler, but it doesn’t help.
I still have feelings for Branden. And unless one of us makes a move soon, camp will be over before it comes to anything.
Chapter
Twenty-Two
We start the group rehearsal almost immediately after lunch. As one, the entire camp assembles in the one tent none of us has stepped foot in since the camp started: the big top. Chills roll over my skin the moment we step inside; this is it. This is my dream coming to life. Today, even though it’s still technically just a rehearsal, I make my debut as a big top performer.
I settle in on the bleachers beside Riley and Tyler. Olga is in the center ring, chatting with a few of the coaches. The rest of the staff is sitting on the ring curb—the red ring that encircles the carpet-covered stage. Once the entire camp is assembled, Olga claps her hands for silence. The whole tent goes still.
“This is it, troupers,” she says, walking back and forth like a ringmaster taking control of the stage. “Today is the day all your efforts culminate into a show. You’ve all worked very hard for the last few days, but I’m afraid the hard work isn’t over just yet. This is where your dreams become a reality. To get there, however, we’ll need to push just a little bit more. I’m hoping the show last night inspired you to dream bigger, strive harder. You’ll need that motivation for the training ahead.
“Over the last few days, you’ve not only learned new skills and routines, but you’ve also learned about your fellow campers. You’ve made new friends and creative allies, and hopefully you’ve discovered more about yourselves and your art form in the process. Our sincerest hope as your coaches and confidants is that this is just the beginning of your circus career. Consider tomorrow’s show a stepping-stone. The applause is all yours, but it is just a taste of what’s to come.”
Then she begins to discuss the show order. My dreams of going on first and getting it all over with are short-lived. Juggling is right after the intermission, which means I not only have to wait through an entire first set, but twenty minutes of milling around with family and friends as well. The only perk is that my nerves will get a small puncture right away; the entire company will go on at the start of the show for an opener called the charivari. Apparently, this means I’ll come out juggling and end in some group pyramid we’ll be practicing soon. I just hope this means my stage fright will be able to take a backseat for the rest of the show—maybe the adrenaline will last?
And then, after a few minutes of discussing how the overall show will run, we get right into practice.
If I thought rehearsal with Riley this morning was work, group rehearsal is an entirely new level of stress. We spend a good thirty minutes blocking out the charivari, making sure everyone knows their entrance cues and choreography. Riley and Tyler and I do a three-person pyramid for our final pose that consists of me standing on both of their knees while they hold on to each other’s hands in a sort of chair pose. I don’t know the name of the pose, but I do know I wasn’t made to do partner acro: It takes all my willpower not to shake so hard that I topple over. Turns out standing still on two people’s knees is actually a lot of work.
The perk of this is that my focus is entirely on the work at hand. It’s only when we take our first break that my brain switches over to worrying about later tonight. There’s a small part of me that’s still hoping Branden will dump Megan and ask me to the dance—not that I want to let Luke down like that—but when I look over and see him standing at the water cooler, those hopes drown. He’s standing there with Megan at his side, her arm looped through his. As if on cue, he looks back to me right then and catches my eye. Once more, I can’t figure out his expression; it almost looks a little apologetic and a little hurt. Then again, I’m probably just projecting.
Megan turns her head when he looks away and stares straight at me. She winks. I’m definitely not projecting there—her expression is smug, and it puts me on edge.
I turn away and spot Luke in the crowd, practicing backflips with some other acro kids. He notices my glance and gives me a wave, then goes back to spotting his friends.
You’re being ridiculous, I chastise myself. A week ago you would have killed to have a cute boy ask you to a dance. And now you’re dragging your feet because he’s not the one you thought you wanted. Just give him a chance. You never know—he might be a real gentleman.
So I swallow what little pride I have and convince myself to give tonight a chance. Stop hurting myself because Branden isn’t stepping up to the plate and actually enjoy my time with the boy who did. It still feels like walking into some weird trap, but that’s probably just nerves as well.
I know one thing for certain: Showbiz certainly messes with your perception of things. It’s hard to tell where the stage ends and real life begins.
After the break, we go into the actual run-through of the show. It’s our first chance to see everyone perform their acts, and the pressure is on. I mean, I know everyone’s supportive—this is our collective show, and we all want it to be good—but I can still feel the adrenaline pumping through the tent. I’m not the only one who’s never performed in a big top. I’m not the only one whose dream is about to be realized. Or trashed.
We run through the charivari once more and then disperse into the bleachers to block the rest of the acts. The clowns go on first, wearing some crazy tie-dye lab coats and saying they’ve discovered a way to go back in time. Their skit is actually really funny, and that’s coming from a girl who usually doesn’t like clowns. They don’t do any pie-in-the-face humor. It actually has some wit to it.
Near the end, the three clowns stumble into their time machine—which is just a giant cardboard box decorated with stars and painted-on clocks—and the lights dim. The music changes to some time-warp-sounding synth. When the lights come back on, the clowns fall out of the box just in time to nearly get run over by the Cyr wheel group.
Luke and the other three performers—two girls and one other guy—are amazing. Luke seems to be the leader. As they all roll and spin around one another in perfect time to the music, he rolls to the center of the ring and starts spinning incredibly fast, cartwheeling at dizzying speeds before rolling around like a spun penny, going faster and faster and lower to the ground until I’m sure he’s going to fall. He doesn’t. He manages to spin back up to standing and then rolls back into the group for a few more tricks and spins. When they all stop and take a bow, I know I’m clapping louder than anyone else.
Suddenly the fact that Luke asked me to the dance seems like some sort of honor, like it’s a miracle he even noticed me, let alone asked me out. I’m not normally one to look at the people around me like we’re all ranked, but when I watched Luke perform, he definitely seemed like he was on an entirely different level. Out of my league.
If only I could convince myself that my singing actually was good enough to capture his attention.
Right after their act, the contortionists take the stage. My excitement from before immediately melts into a sick sort of envy.
The Triplets are stunning. They’re wearing sleek checkerboard-sequined leotards and perform on a raised golden pedestal. When the music starts, they begin twisting all over one another, contorting into moves I’m pretty certain aren’t humanly possible. I hear Tyler mutter, “Cyborgs,” beside me, and I stifle a laugh. But it’s hard to make fun of them; their act is solid. I sit through the entire thing with my mouth agape and this growing knot in my chest.
This is why Branden chose her, I think, as Megan does a one-armed handstand on top of her sister’s raised leg. She’s talented. She’s more than talented. She’s a goddess. She takes risks. And you were too scared to climb a stupid ladder. What made you think you had a chance?
If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that I’m my worst enemy. I can’t focus on the rest of the contortion act once those vile thoughts seep into my mind. Thankfully, the act is up before I can get too aggravated—both at Megan’s smug grin and my own frustrating lack of courage. The next group to go on is the clowns again, but their skit is dulled by the dialogue racing back and forth in my head.
I should have just climbed that dumb ladder. Then Branden would have chosen me and I wouldn’t be sitting here, wishing I was good enough.
But then some small, rational voice in me whispers that I shouldn’t have to try so hard, that I should just be myself. After a few rounds of this back-and-forth, I realize it’s not just about Branden. This is about me. This is about being good enough for myself.
Not climbing that ladder meant I copped out on the one dream I’d been harboring for years. Branden was just a side note. The real disappointment was that I’d given up on myself.
And I wouldn’t have another chance to make it right.
Riley taps me on the arm, snapping me from my reverie. I glance at her to ask what she wants, then catch the movement on the stage.
Branden.
It’s time for the flying trapeze routine. Time to see just what, precisely, I was missing out on by being a coward.
