by A. Destiny
“We have a winner!” Olga announces. “Michael’s team, with their glittery rendition of Puck. Well done!”
My stomach drops when it’s not Leena’s name. Then I realize she’s talking about Branden.
“Good job!” I manage to tell him, right before we’re ushered back to our groups. I watch him fist-bump his comrades when he reaches his team. A few girls clap me on the back, but it’s not as warm a welcome. Especially from Megan.
“Don’t even try it. I see the way you look at him,” she hisses in my ear. “You don’t stand a chance.”
I glance at her, but she’s already refocused on Olga.
“Mermaid!” Olga yells.
As Riley drags me back to our room to find something for the next look, I can’t get those words out of my head. Because I know she’s right. In spite of that brief bout of excitement, I don’t really fit in here. I’m way too normal, too dull. And surrounded by all these glittery, amazing circus girls, I know there’s no way Branden would ever pick me.
Chapter Five
You’re being ridiculous,” Riley says.
It’s a few minutes after sign-in, and she and I are back in our dorm room. We didn’t win the game—that honor went to Branden’s hall and their hilarious rendition of a merman, complete with painted-on shell bra—but we did spend the last half hour chatting as a hall. Megan was giving me the evil eye the entire time. I’m surprised I didn’t melt right then and there.
“I’m not,” I say. I’m lying on the bed in my pj’s, staring at the ceiling. One of the college kids had put up star stickers, and the RAs must have missed a few when cleaning the room; the stars glow faintly in the darkness. “I should just give up now. Megan’s right—Branden would never go for me.”
“So why is he being all flirty with you, huh?” she asks. She rolls on her side to look at me—even in the near dark, her fiery hair seems to glow from the corner of my eye.
I take a deep breath.
“Because it’s funny.”
She doesn’t answer for a moment.
“What do you mean, ‘it’s funny’?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” I admit. I squeeze my eyes shut, like maybe it will hide me from what I’m admitting.
“What happened?” she asks. I hear her shuffle from her bed, and then she’s sitting next to me, a hand on my shoulder.
“It’s nothing.”
“Clearly it’s something.”
I don’t want to think about this, and I don’t know why I even mentioned it. I barely know her—I don’t even talk about this with the friends I’ve had since elementary.
“It’s embarrassing,” I finally admit. “But last year there was this guy. Josh. He played basketball and sat next to me in computer class. Anyway, one day he asked me out. And I said yes.”
“And?”
“What do you think? He told me to meet him at this restaurant, and then he didn’t show. Never gave me his number, so I just sat there, waiting, for like half an hour before I left and walked home.”
“Maybe he forgot?” Riley suggests, but her voice says she already knows that’s not the case.
“Nope.” I try to make my own words strong, nonchalant—I’ve spent the last few months convincing myself this guy didn’t get to me, and it’s still a struggle. “The next day he came into class, and the moment he saw me he burst out laughing. Got high fives from his friends and everything. It was . . . bad. I almost ran out of class right then. I never asked why he didn’t show—must have been some sort of sick joke. You know, get the nerd girl’s hopes up.”
Riley doesn’t answer for a while, but she also doesn’t move her hand from my shoulder.
“I had something similar happen once,” she finally says. “Though not with a date. Some jerk wrote me fake love notes for a week, left them in my locker. Good ones too—quoting Shakespeare and all that, so I thought they were genuine. Then the last one just said, ‘JK, I would never date a girl as ugly as you.’ ”
I open my eyes and look at her. There’s no sadness when she talks about it.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“I’m not,” she responds. “It taught me that some guys are real jerks. And somehow, I dunno, after that point I just stopped caring what people thought of me.” She shrugs her shoulders. “That was before I started dressing crazy—I’d spent so much time trying to fit in and look gorgeous like everyone else. I let everything go after that. And then, a few weeks later, I met Sandy at a juggling class. He liked me, fuchsia hair and all, and that’s when I learned there were still gentlemen in the world, and that the important ones will like you for all your crazy.” She squeezes my shoulder. “What I’m trying to say is, you can’t let that one bad experience get you down. I don’t think Branden’s that type of guy. And if he is, screw it. There’s someone out there for you. And when you meet him, you’ll know.”
She leans over and gives me an awkward hug.
“Anyway,” she says as she hops over to her bed. “I think you’re pretty awesome, and mine is the only opinion that counts around here. Obviously.”
“Thanks,” I reply. “I think you’re pretty awesome too.”
“Of course I am.”
A pause.
“Good night, Jennifer.”
“Good night, Riley.”
I close my eyes and block out the stars on the ceiling. In the shadows of my imagination, I let myself daydream about Branden smiling at me, taking my hand. Asking me on a date.
And I can almost let myself hope that in the real world, he’d mean it.
• • •
I wake up the next day with a strange mix of fear and excitement in my stomach. I’m up before the alarm—definitely a first for me—and jump on Riley’s bed to wake her up.
“Riley! Riley!” I laugh. “It’s Christmas!”
She groans and rolls over, burying her shock of hair beneath a pillow.
“No, it’s not,” she mumbles.
I pull the pillow off her. “Oh fine, you’re right. But it is almost breakfast time, and I don’t want to be late. Especially since we have warm-ups right after. I don’t want to throw up all over Branden on our first day.”
This makes Riley laugh, and she pushes herself up to sitting. “It would definitely make a lasting impression,” she says. Then she pushes me to the side. “Okay, okay, let’s go. But brush your teeth first—it smells like you ate cat poop in your sleep.”
I laugh and make sure to breathe in her face before rolling off the bed and heading to the bathroom.
• • •
“How’d you sleep, ladies?” Tyler asks. We’re all sitting at the same table in the corner; I keep hoping Branden will come sit by us, but no such luck. I spy him sitting with some of the guys from his hall, though he does glance over and catch my eye once.
“Like rocks,” I say.
“Speak for yourself,” Riley responds, picking at her eggs. “You snore.”
I throw a balled-up napkin at her.
“Liar. I do not.”
Riley looks at Tyler. “She does,” she says. “And mumbles. I kept waiting for her to sing opera.”
Tyler chuckles and runs a hand through his curly hair.
“Yeah, well, it can’t be worse than my roommate. Stinky McStinkerson doesn’t smell any better in the morning, let me tell you. And he snores like a train.”
Riley laughs.
“Still not worse than Jennifer.”
I shake my head. “You’re horrible,” I say.
“You love me.”
“Speaking of,” Tyler says, “when are you gonna make a move on that Branden kid?”
I stare at him, openmouthed, then glare at Riley. She tries to look innocent as she bites into her muffin.
“Oh, come on,” Tyler says, “it’s pretty obvious. I mean, you keep looking over at him.”
“You’re really bad at being discreet,” Riley adds.
I shake my head.
“I’ll make a move the same time you do,” I sa
y. I smile at Tyler, who raises an eyebrow. “I saw how you were staring at that acrobat.”
“Kevin?” he asks. He breaks out into a grin. “Oh, sweetie, I’ve already made a move. We were chatting right up until sign-in last night. He’s really cute, and he only lives twenty minutes away from me. Kind of perfect.”
“Jealous,” Riley says. “Gay boys always get the cute ones.”
I elbow her. “You’ve got Sandy.”
She nods. “Yes, but that’s different. Besides, you’re changing the subject. Tyler’s brought his game, time for you to bring yours.”
“Okay, okay,” I say. “I’ll talk to him at lunch.”
“If not sooner,” Tyler says with a wink to Riley.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask. But of course he won’t tell me. He just goes back to eating his scrambled eggs.
• • •
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
After 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.
