Love Is in the Air (12 page)

I slow down a few hundred feet from the trapeze rig, leaning against a tree and watching the kids and coaches practice. I don't think any of them see me, not from here, but I brought a few juggling balls just in case—always practice, Riley told me. And practicing is a perfectly legitimate reason to be out here.

“That could have been you,” I mutter to myself, tossing a few balls back and forth as I watch the kids swing and flip from the trapeze. When Branden climbs the shaky rope ladder and reaches
out for the trapeze, my heart leaps with him. He moves so gracefully, so effortlessly, and when he finally lets go of the bar and flips in the air, he soars like a bird. A very attractive bird. I'm torn between being impressed with the way Branden moves and being upset that I'm not out there with him.

I should have tried harder. I shouldn't have given up.

Branden goes up again and does another flip from the bar—a double somersault, this time—and lands effortless on the net, bouncing high in the air on the rebound. Even though I've already seen him do it, it still makes me a little nauseated. Face-planting toward the ground just doesn't look like fun. He rolls over the edge of the net and gracefully drops the few feet to the ground. He glances over at me when he lands. If he notices me, he doesn't say anything, just goes back to the group of trapeze kids and sits down in the grass.

That could have been you,
I think angrily again.
But you had to chicken out. It doesn't matter that he's going to help you at the talent show—you could have spent all this time with him if you'd just tried harder.

One of the ball tosses goes awry, and the striped ball flies away. I curse and head over to it, not taking my eyes off the grass at my feet so no one can see my face—not that anyone's looking at me.

Which is why, when I find the ball, I'm surprised to see it's covered by a foot.

A foot in a pale-blue flip-flop.

“Looking for something?” comes her unmistakable drawl.
I look up and brush the hair from my eyes to stare straight at Megan. Her blond hair's in a ponytail, and she's wearing a pale-blue leotard and white shorts. She looks like something out of
The Nutcracker
. “Or maybe you were just looking
at
something?”

I grit my teeth and hold out my hand. Experience has shown that it's never smart to try and fight back with a witty remark.
Not that she'd understand wit if it slapped her in the face,
I think.

“Cat got your tongue?” she says, smiling like it's the funniest thing she's heard in ages.

“I think you're stepping on something of mine,” I say.

“Oh, this?” She bends over—without bending her knees, of course, which just reminds me I can barely touch my toes—and picks up the ball.

I hold out my hand. “Can I have it back?”

She shrugs elegantly. “Maybe. But first you're going to tell me what you're doing all the way over here.”

“Just give it back,” I say. Ugh, it sounds like I'm whining.

She arches an eyebrow.

“Let me guess,” she says. “You're out here because you wanted to watch
him
.”

I don't look where she's looking, not until she laughs.

“I know you've got the hots for him,” she says. “I mean, it's pretty obvious. And I know you think he likes you, but it's all pity. I heard him talking to his friends. Said he looks at you like you're his little sister. Like he needs to protect you. He
definitely
doesn't look at you like you could be his girlfriend.”

“Just give me the ball,” I grumble. I can practically hear my teeth grating. Getting kicked out of camp is the last thing I want, but I can't help but feel slapping this girl would be a justified reason.

“He and I go way back,” she continues. “Met at a camp two years ago. It was love at first sight, but distance always got in the way.”

“If that's the case, why aren't you two dating now?”

She just shrugs.

“Sometimes it takes boys a while to realize what they're missing.”

“So he dumped you,” I respond. I don't know where the sudden fire comes from, but I'm tired of being toyed with.

“You don't know who you're messing with.”

“Neither do you. Now give me the ball.”

To my surprise, she drops the ball into my hand. She visibly composes herself, drawing herself up a little bit straighter.

“Of course. I'll also give you some advice: Stop trying to impress him. You're only making yourself look desperate.”

Then she tousles my hair—painfully—and stalks off. I can't help but feel what little hope I have diminish with every step she takes. Was she telling the truth? Does Branden really think of me as a sister? If so, I might as well just give up now.

Chapter
Fourteen

A
re you feeling okay?” Riley
asks. “You seemed like you were on Planet Zombie all through practice.”

I shrug. It's after our final juggling session for the day, and yeah, we made a lot of progress, but no, my heart wasn't in it. As we head back to the main building for dinner, I feel like a failure.

“I think I'd rather be on Planet Zombie,” I mutter. “Or better yet, I know someone who should go in my place.”

She sighs and wraps an arm around me. “Let me guess: Megan?”

I nod.

“You can't let her get to you!” she says. “She's just a bully. A contortionist bully at that, which everyone in the circus world knows is a hundred percent worse than your normal school bully.”

“She said Branden thinks of me as a little sister.” This just makes her hug me tighter.

“And how would
she
know?” she asks.

“She heard him say it. Also, apparently they dated.”

Riley shakes her head. “I've seen the way he looks at you, and it is
not
like a sister, trust me. Megan's just jealous because Branden's spending all this time with you. Speaking of, we've got talent show practice right after dinner, so wipe that frown off your face before he sees it and thinks you're unhappy about performing with him.”

I do my best to smile. It's one of those smiles that looks like a grimace, but it does make Riley laugh and murmur, “Hopeless” before opening the door for me. I'll take that as a slight victory.

•  •  •

“Okay, plan of attack,” Tyler says the moment I'm sitting down. For a moment I can't tell if he
has
a plan or is asking for one, and it's not until after he's been silent for a few moments that I realize it's the latter.

“Can't a girl eat her dinner first?” I ask. It's lasagna tonight, and the smell of garlic bread has my stomach growling like an untamed lion.

“A girl
could
,” Tyler says. “But then again, a girl could also get a big piece of pasta flung at her face if she leaves her boy hanging.”

I snort and take a big, slow bite of lasagna, making sure not to break eye contact with Tyler while I chew.

“So ladylike,” he says. Of course, that's also the moment when Kevin sits down next to him. Kevin's red hair is an even darker
shade of orange—clearly, he just got out of the shower. The overpowering scent of body wash only confirms it. He nestles against Tyler's shoulder for a second before picking up his fork.

“Everyone excited for tonight?” he asks, as though he's oblivious to the interplay between Tyler and me.

“Totally,” Riley says.

“Definitely,” says Branden, who sits down beside me as he says it. I swallow my lasagna and nearly choke. He pats me on the back. “Careful. We can't have you choking before you're even onstage.”

“Thanks,” I manage. Once I get the coughing under control I look at him, looking at me.
Is
that how someone would look at a sister? I don't think it is, but then again, I don't have a sibling, so I guess I wouldn't know. And how the heck do I ask him if he actually dated Megan without it being awkward? “We were just deciding the plan of attack for practice.”

“Well, first we need to settle on a song,” Tyler says.

“We did,” I begin, but he cuts me off.

“Too slow,” Riley says. “Executive decision. You have backup dancers. So you'll need to sing something they can actually dance to.”

I open my mouth to argue, but before I can get a word out, the guys are throwing different ideas back and forth. Not even a minute later they've settled on some pop song that's been taking over the radio all school year. The only input I get is when they ask if I know the song. Which I do. Luckily, it's in my range and luckily, I've sung it a few times. In my room. When no one was listening.

And just like that, it's been decided. We have a song.

That's when things go from bad to hilarious.

Because after the song's been decided, Tyler stands and pulls Kevin and Branden to their feet. At first I think it's to get more food, since they've already cleared their plates. It's not. It's to figure out choreography. It's been a crazy few days, and the moment Tyler starts swaying his hips and doing complicated arm gestures—much to the bewilderment of Kevin and Branden, who quickly stop trying to follow along—I burst into laughter. Riley snorts so hard she nearly coughs up her garlic bread.

“Stop, stop!” she chuckles. Tyler drops his arms with a scowl on his face. Branden and Kevin look at her like she's a saint. “Everyone's looking. We can't give away our secrets yet!”

“Fine, then,” Tyler grunts. “I'm getting more food. I'll save the rest of my awesome for practice.”

Tyler stalks off to the cafeteria line for more lasagna, and Kevin and Branden sit back down. Branden settles so close to me our arms are practically brushing. I glance over at him, to his spiked brown hair and gorgeous eyes, and in that moment I really wish our arms
were
brushing.

Of course, that's when Megan's treacherous voice floats through my mind:
He looks at you like you're his little sister
. I slouch away from him. Even when she's not there, Megan's good at ruining the moment.

Riley leaves a few jokes later, and Kevin's not far behind. Riley makes sure to pat me on the shoulder before stepping away,
pointedly reminding me that practice is in thirty minutes and I should definitely not be late. At first I'm not entirely certain why she feels the need to tell me that—I'm kind of the lead singer, so it's my ­reputation on the line. Then Branden sighs heavily, and I realize it's just us at the table. Just the two of us. And Megan's nowhere to be seen.

“So,” he says. There's an awkward tension in the air the moment I realize we're alone, like suddenly everyone in the cafeteria is watching us, listening in on every word we say.

“So,” I respond, and poke at my lasagna.

“What were you and Megan talking about?”

Just hearing her name is enough to send a small jolt of fear and dread through me. I glance around; she's nowhere to be seen. It's almost like I'm worried that saying her name will magically summon her, like an evil genie or Bloody Mary.

“What do you mean?” I ask, looking back to him. He actually looks a little concerned. Wait, why is he looking concerned? Is there something she and I
shouldn't
be talking about?

“I saw you earlier, out at the practice field. You two were talking about something. Either that or you were just creepily watching us practice in silence.”

I shrug.

“We don't really talk. I think she's set on us being mortal enemies.”

“Ah, so threats then?”

I don't want to get into this, mainly because it would mean
admitting that I have feelings for him. And that Megan's trying to get in the way.

“It's nothing,” I say. “I can handle it. She was just being herself. Anyway, how was the rest of practice?”

“You're avoiding the question, but it was good.”

“Are you doing an act for the final show?” I push some lasagna around on my plate—not because I'm embarrassed to eat around him, but because the mention of Megan instantly made my appetite go away.

“Sort of. It's kind of hard to do an individual act on flying trap, so we're doing one big group number. Should be a lot of fun.”

“I bet,” I say. I can't help but let my voice get a little disappointed.

“How about you? Riley says you two are working on a killer partner routine.”

“That's the goal,” I say.
Not as impressive as flying with you, but I suppose it could be worse.

He goes silent for a moment. I wonder if I should ask him about going to camp with Megan, but I honestly don't want to say her name aloud any more than I absolutely have to. I don't want him to confirm that they dated, or that they still kind of are dating, or that he's not sure of anything right now. Him being uncertain might actually be worse than him just playing me. I've read enough books about love triangles to realize that being the “other” interest always puts you in the friend zone.