Love Is in the Air (14 page)

I refused to let myself look in the mirror beforehand.

Someone brushes past me and shoves me to the side. I ­stumble and look back. Of course. Megan and her sisters.

“Sorry,” she says with a smile that says she isn't sorry at all. “I didn't see you there. I thought you were just a pile of discarded glitter.”

“Leave off her, Megan,” Sara says. I know it's Sara—it's the same sister who gave me that weird, almost-apologetic look earlier. Megan glares at her sister. Why in the world is Sara defending me?

“What are you doing back here?” I ask instead.

She just smiles and adjusts her top—a low-cut white thing that my mom would never have let me leave the house wearing.

“Performing,” she says, then she and her sisters take the stage. Sara mouths
sorry
before stepping into the limelight.

I don't know what's worse: seeing Megan onstage, surrounded by her gorgeous blond sisters, and knowing that even Branden's eyes are stuck on her, or knowing the moment her music starts that she's stolen my song.

Riley starts cursing under her breath immediately. I don't think I've ever heard her swear, but she definitely knows a lot of colorful words. And I won't lie—they describe my feelings toward Megan pretty perfectly.

Tyler shows up right then, and he's just as flushed as I am.

“I can't believe this,” he hisses, watching the girls from behind the curtain. “They stole the song!”

Sure enough, Megan's sisters are performing the same song and complimenting it with some scandalous dance moves. There are definitely more hip undulations than in our routine.

“At least she can't sing,” Riley mutters, visibly trying to calm herself.

And yeah, that's true; I'm definitely a better singer than Megan. She's flat on almost every note, and when her sisters drop in for backup vocals, they're too sharp, which just makes everything sound horrible. I can tell that no one really cares, though. The audience isn't focused on the girls' singing; they're focused on their outfits and movements, which are almost worse than when they did their contortion act at the beginning of the camp.

“Can you believe it?” Tyler scoffs. “Does the girl have no shame?”

“I'd say that's a negative,” Riley responds. “How in the world did they know what song we were doing?”

When I look to Branden, I realize he looks as deathly pale and upset as I feel.

I can't actually talk. I know if I do, I'll say something I shouldn't, or run out there and push Megan offstage. Thankfully, I don't have long to wait. Maybe it's rage or maybe they just did a shortened version of the song, but after what seems like forever and no time at all, they assemble for one final pose. The music cuts out and they bow as one, then saunter offstage. Megan makes sure to wink at me when she leaves.

“Knock 'em dead,” she says. Then, before I can respond, Riley pushes me onstage and I'm blinded by the lights.

I don't have time to be angry. I don't have time to yell at Megan. But the moment the music starts and I pick up the mic, I
do
have just enough time to feel embarrassed. The stage lights make it hard to see the audience, but I can tell that they're shifting in their seats, wondering if there's been some sort of mix-up in sound cues. When the music keeps going and the boys take the stage behind me, I'm pretty certain someone out there snickers.

Then, before I can psych myself out and run offstage, my cue hits, and I open my mouth to sing.

Something takes over then, something I've felt only one other time—the last time I was onstage, singing for an audience. It's like all the fear and hesitation from before just melts away, and everything is easy and natural. Even though Megan and her sisters stole my song, the moment I get in the zone, none of that matters.

My voice is cooperating. I hit every note. I even manage to follow along to Tyler's intense choreography. At one point, I leap up into Branden's arms and he spins me around; being in his arms makes warmth flood through me. I spare him a quick glance; even though his eyes are on the crowd and sweat beads his forehead, he's smiling. For some reason, that image of him, shining under the lights, burns into my memory. When he sets me down beside Tyler, I know without a doubt that I'll remember that moment forever.

My adrenaline pumps and I want this to last forever—singing to the crowd, dazzling under the lights. But soon the music ends, and the boys and I take our bows and run offstage. The roar of applause follows at our heels.

“You were amazing!” Riley shouts the moment we clear the curtain. She runs forward and jumps into my arms—I just barely manage to catch her without toppling over. The boys are right behind me, and they all wrap their arms around us in a huge hug. From the corner of my eye, I see Megan scowling at us. Then she turns and stalks away.

“I didn't know you could sing like that!” Tyler yells, bouncing up and down.

“Neither did I!” I say.

For a few moments we just stand there, hugging and laughing. Then Riley pulls Kevin and Tyler away and tells them they need to go meet their adoring fans. Branden stays back with me.

I can still hear the scattering of applause from the audience, but it's quieter now that people are starting to leave and mingle. There will be snacks in the lobby, apparently, and then we have half an hour before sign-in.

Branden stares at me, then the ground, then back to me, and there's something in the way he's standing and fidgeting that tells me he's crazy nervous. My heart is still hammering away in my ears from post-performance adrenaline. But I know it's now mixing with another sort of excitement.

“You were, um, great,” he says to the floor.

“Thanks,” I say, because my New Year's resolution was to start accepting compliments. “You were too.”

He grins and looks at me. The magnetism between us is even stronger. He takes a step forward, so there's only a few inches
separating him and me. I know this moment; I've seen it a hundred times in movies, read about it in every book. This is the point where we kiss. This is the moment when the thrill of show business brings us together.

But then the grin slips, and I have this horrible feeling I've done something wrong. Do I smell bad? Is my makeup running?

“Jennifer, I . . .” He stutters to silence.

“What?”

“I have to be honest with you. I think . . . Megan knew what we were doing because of me.”

It's like a slap to the face, one that magically strikes my heart as well.

I step back.

“What?”

He doesn't look at my eyes.

“She was talking to me after dinner. I mean, she cornered me, really. Asked what I was doing, tried to get me to join her for some partner acro stuff like we did at camp a few years back. I told her what I was doing instead. I didn't think anything of it, because I was just trying to show her I wasn't interested, but . . . Please don't be mad.”

I take a deep breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

There's a part of me that's angry. Really, really angry—not just because he told her, but because he was talking to her, because they have some sort of connection that stretches far beyond this camp. So maybe it's not just anger, maybe it's jealousy. I want to yell at
him, but I don't. Mainly because there's a look in his eyes that says he really is sorry. A look that makes me want to hug him and say it's okay, because clearly he sees my anger. He knows I want to throw a punch.

And that's the rest of my emotion. I want to comfort him. Because even though this sort of feels like when Josh stood me up, Branden's still here, standing in front of me, waiting for my verdict.

Sadly, I don't have time to give it.

“Oh, there you two are!” comes Leena's voice. “I was looking all over for you. You guys were fantastic!”

And just like that, the moment is shattered. Leena steps up between us and puts a hand on each of our shoulders.

“Now come on,” she says. “Your fans and friends await.”

She guides us out of the backstage area. I glance at Branden and catch his eye. He looks as embarrassed as I feel. And once Leena brings us into the lobby, I know whatever moment Branden and I just shared is gone for good. He vanishes into the crowd almost immediately. He doesn't even say good night.

When Riley finds me and brings me over to a group of campers huddled by the snacks, I can't focus on the cookies or conversation. I can only stand there and look around, trying to catch sight of Branden and wondering if I just royally screwed something up.

Chapter
Seventeen

I
don't see Branden for
the rest of the night. Riley tries to keep me occupied with small talk and introductions to some other kids in the troupe. I do my best to smile and follow along, but I can't help but feel horribly disappointed in how the night turned out. Branden seemed genuinely sorry for talking to Megan. But if there's still something between those two, how can I trust him?

Riley's giddy when we're back in the room; she bounces back and forth and juggles random objects as she gets ready for bed. When she stops and actually looks at me, however, her energy drops a few notches.

“What's wrong?” she asks. She flops back on the bed, suddenly serious.

“I don't know,” I respond. I turn away and start taking off the layers of makeup.

“Was he a bad kisser?” Riley giggles.

I shrug.

“Like, you're not sure or it was so bad you don't want to think about it?”

I set down the makeup wipes.

“Like, he didn't kiss me.”

“Oh,” she responds. Her tone goes flat. “What happened?”

I shake my head and go to the closet to change into pajamas. “Nothing happened,” I say as I pull off the glittery top. “We were backstage, and I thought we were sharing a moment and then Leena appeared and ruined it. And
then
Branden just disappeared, like he was embarrassed to be seen in the same room as me. Oh, also, apparently he was talking to Megan and accidentally told her what we were doing.
That's
how she and her sisters found out.”

I throw the dirty clothes in the hamper and turn to her.

“Am I crazy?” I ask. “I mean, I want to punch him and I want to kiss him and I hate that he and Megan are like old friends or something. This was supposed to be a fun week of flying trapeze. Why did it have to get all complicated all of a sudden?”

“If boys are involved, it's bound to be complicated.” Riley pats the bed beside her. I flop down and lean against her shoulder. “And no,” she continues. “You aren't crazy. It sounds like Branden's torn right now. But I really do think he likes you. It's not like he told
Megan our routine and then joined her side. He still followed you.”

“So why does it hurt?”

“No one likes feeling like their trust was broken,” she says. She wraps an arm around my shoulder. “Especially girls like us, who've had it broken before. Maybe he doesn't actually know what he wants,” she says. “Boys are terrible at figuring out emotions. It's in their genes or something.”

“What would you do, if you were me?” I ask. “I've tried to impress him, I've tried playing hard to get. And an hour ago we were dancing onstage together. I don't really know what else to do.”

“You could always tell him you like him,” she recommends. “I mean, maybe he's scared?”

“Scared? Of me? That's ridiculous.”

“Boys fear rejection too, you know,” she says. “At least, that's what Sandy says. According to him, boys and girls are actually pretty even in the emotional uncertainty department. Maybe that's why he still talks to Megan—she's his fallback.”

“I can't believe your boyfriend actually admits to stuff like that.”

“Oh, we talk about everything. Honesty's the best policy and all.”

“So you're saying I should just come out and tell him I think he's cute and I daydream about him kissing me?”

This makes Riley laugh.

“No, that sounds creepy. We don't want to scare the poor boy off. I'm just saying that maybe you need to step up to the plate on this one. Tell him you like him.”

“That's supposed to be his job,” I say grumpily.

“Yeah, well, this is showbiz. Everything's topsy-turvy here.”

•  •  •

In spite of the congratulations that still come my way at breakfast, I feel sluggish. Depressed. I even take a mug of coffee in hopes it will give me a bit of energy. I
never
drink coffee. It tastes like mud.

“Couldn't sleep?” Tyler asks. I pour another packet of sugar into my coffee, hoping it will help. Another sip. It doesn't. How do people
drink
this stuff?

“Yeah,” I grumble.

“Must be all the adrenaline,” he says. “Makes it hard to get any shut-eye.”