Authors: Allison Rushby
“Um, good,” I kind of gulp and then look away, pretending to concentrate.
Within another thirty seconds, we’ve done it. I have one leg on Ned’s thigh and another on Hope’s, my arms high in the air, as does Seth.
Well, yay team.
“Thanks, Hope. That was great,” I deadpan as I jump off both her and Ned, whose gaze I avoid. And I can’t wait to see whom I’ll be trusting with my life next.
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Naturally, Hope jumps around and claps as if we’ve all done something mind- blowingly spectacular, instead of clam-bering all over each other like puppies. “That was fantastic, guys! Great teamwork! Let’s move onto the next station for today— the high wire. Not so high today for safety reasons, of course, but you’ll be amazed how fast your balance will come along. It’s a great one for trusting in your own abilities.” Her eyes fl ick over to me.
Oh, great.
“Should work for Jo,” Seth says under his breath, and I choose to ignore him, as well as Hope. You’re here to work, here to work, here to work, I chant to myself.
Hope guides us over to the next activity and we line up, ready to take our turn. Katrina and I are at the back of the line and as we wait she touches a hand to my right shoulder.
“Are you okay?” She gives me a concerned glance.
I turn around slightly to look at her, my arms crossed, and I sigh, shaking my head slightly. “I don’t know; that was weird. It just all got on my nerves. I don’t like people telling me what to do. I’m not used to it.”
Katrina laughs. “We make a good pair, then. One of my big problems is that I don’t have people telling me what to do every minute of the day anymore, and I’m a bit lost without it. Monday: ballet, pointe, lunch, ballet, modern dance.
Tuesday: ballet, body mechanics, lunch, repertory, ballet.
Wednesday: ballet, pointe, lunch, ballet, theater dance . . . You get my drift.”
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“That’s some routine. Didn’t it drive you just a little nuts being told what to do every minute of every day?” Katrina shrugs slightly. “It was the way things were. And everyone I knew was doing the same thing as I was day after day, so it was normal, I guess. But you go to school, it must be the same for you?”
I raise an eyebrow. “I guess.” I fail to mention falling asleep at my desk because of my nighttime activities.
Katrina goes to say something, but Hope calls out to me at the same time, signaling that it’s my turn. I give Katrina a grin and hop up onto the high wire, which we should defi -
nitely be calling a low wire today.
And while everyone else had taken their time, I practically skip across it, just as I knew I would. My balance is excellent.
It has to be if you spend half your life wedged perilously on top of spiky gates, leaning over car hoods, perched on mail-boxes, and so on. Being built like a gymnast helps, too.
“Wow, Jo. That was amazing. Your balance is spot on!” Hope applauds. I nod, only half hearing what she’s saying because I’m focused on Ned, who’s standing in line behind Katrina. Somehow, some way, I have to get a shot of this— of Ned balancing on the wire, his arms outstretched, looking shaky. Like his life. They’ll be good shots. If I can get them.
“I’m a little cold,” I say to Hope, even though it’s a lie.
“I’m just going to throw another layer on,” I point to my backpack that’s resting against the opposite wall. In front of me, Hope nods absentmindedly as she watches Katrina step 78
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up to the low wire. I pause for a second, thinking that with her skills she’ll nail it, then remember her mind- body disconnect and watch a bit harder.
Katrina steps onto the thick wire and is suddenly all over the place, despite her attempts to apply the tips Hope starts fi ring at her. She fi nally makes it to the other side, with all the grace of a baby hippo. “Elegance in action,” she says, coming to stand beside me, once Hope has fi nished her “Great try, Katrina!” pep talk.
“Growing sucks,” I tell her, crinkling my nose. “Not that I’d know . . . which is kind of my point. Growing or not growing. Sucks either way.”
Katrina nods. “I hear you.”
Ned steps up to the low wire now, and I remember what I’m supposed to be doing. “I’m freezing,” I lie to Katrina as well. “I’ll be back in a second.” I point to my backpack again and hurry off.
Got to get this shot. Got to get this shot.
I grimace slightly as I cross the room, thinking of Ned being so nice before—
offering his hand, telling me he
wouldn’t drop me— and then shake my head, trying to ditch the memory.
When I reach my backpack, I kneel down on the fl oor and open it up, rustling inside as if I’m looking for my hoodie.
Instead, I fi ddle with my fauxPod, thinking about how I’m going to do this. It won’t be easy. Maybe if I . . . okay. That might work. I stand up and slide my left arm and my head into 79
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my hoodie, so if anyone looks, it seems as if I really am busy putting on that extra layer. As I’m rummaging around, my stomach gives an unhappy squeeze. Obviously it doesn’t want to be a part of this, and I can’t really say I blame it.
I poke the very end of the fauxPod, where the camera is hidden, out of my right sleeve, aim, and guess like I’ve never guessed before. No wonder Melissa is paying me the big bucks for this job— there’s no way someone would be able to get these shots without having had a lot of on- the- job fauxPod training.
When I think I might actually have something, I bend over to my backpack again and take a quick scroll through.
Terrible, terrible, not too bad, okay, terrible, good, pretty good, and that’s the one— that’s it, my fi rst decent shot to send to Melissa. I click the fauxPod closed, zip up my backpack, and head over to the group.
And as I join them again, Ned meets my eyes and smiles, and my stomach does that squeezing thing once more, same as it did when I’d taken that one decent shot. Well, decent for me, but not so decent for Ned. Because those fi rst shots of Ned? They’re not exactly fl attering, and I’m guessing any other shots I take today won’t be, either. I know the angle Melissa will go for on them, too— it’ll be all “star’s life hangs in the balance.”
Another squeeze from my stomach. And I don’t think it’s the bacon bits giving me grief.
I think it might be my conscience.
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7
Over the next few hours, we take a crack at juggling, spinning plates on sticks, tumbling, and trapezing. By making fake trips for a drink of water and a tissue, I manage to get another two decent shots of Ned. And the more I take, the less painful it becomes. He’s not Ned. He’s a target. A target to point my camera at and shoot. I need to remember that.
Just after 4:00 p.m., Brad rounds us up and we head back to the minibus. Busy messing around with my backpack, I’m one of the last on the bus. With Brad already sitting beside Katrina, there’s only one seat left— right at the front with Seth.
Fantastic.
I thump down next to Seth, who gives me a fake 212-47604_ch01_1P.indd 81
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so- happy- to- see- you! grin and then goes back to the book he’s reading. Feeling a bit cold, I pick up my backpack from where I’ve kicked it under the seat and open it up, rustling around inside for my hoodie, which I’d taken off again after our low wire fun.
“Hey! I wasn’t allowed to keep my iPod . . . ,” Seth says, making a grab for my fauxPod. I immediately panic and overreact, snatching it back out of his hand with full force.
“Leave it,” I tell him.
Seth gives me a weird look. “You really do have issues.”
“Only with you,” I tell him, concentrating on zipping up my backpack and shoving it under the seat again.
Behind us, someone leans forward and taps Seth on the shoulder. “Mind if we switch?” Ned asks.
“More than fi ne with me,” Seth says, and stands up on the seat. He jumps over me, and I shuffl e sideways so I’m sitting next to the window. “Good luck, man, you’ll need it,” Seth tells Ned as he sits down next to me, the seat’s padding making a whoosing noise as he does.
“Looks like you’re stuck with me now!” Ned grins, not looking at all displeased.
“Yup,” I say, glancing at him for a split second only.
“Are you always this grumpy?”
I don’t look at him. “Yup.”
He laughs. “I liked your stance on trust. I mean, who really trusts people just because they’ve shared some odd clowning experience?”
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“Exactly my point!” I throw one hand in the air and turn back, suddenly feeling animated. “It’s just so fake. I really don’t see the point.” I swivel around to face Ned now, who nods in agreement, encouraging me. “I stand on you and you don’t drop me and suddenly you’re trustworthy? I seriously doubt it.”
“Good to know how you feel.” Ned laughs again. “Also good to know you’re not always grumpy.”
I twist my mouth, then can’t help but laugh. “I’m usually pretty close to grumpy, so watch out.”
“Oh, I will.”
There’s a pause in which I realize I need to acknowledge the big F. Fame. “So, you’re famous, huh? Singing, song writing. The whole deal. How’s that treating you?” May as well cover all bases.
Ned laughs again. “Not so great, obviously. Seeing as I’m here spinning plates on sticks.”
“Fame. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, is it?” I shrug slightly, then realize that’s going to sound more than slightly random. “Er, not that I’d know. But so I hear. Was circus skills discreet enough for you?” My eyes swivel in Brad’s direction.
Ned groans just like he did earlier. “He may as well have put a fl ashing sign over my head. Up until this point I’d thought I was doing a good job of lying low.”
I almost laugh. Ned is kidding himself if he thinks he’s lying low; his looks are just a tad too Hollywood. He’d be the kind of person who would turn heads just walking down 83
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the street even if he weren’t Ned Hartnett, if that makes any sense. He has the x factor thing going on.
I glance at him sideways just to check that he still has it (oh yes, and then some), but then I frown slightly. Because that feeling I’d had the other night about him seeming different— I get it again. I think harder about it now, but I still can’t fi gure out what it is. He looks exactly the same as the night of the painful elbow, but . . . no, wait. That’s it! The difference I’m picking up on is from remembering this other time, about a year ago, when I’d taken some exclusive shots of him outside his house.
It had been the only time I’d taken shots of Ned, and he’d looked really different. Almost not like himself, because his face had been so twisted with pain. That was the thing—
he’d been really sick (with appendicitis as it turned out). And while he doesn’t look sick at all now, for some reason I’m reminded of that night. I’ve never been able to forget how different he’d looked.
“So,” Ned’s voice fi lls the silence between us, drawing me back to the present. “Are you going to let us all know why you’re here? We have several guesses so far. From running away from home to won’t attend school to trust issues.” I snort. “Let me see. That last guess is Seth’s?”
“Bingo,” Ned answers. “I take it you wouldn’t agree with him?”
“Hey, I’m not giving anything away at this point. It’s only fair to let them guess a little longer. They look like they could 84
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use some excitement in their lives.” I expect to see some kind of reaction from Ned when I say this, but I don’t get anything.
When the silence becomes unbearable, I can’t help but start talking again. “Fine. To tell you the truth, I can’t give you a reason why I’m here.”
“You don’t know why?” Ned frowns.
I shrug again, not wanting to lie outright. So far, what I’ve said is completely true. I can’t exactly tell Ned why I’m here, can I? I can’t let him know that Brad, while trying to be so careful and discreet, has actually managed to invite the enemy right on board the minibus.
“That makes two of us then,” Ned replies.
Now it’s me who frowns. “You don’t know why you’re here?” I ask Ned.
Frustratingly, he copies my shrug. And it’s only then that I note he’s echoing my neutral words. I told Ned I can’t give him a reason I’m here. And that’s the same thing he’s just told me. Quickly, I take a look at his expression to see if he’s playing some sort of game, but he doesn’t seem to be. Instead, he’s looking out the front window now, kind of lost in thought.
I decide to let it slide.
“What happens when we get back?” I ask Ned after a while.
He turns to look at me, but only says one word . . .
“Group.”
★ ★ ★
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I could panic about group, but I don’t. I fi gure panicking would be a very bad idea considering the trust babble that had come out of my mouth during my circus skills stint.
Instead, I try to keep my mind on the job and think about how I can get a few shots out of this. I can’t see how that’s going to happen, considering group has us all sitting on chairs, facing each other in a circle.