Love Is in the Air

by A. Destiny

  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.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Watching Branden do his routine is just another reminder of how far out of my league he is. After the coaches confer for a few minutes about the choreography and the flying trapeze net is rigged in place, he and the other performers begin climbing the rope ladders on each side of the ring. Branden goes up and mounts a trapeze first, flipping himself upside down and latching his legs to the bar. Just watching him makes my heart soar up into my throat. Vertigo snakes its way through my chest. My palms go cold and break into a sweat.

  Branden swings back and forth a few times while another guy climbs up and grabs the trapeze on the other side of the ring. Branden claps his hands and the other guy jumps out on the trapeze, swinging fast toward Branden, until he reaches his peak and lets go, doing a double flip in the air and catching Branden’s hands. My terrified heart stops during the entirety of that leap, right until the two boys’ hands clasp and it’s clear no one’s going to fall to their deaths.

  “He’s good, isn’t he?” Megan whispers from behind. I can practically hear the smile in her words. “So talented. So brave. I’m so lucky he asked me to the dance. I can’t wait.”

  If my jaw clamped any tighter, my teeth would grind to dust. Branden switches off with another performer, completely oblivious to the two girls quietly warring it out over him less than fifty feet away.

  At that moment, Riley steps in—she turns around in her seat and gives Megan a death glare.

  “If you don’t shut up,” Riley whispers, “I’m going to use your eyes as juggling balls. Got it?”

  Megan just laughs to herself and leans back in the bleachers. She smiles and waves, and my attention goes back to the center ring. Branden is staring right at us. He looks concerned.

  Probably because Riley’s face is almost as red as her hair. I think she’s angrier than I am.

  I shake my head and take a deep breath, try to force down the fight-or-flight response that—for the first time ever—seems to be geared toward fight. I don’t know how Megan manages to get under my skin so easily, but I’m more than ready to have her out of my l
ife. I try to focus on the trapeze artists. Well, all of them except for Branden, who’s once more grabbing the trapeze and swinging across the ring. My palms are still freezing with vertigo. What made me think I could ever do that?

  Maybe that’s why Branden didn’t ask you out. If only I could get Megan’s taunts out of my head. I think I’d have a greater chance of getting her to apologize—like I said, I am my own worst enemy. And that’s including Megan on the list.

  The trapeze act finishes with every performer taking turns on the trapeze bars and doing insane flips, then plummeting to the net below. My pulse speeds up every single time they dismount. By the end, I’m actually a little glad it’s over; I don’t think I could handle much more adrenaline.

  I don’t know what brought on the switch. I always loved watching the flying trapeze before this, always daydreamed of doing all the daring tricks and flips. Maybe it’s because I now know just how terrifying it is up there. Well, sort of. Halfway up the ladder doesn’t really count.

  The trapeze group filters off to the bleachers. Branden gives one more glance my way—or maybe it’s at Megan, hard to tell and I don’t really want to know—before sitting down beside Luke. Uh-oh. I know it’s conceited to think they’re talking about me, but when they both glance over, I can’t help but think the worst. At least neither of them starts laughing and pointing.

  Not that I know why they’d do that, but if this were a movie, it would be a prime moment for some embarrassing gesture, when Branden convinces Luke he picked the wrong girl.

  “Nice work, everyone,” says Olga. She steps center ring, commanding everyone’s attention. “That went incredibly smoothly, especially for a first run. Now we’re going to take a ten-minute break to reset the ring for the second act. We have some snacks just outside the tent if you’d like to go stretch your legs. See you in a few.”

  Then she walks over to some of the coaches.

  “Come on,” Riley says as she stands. She grabs my arm and pulls me up, nearly dragging me out of the bleachers.

  “You’re going to rip my arm off,” I mutter. But I don’t drag my feet. I don’t want to be sitting in those bleachers in front of Megan either.

  Once we get outside, Riley heads straight to the snack table, which is covered in fresh fruit and granola bars and juice. She grabs an apple and stalks away from the crowd. I grab a granola bar and follow.

  “I can’t stand her,” she says. She doesn’t take a bite of the apple; she just tosses it back and forth between her hands. I’d never seen angry juggling before. Now I have. “I hope she falls on her stupid pretty face tomorrow.”

  “Jeez,” I mutter. I snatch the apple from her, mid-toss, and bite it. “I thought I was supposed to be the angry one. I mean, she did steal my guy.”

  “I know. That’s part of it. But she’s just so . . . ugh!” She actually stomps her foot, her hands balled into fists. “She’s so condescending and entitled and I hate her.”

  “Calm down, angry little pixie girl,” I say. I hand her the apple, making sure the bite mark is facing her. She snorts with laughter when she takes it back.

  “Thanks,” she mutters. “Sorry. I should be comforting you. Do you need comforting?”

  “I’m okay,” I say. It’s easier than admitting that I feel like crap.

  “Liar.”

  I roll my eyes and look toward the tent.

  “I don’t know,” I say after a pause. It’s clear she’s not letting me off the hook. “I just feel lame, you know? Like, I should have been up there with him. Them. I meant them. I should have been performing with the rest of the trapeze group, and instead, here I am, waiting on the ground.”

  “With me,” Riley states. She sounds a little angry, and not from Megan. I look to her.

  “Yeah,” I say. “And I’m grateful for it.”

  “Listen, I know you’re angry you aren’t doing flying trapeze with Branden. I know you feel like a failure. But you’re still doing something really cool with someone who thinks you’re really cool, and she would appreciate it if you stopped treating the act like it was a chore.”

  I bite my lip. “Sorry. I do enjoy it. It’s just not what I expected when I came here.”

  “That’s life,” she says. “You just gotta roll with it. If you’re meant to do flying trapeze, you will. There’s always a second chance.”

  “I hope so.”

  “In the meantime,” she says, looping an arm around my shoulder, “stop acting like doing a routine with me is so horrible. You’re starting to make me feel bad about teaching you in the first place.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Stop apologizing. This is showbiz, and you know the first rule of showbiz.”

  “Er . . .”

  “Keep smiling,” she says, and drags me back toward the tent.

  • • •

  My hands are shaking as we wait backstage with the rest of the juggling group. Even Riley looks a little nervous—her usual grin is gone, and there’s a furrow to her brow. I wonder if she’s mentally going through our duo act or her solo routine for the grand finale—I wonder if part of her concentration is trying to figure out ways to cover my potential screwups. The area back here is tiny—just a small hall between the curtain and the back tent flap—and the heavy air is thick with anticipation.

  Finally the music starts, and we burst through the curtain and into the ring.

  Much like during the talent show, the moment I’m onstage, all the fear vanishes. The routine comes naturally—we dance into the middle of the ring, and Riley and I begin our complicated duo routine. Even though we’ve only practiced this a few times, the moves come out of habit, like I’ve somehow become a well-oiled circus machine. We toss and spin and catch, all perfectly in time to the upbeat music, while the rest of the jugglers do their own acts around us. I can practically feel the energy in the room amp up as the routine goes on.

  When Riley and I do our final move and pose, the tent erupts into applause. We all stand there, sweating and breathing hard, soaking up the praise.

  “Very nice!” Olga shouts, stepping into the ring. “That was a perfect performance. I don’t think I have any notes, do you?” She turns to our juggling coaches, who both shake their heads, huge grins on their faces. “Well then,” Olga continues, “let’s move on to the next act.”

  We jugglers bow, then run back through the curtain.

  “That was amazing!” I yell the moment we’re outside the tent. The air is cool and the sun is bright—everything feels alive. Suddenly my depression from before and envy over Branden and the contortionists is gone. It’s hard to feel down when pumped with this much adrenaline.

  Riley runs over and wraps me in a hug. “You were amazing,” she says. “I told you that you were made for the stage.”

  I step back and keep my hands on her shoulders.

  “Thanks,” I say. “Thanks for believing in me.”

  “Always,” she replies. Her smile is huge. “Now I just need to get you to really believe in yourself.”

  I nod my head. “Working on it.” And we head back into the tent to watch the rest of the acts.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  It’s almost impossible to pay attention to the rest of the acts. The performance high is so powerful, I don’t even feel the slightest hint of anger when Megan glares at me from her seat. Branden is still sitting next to his acro group, but I do notice him glance over to me now and again. My heart flips every time, but I let it go. I’m not going to let my interest in him ruin this moment.

  After the individual groups run their routines and figure out entrance and exit transitions, the entire troupe goes back onstage to block out the finale. It’s supposed to be high energy, so we are all coming out doing partner and solo bits before finishing with one large human pyramid. I’m doing some solo juggling right beside Tyler and Kevin, who are doing an abbreviated hand-to-hand routine. Performing beside them makes me feel even more talented—they’re both so good, so strong and graceful, tha
t I feel it rub off on me just by being near. Even sharing the stage with the Twisted Triplets makes me feel a small note of pride; this finale is about sharing the playing field, everyone on the same level. It means we’re all just as good as the other performers.

  I glance at Branden during the final pose. Of course, being onstage with him means trying to convince myself that we’re on the same level as well, that he’s not out of my league. You’re going to the dance with Luke, I remind myself, and bring my focus back to the choreography.

  When practice is over, I feel both exhausted and energized. I don’t think I’ve ever worked so much in my life, but I also don’t think I’ve ever felt so fulfilled by the process.

  Riley and Tyler and Kevin head back toward the cafeteria immediately after. My stomach rumbles, but I need to put away some juggling equipment before heading in for the night. After all, the dance is later—there won’t be any more practice for the rest of the day. I head toward the juggling tent and store the props in one of the multiple steamer trunks.

  “Hey,” comes a voice behind me. My heart stops with the slam of a trunk lid. It’s Branden.

  “Hey,” I say. I stand and turn, slowly. I don’t really want to be in the same tent as him, mainly because I feel like there’s way too much left unsaid between us. And I don’t really want to start now.

  “I really liked your act,” he says. His hands are shoved in the pockets of his gym shorts, and he refuses to meet my gaze. For some reason, this makes me stand up straighter. I don’t want to feel like I’m the needy one, not anymore, and I’m trying to convince myself that if I stand tall, I’ll feel tall.

  “Thanks,” I reply. I don’t move toward the exit, even though I really wish I could. The warm air in here feels a little too close, a little too suffocating. “You were really good too.”