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.

“You ready for this?” comes Branden’s voice. I jump and look over to him.

“I . . . honestly, no.” No point trying to play it cool—he already saw me sweating on my second push-up.

He pats me on the back. I can’t help but wonder if his hand lingers there on purpose or by accident.

“I’m sure you’ll be great,” he says. “My first time was terrifying, but it’s a rush. You’ll be addicted in no time.”

I try to smile, but I’m suddenly feeling nauseated as I watch another figure climb the ladder and then swing out over the net. Even from here it looks ridiculously high up.

“How was your juggling audition?” he asks.

“Great,” I reply. “I got in. Well, everyone got in, but I managed not to screw up.”

He chuckles.

“Better than me, then. I totally blew my floor routine. Managed to face-plant after a backflip.”

“Are you okay?” I ask, glancing over to make sure there’s no bruising. But no, he looks just as gorgeous as he did doing sit-ups this morning. People shouldn’t be allowed to look pretty while working out.

“Yeah,” he says. “Just hurt my pride.”

We walk slowly toward the trapeze rig. Only a few other campers are heading that way, and right now we’re pretty much alone on the field. Maybe it’s the excitement from the audition, but being with just him doesn’t make me nearly as nervous as it would have yesterday. Maybe Big Top Jennifer is starting to flourish.

“So do you think you’ll get in?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. But it’s only a week, so it won’t hurt my feelings too much. I mainly just care about flying trap—it’s impossible to find schools near here. I’ve had to drive out of state for most of my training.”

“What’s your dream?” I ask.

He pauses and looks at me. Crap, maybe that was too silly a question.

“My dream?”

“Yeah,” I murmur, trying to save face. “What do you want to do with all this training?”

He smiles at me. “Ideally, join a circus. Find some super-­attractive, talented trapeze partner to do some duo work with. But there aren’t too many girls around here who do flying trapeze, either.”

And there’s no helping it this time. I really do blush.

“What about you?” he asks, as though he doesn’t even notice the brilliant red flush to my cheeks. It feels like my face is on fire. “What brought you here?”

“I’ve always wanted to do it,” I say for what feels like the hundredth time. “Maybe someday I’ll be good enough to be part of a show. I mean, I’d love to be part of a show. Just have to survive that long, I guess.”

“We all have to start somewhere,” he says. He gives me a winning smile. I smile back. It’s easy to be around him, easy to talk to him. I know it sounds stupid, but I feel like I’ve known him for more than a few hours.

“Speaking of,” he says, glancing to the rig, which we’ve almost arrived at. “I think it’s time to fly.”

Chapter

Seven

There are six other people trying out for flying trapeze, and there’s only one other girl. A quick glance at them all confirms my worst fears: They’ve clearly done this before. Everyone is staring at the rig with that sort of look, like this is all routine and there’s no worry they won’t get in. I feel a light sheen of sweat break out on my skin. The rig is even taller up close, and the white rope net strung between the tall beams looks way too thin to actually support someone’s weight. I step a little close to Branden, until our arms almost touch, and try not to faint.

There are four coaches here, and they introduce themselves as Michael, Tanya, Joe, and Marty. They’re each in the green Karamazov Circus T-shirts, and they look like they work out all day, every day. I really, really should have tried some pull-ups before coming here.

“So,” says Tanya, who is apparently in charge. She has long brown hair and is maybe five feet tall. I remember meeting her last night after sign-in, when she and Leena checked to make sure we were all accounted for. “Has everyone flown before?”

There’s a general nodding of heads. Then I raise my hand tentatively and speak up.

“I haven’t.”

She clearly recognizes me, too, as her serious face breaks into a smile.

“Not a problem, Jennifer. Everyone’s a beginner at some point. We’ll just make sure you’re in lines to start out with.” She addresses the rest of the group. “We’ll get you warmed up with a few simple swings—everyone in lines until we know your skill level. If you want to try going into splits or planche to start out, that’s fine. We mainly want to make sure you have proper form—the tricks aren’t so important right now.” Then she steps up beside me. “I’ll talk you through what they’re doing,” she says. “Watch closely. When it’s your turn to fly, I’ll shout out directions while you’re in the air. It’s easy, trust me.” She puts her hand on my shoulder. “You’ve got this.”

I don’t know if I believe her.

Michael, the burlier of the coaches, walks over to a set of ropes hanging down from a pulley system strung between the two tall trapeze points. Joe and Marty help the rest of the kids into these wide belts covered in metal loops.

Joe scurries up the tiny rope ladder toward the platform at the top. Once he’s there, Branden goes up and waits on the wooden plank—it looks so tiny from here, like it’s only a few feet across. I nearly swoon, and I’m not sure if it’s because I know I’m about to see Branden in action or if it’s because I’m suddenly insanely worried he’ll fall and break his neck. Branden’s clearly not concerned, though; he stays still as Joe clips the other end of the ropes into Branden’s belt loops. Right. Safety lines. Of course we’d be in safety lines.

See, Jennifer, you’re perfectly safe. Nothing can go wrong.

But that’s really hard to keep in mind when Branden grabs the trapeze and swings out over the net. He beats his legs back and forth, his whole body streamlined and straight and perfectly in unison with the swing of the trapeze. Tanya talks me through the entire thing, telling me about the proper body positions to get a swing going and keep it steady. She even has me try it out on the ground—she has me hold my hands over my head with my stomach tucked in and pelvis tilted up so my spine is perfectly straight, then has me bring my arms down to make a seven shape. I’m so wrapped up in trying to get the pose right that when I see Branden drop from the trapeze, I nearly scream.