“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.

“So what do you do when you’re not here?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Like, when you’re just normal girl Jennifer and not circus star Jennifer. Do you play sports? Head the chess team? Solve local crime?”

I giggle in spite of myself, trying to pull my thoughts up from the deep. He’s grinning at me. The smile’s stupidly infectious.

“Something like that. Why?”

“I’m just trying to get to know you,” he says. He nudges me. “After all, this camp isn’t going to last forever. I’m trying to see if we’ll still be in touch when it’s done.”

I glance over at him. Does that mean what I think it means?

“Well,” I begin, looking back to my plate, “I’m in band. I’m not that good, but I just started, so I suppose that’s okay. Mostly, I just do homework and game with my friends.” I chuckle. “Totally cool, right?”

“Totally,” he says. “I mean, what else are you supposed to be doing with your time? This is suburbia. It’s not like you’re gonna be driving around in a limo every day. Unless you have a limo. Then you should totally be driving around in it. Do you have a limo?”

I laugh.

“No limo, sorry.”

“That’s okay. You’d probably be a snob then, and I don’t usually like snobs.”

My treacherous heart does a little dance. Did he just say he likes me? And if that’s true, why the heck did you date Megan!? Or was that just a lie? I wouldn’t put it past her, but I hate how easily she’s snaked into my brain. I want to trust Branden, really. But after what Josh did, it’s hard. Much easier to keep it light and simple and pretend we’re just friends.

“What about you?” I ask. “What do you do when you’re not defying death?”

“Well, when you put it like that . . . I dunno, I’m an average guy. I’m on the swim team, play video games with friends, try to finish my homework last minute. Besides the trapeze stuff, I’m not very exciting.”

“Sounds pretty cool to me.”

“Pretty cool. Great, she thinks I’m pretty cool.”

I nudge him and giggle.

“You know what I mean,” I say.

“Hah, yeah. And you’re pretty cool too.”

I bite my lip. Suddenly he feels really close. Like, if this was a movie, this is where he’d push aside our dinner trays and lean over and kiss me. And suddenly that’s all I can think about—him leaning over to kiss me. It’s like everyone else in the cafeteria has disappeared and it’s just him and me. So much for thinking of us just being friends; right now, I want us to be something more. Then something crashes and a bunch of kids laugh, and the moment is over before it even really began. He clears his throat and leans back—I hadn’t even noticed he was leaning toward me; was he really about to kiss me?

“Anyway,” he says, looking at his wrist—where he conveniently is missing a watch. “I better get going. Gotta call my parents before practice. And change. Apparently we’re wearing short shorts. So that’s exciting. Remind me never to let Tyler plan costumes again. He and Riley together are a powerhouse of embarrassingly bad ideas.”

“Tell me about it,” I say. “I’m just hoping it all pulls together by tonight.”

Branden smiles. “I’m sure it will. If nothing else, your singing will blow them all away.”

Then he stands and walks away, leaving me to sit there and wonder if that really was my first time honestly flirting with a boy.

Well, with a boy who flirted back.

Chapter

Fifteen

I don’t stick around too long after Branden leaves. After heading back to my room to send my parents a quick update text, I leave and go straight to the practice area—just a small patch of grass behind the school where I’m pretty certain the college smokers go, given all the ­cigarette butts on the ground. I’m met there by Riley, who’s doing her usual juggling by herself. This time she’s not actually juggling, though apparently it’s still considered “object manipulation.” She’s playing with a diabolo, which is basically a spinning top she wraps and tosses from a string held between two sticks.

“Hey, slacker!” she calls when she sees me. She flings the diabolo high in the air, spins twice, and catches it on the string right before it hits the ground. “Wanna try?”

“That looks way too complicated,” I say. “Besides, I’m trying to keep my focus on not choking or losing my voice.”

“Yeah, that would bite,” she says. She sets the diabolo down, carefully folding the string around the sticks. “Can that even happen?”

“No clue. But I don’t want to find out.”

“What I do want to find out is how the boys look,” she says with a grin. “I had a feeling they’d all have short shorts, what with them being athletes and all.”

I shake my head. As much as I can’t believe I’m about to say it, I can’t actually get excited over the thought of Branden as a backup dancer; I’m too worried about making a fool of myself in front of the entire troupe. Again. I’m pretty certain it’s impossible to lose your voice in less than an hour, but it would be just my luck.

Thankfully, I’m not given much time to worry; the boys all arrive at the same time, chatting with one another as they make their way across the lawn. They’re each in lime-green T-shirts and bright-white shorts and sunglasses. I’m pleased to see that Branden’s even wearing the brown vest from the costume ­challenge—must mean he owns it, which is cool. He has a good fashion sense.

“How the heck did you guys have all that?” I ask. “I mean, you match pretty perfectly.”