“Tonight we’re doing a costume challenge. To begin, we’re going to break you up into teams based on your halls. If you could please find your hall counselors, we will then tell you what to do next.”

“Aww,” Riley says, looking to Tyler and Branden. “And here I was hoping we’d all be one happy family.”

“Me too,” Tyler says. “Now I’m gonna be stuck with my smelly roommate.”

Riley hugs him. When she steps back, she has a wicked grin on her face. “Don’t think I’ll take it easy on you, girls,” she says. “This is war.”

Then she steps beside me and takes me by the arm, dragging me away from Branden before I can even say good-bye.

“What was that for?” I whisper to her when we’re out of earshot.

“The grand exit?” she asks. “Please. You were looking at him like you were ready to propose. You need to play hard to get. Otherwise he’s going to think you don’t like him.”

“That makes no sense,” I say, sidling up to the rest of the girls in my hall.

“Boys never do,” she responds. It’s the most solemn thing I’ve heard her say all day.

We line up and my stomach does an angry little flip when I notice that Megan and the rest of the Twisted Triplets are with us. How did I miss that they were in our hall? This better not mean I have to pretend to be their friend. Megan catches my eye and gives me a wink, which she somehow manages to make full of malice. Oh yeah, we’re definitely not going to be good friends. Like Riley said, this is war. I glance to Branden across the gym. If the war’s over him, I better win. Though against these girls . . . I don’t know if I have much of a chance.

“All right, everyone,” Olga calls out. “Each hall must work as a team if you hope to win, and the winners will get a special treat before sign-in tonight.

“The way it works is simple: Each of you must dress up one of your team members according to the prompt. The other coaches will be the judge of who accomplished the task best; there is a time limit, and the first team to complete the task will get an extra point.

“The first look is . . . steampunk court jester. Go!”

It’s an explosion of motion. Our group runs together, and in seconds we’ve nominated Riley to be the one who gets dressed up. Then it’s off to our hall.

The hall is filled with the sounds of banging doors and slamming dressers as the rest of the girls search through their wardrobes for something that can work. I don’t really have anything that fits the description, but I do have a pair of argyle leggings I just bought. Riley’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat as she searches through her clothes, pulling out tutus and top hats and stage makeup. Then there’s a knock on our door, and it’s some girl from the hall who tells us we need to meet back at the gym. Riley and I bolt.

Everyone’s laughing as Riley stands by our hall counselors and gets dressed by the rest of the hall. Megan is slapping white face paint on her while other girls button up a ringmaster coat and help her into the leggings I procured. It’s impossible to keep track of time. What seems like only seconds later, Riley’s running to the center of the gym. She skids to a stop before Olga, her mismatched striped socks sliding on the smooth basketball court. She’s panting, but she’s the first one there. Minutes later the other three halls send forth their models.

Olga blows her whistle and the gym goes quiet. Then a few of the coaches come up and start the judging.

Riley’s in a red ringmaster coat with the leggings and striped socks and a skewed top hat. Someone had a necklace made of gears, so she’s wearing that, and Megan managed to expertly paint a cog over Riley’s left eye. Oddly enough, it looks like something Riley would wear on a normal day. Though maybe minus the face paint.

The other girl’s outfit looks much more haphazard—she has starry socks on her hands, a tiger-striped leotard, a feather boa, and five watches on her arm.

Both boys did a little better than the female competition: Each is wearing a vest and a top hat, though one managed to find a pocket watch. They also both have great face paint: white with clown noses or diamonds. I’m a little disappointed to see that neither of them is Branden.

The judges take a few minutes to discuss among themselves. Then one of them whispers in Olga’s ear, and she announces the winner.

“This round goes to Leena’s hall, with their ringmaster court jester. Congratulations, girls. Speed and accuracy, very impressive.”

Riley walks back to us with a huge grin, which looks really creepy with the face paint. Everyone slaps her on the back and hugs her, but there’s not much time to celebrate; before we can figure out who the next model’s going to be, Olga’s calling out the next challenge.

“Summery woods fairy!”

And again, we’re off. But this time it’s me who’s chosen to model. I have Riley to thank (or blame) for that.

The next few minutes are a blur. Riley grabs my arm and we run back to my room, trying to find anything brown or green or leafy. She throws me one of her camo skirts and a pair of brown boots, and then we’re running back to the gym to see what the rest of the hall has assembled.

Megan must have appointed herself lead makeup artist, because the moment I’m standing still she rushes over and starts dusting my face with green glitter and painting swirling lines around my eyes. It’s hard to even pay attention to that, because girls are wrapping me in shawls and beads and tousling my hair and then, after a whirlwind few minutes, it’s over. They push me toward Olga, and I run as fast as I can. Not fast enough, though.

I nearly stumble over my own shoelaces when I realize who beat me.

Branden is standing beside Olga. He’s wearing brown pants and a brown vest, but that’s not what’s making it difficult to look away. He’s not wearing a shirt underneath, and the rest of his team painted glittery leaves all over him. Somehow, they even got his hair green, though how they managed all that in five minutes is beyond me. He smiles when he sees me. My cheeks go hot, and I’m suddenly very grateful for all the makeup Megan put on me.

The other two teams come up seconds later. The girl has fairy wings—who actually brought fairy wings to circus camp?—and a flowery dress and lots of glitter. The other boys’ team clearly ­struggled: Their model is in shorts and flip-flops and a shirt with a tree on it. He smiles sheepishly when the judges come over to start the examination.

“You look good,” whispers Branden. I jump when he talks. He’s actually talking to me.

“Thanks,” I manage. “You do too.”

He just snickers. “Welcome to circus camp.”

Moments later the judges confer with Olga. Despite this just being a silly game, my heart hammers in my chest. I suddenly really want to win this, even though I didn’t have anything to do with the costume and don’t even know what I look like. It’s ridiculous, but I hope winning will impress Branden.

“We have a winner!” Olga announces. “Michael’s team, with their glittery rendition of Puck. Well done!”

My stomach drops when it’s not Leena’s name. Then I realize she’s talking about Branden.

“Good job!” I manage to tell him, right before we’re ushered back to our groups. I watch him fist-bump his comrades when he reaches his team. A few girls clap me on the back, but it’s not as warm a welcome. Especially from Megan.

“Don’t even try it. I see the way you look at him,” she hisses in my ear. “You don’t stand a chance.”

I glance at her, but she’s already refocused on Olga.

“Mermaid!” Olga yells.

As Riley drags me back to our room to find something for the next look, I can’t get those words out of my head. Because I know she’s right. In spite of that brief bout of excitement, I don’t really fit in here. I’m way too normal, too dull. And surrounded by all these glittery, amazing circus girls, I know there’s no way Branden would ever pick me.