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We pass by one of the smaller circus tents—the blue-and-gold one—and Tyler steps out with a couple of other acro kids. He’s covered in sweat and chatting animatedly with Kevin. When they walk, the backs of their hands brush.
“Hey, boys,” Riley says, jumping over to walk beside Tyler. “How was practice?”
“Awesome,” Tyler says. “I made it to nine chairs.”
“It was really impressive,” Kevin replies.
The four of us head to the dining room together. We don’t talk about TV shows or video games, not like my other friends. No, the entire way there we talk about practice and how sore we are and what we’re envisioning our routines will look like. Even though I’ve only been doing this a day, it’s easy to get swept up in it, to start dreaming of my life under the circus lights—albeit in a different act. I won’t lie, though—even with Riley’s excitement, I’m still a little ashamed I won’t be making my big debut on the trapeze rig. It’s one of those things I try not to think about, otherwise I just get sad. So I let myself fall into Riley’s dream of a fantastic partner act and try to mimic her enthusiasm.
When we get to di
I stop dead. I can’t help it.
“Crap,” Riley says, catching my glance. She takes a steady breath and looks at me. “Okay, maybe he was playing you.”
“What a jerk,” Tyler says.
“What’s going on?” Kevin asks, looking between us and Branden. I shake my head.
“It’s nothing,” I respond. “It was never anything.”
Then, before anyone can ask if I’m okay for the hundredth time today, I step forward into the di
• • •
Tyler and Kevin sit with us at di
“What do you think the game will be tonight?” Tyler asks.
“No clue,” I say. “But I’m hoping it doesn’t involve dress-up.”
“Oh, come on, you looked so cute as a fairy.”
“I don’t care what it is so long as we don’t have to run,” Kevin admits. “Seriously, I don’t think I’ve worked out this much all year.”
“This is just day one,” Tyler says. “If you think it hurts now . . .”
“Easy for you to say,” Kevin retorts. “You were doing handstands all afternoon. So I’m going to cross my fingers for dodgeball.”
“Or te
“Or arm wrestling,” I say.
“I hate you,” Tyler says. “All of you. But especially the redhead.”
“Hey!” Riley and Kevin say at the exact same time. We all burst into laughter.
• • •
It turns out that none of our guesses are correct. Thankfully, the night’s game doesn’t actually involve ru
“What do you think it is?” Riley whispers.
“I almost don’t want to know,” I reply.
The lights go up the moment Olga walks in. Once she appears, everyone goes quiet—we’re all waiting for her a
“Good evening, campers!” she says, smiling warmly. “I hope you all had a great first day. I’ve spoken with the coaches, and they agree that each and every one of you has brought a great deal of talent on board. We’re already very excited for the final show, and we know you are as well! But we don’t want to get too ahead of ourselves, now do we?
“Tonight’s game is to help us prepare for the show. You’re already doing so much to enhance your skills, so now we want to focus on a very important aspect of circus: stage presence. It’s not enough to be good at an act. You have to be able to perform. And often, that involves a lot of improvisation and a strong rapport with your fellow cast members. Obviously, we can’t just teach you to do this—you have to practice and discover the spark within yourself. To that end, allow us to introduce tonight’s game: Improv Superstar!”
Epic music blares through the speakers. When it’s done, Olga continues.
“You will be broken up into four teams at random. Each of you will then pick a table. Under each sheet is a set of props that you will need to integrate into a series of improv skits. Your fellow troupers and coaches will be the judges. And as usual, the wi
“It better not be more granola,” Tyler whispers in my ear.
One of the coaches comes around the group with a top hat then, and we each draw out a slip of paper with a letter on it. I pull an A, and am more than a little disappointed to realize that I’m the only one in our group to get it. Riley and Kevin both got B, and Tyler pulled C.
There’s no time to get sentimental; we break up into our teams almost immediately. I head over to the juggling coach, Jim, who holds a large sign with A over his head. And then I get my next unfortunate surprise that night: Megan is on my team. At least she doesn’t look happy about this either.
“Hey, guys,” Jim says, “looks like we have a strong team here.”
And I suppose he’s right—we have three of the kids who I know auditioned as clowns, so comedy should be pretty easy for them. They’ll make up for my lack of fu
Jim goes over some basics of improv: Always say yes; if repeating something, use the rule of three; and never turn your back on the audience, unless it’s entirely necessary and intentional.
“The important thing is to have fun. Chances are, if you’re having fun, so is the audience.”
“Actually,” Megan whispers beside me, “the important thing is not to choke. Think you can handle that, Je
I bite my tongue and glare down at her—I don’t feel I have much to use against this girl, so my height is my only resort. There’s no point getting in a fight now. She’s not worth it. It’s like dealing with Internet trolls: If you say nothing, they fade away. And I really, really want this one to fade away. Or fall flat on her face. I’m not above taking the low road from time to time. Well, hoping for it, at least. I just wish I could figure out why she hates me. If I’m not a threat, why am I even on her radar?
Thankfully for her, there’s no time for me to retort or for her to make another jab. Olga a
I have no idea where they assembled all these things, but I have a solid suspicion that most of them are on loan from the clowns. I’m also really eager to see what the other teams got.
Our table is laden with odd props. There’s a gramophone speaker that’s painted pink and orange, dozens of silly-shaped sunglasses, tubes of foam and clown noses and a plate of silver spoons. And that’s just on one corner of the table. There are also fake flowers and oversize watches and juggling pins and more. It’s like some crazy clown aunt emptied her attic and left us with the bits she couldn’t send to a thrift store. I stand there and stare down at it all and can’t even begin to imagine how to use any of it in a skit.