Puppy Love (23 page)

“Seriously, where are we going?” I asked.

“Somewhere we'll fit right in with our disguises,” he replied. A moment later he turned the car into the driveway of the local high school. “Come with me.”

I thought about refusing, but again, it didn't seem worth the effort. So I climbed out of the car and let Muckle drag me along after Robert, who was walking so quickly he almost did seem like an athlete.

“Wait up, will you?” I grumbled.

We rounded the corner of the school building and came in sight of the athletic fields. Some sort of event was going on out on the track—brightly clad people were bouncing on their toes and doing stretches and stuff.

“What is this?” I asked, suddenly suspicious.

Robert grabbed my arm and dragged me forward. “I told you,” he said. “Somewhere I thought we'd fit in.”

Muckle barked and lunged forward, his tail wagging eagerly. He was staring at someone jogging by on the track a dozen yards away. The runner wasn't looking our way, but I recognized him instantly.

“Jamal!” I blurted out, my body going hot and cold in turns. I whirled on Robert. “You knew he'd be here!”

Robert grinned. “Guilty.”

“I have to get out of here before he sees me!” I was so furious I could have strangled Robert with my bare hands. How could he humiliate me like this? Rachel had pretty much told me Jamal was over me. What would he think if he saw me here?

It was all too much. I took off for the parking lot. Or tried to, anyway. At that moment, Muckle lunged toward Jamal again, and the leash slipped out of my hand.

“Muckle, no!” I cried. “Oh, man . . .”

Muckle took off toward Jamal, barking gleefully. I sprinted after him.

Jamal finally heard the crazy dog heading his way and looked up. His eyes widened when he recognized Muckle, then saw me running after the puppy.

“Lauren?” he said. “What are you—oof!”

Muckle had just reached him. Jamal was so busy staring at me that he tripped over the bouncing puppy—and fell right on me, pretty much.

I braced myself as he stumbled into me, catching him by the arms. “Are you okay?” I asked as he clutched at me and Muckle continued to dance around us like the goofy puppy he was.

Jamal caught his balance, but he didn't pull away. I didn't either. We just stood there, my hands on his arms, staring at each other. His gaze flicked briefly to my shorts and leg warmers. “Um, nice outfit,” he mumbled.

Oh, the heck with it. I was already about as humiliated as a girl could be. What did I have to lose? I might as well go for it.

“I'm sorry,” I blurted out. “I was a clueless jerk. I didn't realize you were asking me out the other day, or I never would have ditched you like that, I swear. I was crushing on Adam and kind of lost track of everything else, but then I realized he's not what I thought he was, and then Robert told me what was going on. I mean, that what I thought was just a group get-together was supposed to be, you know, a date. But by then it was too late, and when I saw you and Rachel together at the overlook I thought something was going on between you, and so I took off again, and I'm a total idiot, and I've never really had a boyfriend before, so I don't know how to do any of this—not that that's an excuse, but you know—and I guess I thought you weren't my type at first, but then . . .”

I babbled on for what felt like a year, probably making less and less sense all the time as I tried to explain what had happened and why. Jamal stood there and listened, his expression impossible to read.

“. . . and anyway, Rachel told me everything, but I figured it was too late. Which is too bad.” I took a deep breath. “Because, well, I finally realized I, you know, like you.”

I braced myself again, emotionally this time. What would happen now? I had no idea; I'd never done anything like this before. Whatever happened, I was proud of myself. So nervous I was afraid I might puke, but proud.

“You do?” Jamal's eyes lit up.

“Um, yeah.” I held my breath.

One corner of his mouth quirked up in a funny little half smile. “Well, as I guess you figured out, I kinda like you too.”

“Like?” I hesitated. “Or liked? As in past tense?”

“Like.” He smiled all the way then. “As in present tense.” The smile faded. “But wait, are you sure you don't like Adam anymore? He is a pretty cool guy.”

“Maybe. But I'm definitely over him.”

“Oh. That's good.” He looked happier again.

After that we just stood there for a while, grinning at each other, neither of us knowing what to say or do next. Realizing I wasn't sure what had happened to Robert, I glanced over my shoulder. There he was—standing with Rachel, both of them staring at us with big, goofy grins on their faces. Oh, great. Just when I thought I couldn't be more embarrassed.

Muckle let out a sharp bark, his ears pricked toward something across the track. Oops. I realized he was still loose.

“Muck,” I said. “Stay!”

I leaned down and grabbed his leash. Muckle barked again and bowed down, inviting me to play. Then he took off, racing around behind Jamal.

“Whoa!” Jamal exclaimed as the leash tightened around his lower legs. “Easy, Muck . . .”

This time when he fell into me I decided to follow Robert's advice for once—be brave, grab life by the throat, go for it. I wrapped my arms around Jamal's back, steadying him. Then I stood on my tiptoes, leaned forward, and pressed my lips to his.

His eyes widened in surprise. But he recovered quickly. A second later his arms were pulling me even closer as he kissed me back.

My eyes drifted shut. I was so lost in the kiss that I barely heard Muckle barking, or Robert whooping. It was all about me and Jamal now. Maybe he wasn't the type of guy I'd been dreaming about all these years.

But I knew now that he was definitely the guy of my dreams.

TURN THE PAGE FOR MORE FLIRTY FUN.

E
ver since I was a
little girl, I've dreamed of being a star on the flying trapeze. Most girls grow up wanting to be a ballerina or a princess. Most of them stop dreaming once they become teenagers. Not me. Ever since my parents took me to see my first circus show, I knew that was the life for me. Watching the aerialist flip and twirl in midair, listening to all that applause . . . I couldn't think of anything better. Everyone in the tent was watching, everyone wanted to be them. And someday, I wanted to be the one who was the source of all that admiration.

Of course, it's hard to run away and join the circus when your parents are dead set on you going to college—probably for something practical like accounting or dentistry. It also doesn't help when you live in Middle of Nowhere, Missouri.

So the fact that I'm here, standing in front of a sign reading
THE KARAMAZOV SISTERS' TRAVELING CIRCUS: FIRST ANNUAL YOUTH CAMP
is a pretty big deal. I mean, the Karamazov sisters have been coming to town every summer for as long as I can remember. But for them to have a circus camp? One where I could learn flying trapeze and become a star? It almost seems too good to be true.

“You owe us for the rest of your life,” my mom says. “Remember this, Jennifer, when you're picking out our nursing home.”

I grin at her and Dad.

“I know,” I say. Neither of them really wants me to go to camp. I think they would rather I just stay at home and play video games with my friends like I have every other spring break. But I'm fifteen. It's time to start reaching for my dreams. And a weeklong camp doing circus is the best way to begin. I know, deep down, that this is going to be life changing. This is the point in my story where I finally flourish. At least, that's what I've been telling myself right up to now.

Actually, being here is starting to make me worry that I might have been wrong about all that.

The camp is held on the community college campus. We stand in the parking lot in front of the main office, and it's hard to believe that I've biked past here more often than I can count. The place is entirely different, and not just because there are dozens of teenagers my age walking around with their parents.

There are semitrucks parked outside the gym and tents being put up. None of them are quite as big as the big top for
the Karamazov show, but they're all genuine circus tents, stripes and stars and all. My heart leaps when I see the structure they're assembling a little farther off, out on the soccer field. It's not complete, but I know without a doubt what it is.

“Looks like that's where you'll be spending all of your time,” Dad says, noticing my gaze. He's got my suitcase balanced against his leg. I didn't pack much, not since it was only for a week. And besides, gymnastics clothes—all new, all part of my early birthday present—pack up pretty easily.

I don't actually have words. I stare at the flying trapeze rig, a little starstruck, and nod.

I'm not left to stare long. A girl who looks like she's a college supermodel comes up to us. She's got long brown hair in a ponytail and impeccable makeup. Her green eyes match the T-shirt she's wearing, and her shorts barely reach her thighs. She's gorgeous. What's more, I've seen her before; she's one of the hoop aerialists for the show.

“Hi,” she says, stopping in front of me. She holds out her hand with a warm smile. “I'm Leena. Are you here for the camp?”

I nod as I take her hand, unable to peel my eyes from her. Just last summer I was watching this girl perform amazing stunts on a hoop dangling a dozen feet in the air. And now she's shaking my hand! It's like meeting a celebrity, only this star's hands are covered in calluses, and there are a few faint bruises on her forearms and calves.

“Did you get attacked by a lion?” my dad asks. I shoot him
the angriest look I can manage. I haven't even gotten to introduce myself yet.

The girl raises an eyebrow, then looks to her arms and laughs.

“No, though that would make for a better story. These are just part of the gig. The battle scars of being an aerialist. Turns out hanging from a metal hoop hurts.” She laughs again. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't be scaring you off. Especially not before getting your name.”

“Jennifer,” I say. “Jennifer Hayes. And these are my parents.”

Leena shakes my mom and dad's hands, and I can tell from my mom's expression that she's not too happy about the fact that this girl is covered in bruises from being in the circus. At least she doesn't say anything; she's a little more tactful than Dad.

“Nice to meet you, Jennifer,” Leena says. “Is this your first time doing circus arts?”

I nod. Even though she's at least twenty-one, there isn't any condescension in her voice. She's looking at me like even if I'm not currently her equal, I might be. Someday.

“Well, this is going to be an intense week. I hope you're ready for it. You look like you're a natural, though—nothing to worry about.” She gives me a grin. “Anyway, registration's right inside the door. They'll get you sorted and into your dorm. I'll see you at the opener in an hour.”

She nods to my parents and then walks off, toward another group of kids milling about as aimlessly as I probably appear to be.

“She seems nice,” my dad says when she's out of earshot.

“Yeah,” I say. I'm still glowing. A natural? She thinks I could be a natural? “Really smooth, by the way. Thanks for trying to embarrass me.”

“I wasn't,” he replies. “I just wanted to make sure she hadn't been hurt, that's all. I mean, I'm entrusting you to her care. If there's anything bad going on behind the scenes . . .”

“I know, I know.” I pat him on the arm. “You gotta look out for your little girl.”

“You're sure you want to do this aerial thing?” Mom asks. She keeps glancing back to Leena, no doubt wondering if there are more bruises we can't see. “It looks . . . painful.”

“Totally sure,” I say. “Besides, she does hoop. I'm going to do flying trapeze—the only thing I have to worry about are bad calluses. Come on. Before registration closes.”

I head toward the door. They stay behind, but only for a moment. Then they're following at my heels, the wheels of my suitcase rumbling on the pavement. The sky is clear, it's not crazy hot outside, and I've just met one of my new coaches—who I've been watching for years. I don't think this day could get any better if it tried.

*  *  *

Registration is quick and simple; not ten minutes later, my parents are hugging me outside the door to my dorm, which is actually just one of the rooms in on-campus housing. There isn't any tear shedding, not like when I went to my first and only summer camp four years ago. I mean, I'm only here a week, and my house is only
a few miles away. I think I can cope. Or, if I'm being really honest here, I think
they
can cope.