Love Is in the Air Read Online Free

their hoodies to reveal spangled pink spandex. From the corner of my eye I can see Leena, who’s watching the girls like she might stop them at any moment. Like the rest of us, I don’t think she quite believes what she’s seeing.
    Thankfully, after the introduction, the awkwardness shifts into something that looks a little more like an award-winning gymnastics routine. Two of the sisters do back walkovers and pause in handstands, flattening their backs until they were parallel to the ground. The shortest then steps on the backs of her sisters, reaches down, and does a handstand on their necks, balancing between them like the Eiffel Tower. No one applauds. Not because it isn’t good, but because it’s just so . . . unexpected.
    I don’t have any idea how long their routine is, but after a fewminutes they do some complicated backbend-headstand thing. They pose and the music stops. A beat of silence follows their dismount and bow. Then the coaches start to clap, and the rest of us join in with only a slight hesitation. The sisters have fixed, plastic grins on their faces, and their chests heave a bit with exertion.
    Leena steps forward, still clapping, though she’s having a hard time keeping that confused/concerned look off her face.
    â€œThat was . . . very entertaining,” she says. It sounds like a question. “It’s clear you’ve practiced that one quite a bit; I’m sure our coaches are going to have a great time working with you.” I don’t miss the glance she casts back to two of the coaches in the corner—one a burly man and one a short old woman—and their shared expression of disbelief.
    The triplets leave the stage, grabbing their speakers as they go, and Leena calls for the next performer.
    A few different campers go up. One girl does stunt-bike-style tricks on a unicycle. A boy juggles a half-dozen bowler hats. Then Tyler stands up and grabs a wooden chair from along the wall, dragging it toward the center of the room.
    â€œI think he likes you,” Riley whispers when Tyler’s out of ­earshot.
    â€œI think you’re crazy,” I reply. Because I saw how he was watching the boy doing flips and break-dance moves: the exact same way that I was. I’m pretty certain Tyler plays for the other team.
    Tyler sets the chair down and stands on top of it, right before grasping the edge of the chair. Seconds later, he folds up into aperfect handstand. He twists and turns and poses, even doing some tricks on one hand. When he finally stands upright, the room explodes into applause. A lot of people release breath they didn’t realize they were holding. I’m definitely one of them.
    â€œThat was amazing,” I tell him when he sits back down. There’s a light sheen of sweat on his face, but he’s beaming in spite of—or because of—the exertion.
    â€œThanks,” he says. “I’ve been training for a long time. Normally I do them on special chairs stacked on top of each other. My current limit is eight high, but I’m shooting for ten by the end of camp.”
    I can only stare at him. The idea of doing handstands on the back of eight chairs makes my heart hammer with fear. Crap. If the idea of a few stacked chairs makes me cringe, how the heck am I going to be able to climb the trapeze ladder? I force myself to take deep, calming breaths. I tell myself it will all be okay—I’m going to be a trapeze star. I know it. Otherwise, why am I here in the first place?
    â€œWow,” Riley whispers. I glance over, thinking maybe she’s talking about what Tyler just said about the chairs. But no, she’s staring at the boy who’s walking to the center of the mat.
    â€œI’m Branden,” he tells the group. “I’ve been training in flying trapeze for about three years, but I also do some ground work. So I figured I’d show what I’ve been working on, if I