Infini (Aerial Ethereal #2)(34)

The Kotovas let me tackle this on my own and stand on the metal edge while loosely gripping the poles. With a big breath, I swallow my fear and begin to jump.

By the third jump, I gain so much height that my pulse races ahead of my thoughts. I feel like I’m taking way too long—when in reality, I’m probably not in the air for more than ten seconds.

I use my arms for balance. Higher and higher.

I’m supposed to just…step onto the little platform, mid-air. Go for it, I tell myself.

And I try.

My foot touches the lip of the platform, but I careen backwards. Shit. I slip and plummet downwards. My back hits the trampoline net and bounces me. I use my core strength to right myself upwards, but I aim towards a mini-net. Shitshit.

My shoulder touches the net, and I catapult off, barely able to hear Dimitri and a few others coaching me on where to go. What to do.

Somehow I land in the center of the trampoline again, and I kneel and force my body down to ground myself. Impeding all movement.

My heart is stuck in my throat. Anxiety burns me up, and I feel some Kotovas start to shift towards me. Including Luka. “I’m fine,” I say, extending my arm so they’ll stay put.

I’ll try again. It’s not like everyone succeeds the first time. Some do, but in most disciplines, practice is important. Whenever I try a new juggling trick, I still drop balls and clubs.

Ignore everyone.

I find a calm place inside, and I just jump and jump. Gaining enough height again, I don’t rush myself this time. I bounce once more, and mid-air, I extend a leg to try and touch the tiny square platform.

I land fine, but my momentum pushes me forward. I run into the pole, and I wrap my arms around it (hands already full of juggling balls).

Stable.

I breathe heavily and rest my forehead on the pole, thankful that I made it to the platform. The first time is always the scariest. And sometimes the hardest.

When I sit, legs hanging off, everyone but Luka reroutes their attention. His gaze lingers on me for a long moment, as though to ensure I’m secure. That I’m okay. When he sees that I am, he focuses on his cousins and the choreographer.

I really enjoy this part. Observing the Kotovas in their intense training session. It’s like witnessing each individual piece of an extraordinary puzzle. All before it’s put together.

Now that I’m allowed, I mostly watch Luka. I find myself smiling way more than I ever would—and it’s not a coy smile. It’s a giddy, uncontrollable smile that has been locked away for years.

Luka propels himself at the back wall with one deep jump, and then he runs up the hard surface. Three cousins in tow. So swiftly, they land on top.

Naturally graceful, they may as well have wings.

Luka steps off the wall like it’s nothing, but he physically drops from forty-feet.

I inhale strongly, even if he’s done this a million times before. Dimitri stands close on the trampoline and digs his foot deep. So as Luka plummets, he hits the taut surface and soars straight up.

He does a quadruple back tuck over Matvei who performs a triple layout below. Luka also has enough air for a triple full (one back somersault with three twists). My view isn’t of haphazard, awkward actions. These aren’t a bunch of guys on a backyard trampoline flopping around.

Their lithe movements carry extreme precision. They call out to one another in Russian, making eight in-flight bodies look like ordered chaos. They’re unequivocally picturesque slicing through air, and this is just practice.

Geoffrey stops them more than once and asks who can do what combination, and they all always raise their hands, their advanced skillsets the same.

“You two.” From the ground, Geoffrey motions to Luka and Robby. “Full twisting triple backflip. Luka goes from the far left to right, and Robby crosses in the middle.”

Panting, Robby rubs sweat off his brow. “We’re doing the same thing?”

“Yes. Listen.” Geoffrey glares. “You cross like this.” He just crosses his arms.

Abram rolls his eyes, but it’s hard to frustrate Luka. He runs his hand through his soaked hair, and he nods a few times like he’s ready to just go ahead and try it.

I wrap my arms around my stomach and lean forward. If this is timed wrong at all, Robby will crash into Luka, and it’s not like a full twisting triple backflip is easy.

Luka is positioned at the far left, and Dimitri counts in Russian, ignoring the choreographer’s earlier rule about speaking in English.

I chew my bottom lip, worried.

Dimitri shouts one last time, and Luka jumps and twists his body three-sixty-degrees. Now facing backwards, he performs rapid, technically perfect layouts across the trampoline, hands never touching the surface. Just feet.

Robby is coming at him.

My fingers touch my lips, just as he accelerates and passes his cousin in a split-second. Luka gains a lot of air at the end, and he finishes his last rotations, his triple backflip powerful.

And beautiful.

Then he lands on his feet, wobbling a little more than I think he’d like, but his tiny movement may be unnoticeable to an audience.

Geoffrey critiques them more than praises, and he has all the Kotovas perform a few skills again. Hopping on the available platforms. Flying at the mini-nets. Soaring up the wall. Thirty minutes tick by before I’m called on.

“Baylee, come down to the trampoline’s base.”