That Time I Joined the Circus (4 page)

13 Broome Street — Friday, May 21

There are a lot of reasons why everyone in the known universe has a boyfriend except for me. I can list the top five on command, just in case anyone’s ever interested. No one ever has been, but that’s no reason not to be prepared.

Number five: I blame my parents. They were ridiculously all over each other in a lovey-dovey, make-you-want-to-barf way. I’m talking goo-goo eyes and hand-holding. That is, until one day my mom up and left and I learned really quickly not to even mention her name. So that’s one reason to actively choose to be single.

Four: Everyone at my school, I’m pretty sure, paired up in the eighth grade. Occasionally they’d switch partners, as though there were some secret game of musical chairs being played somewhere in the back hallway. But there was never any warning, and no one was ever single for more than a few minutes. Got to keep butts in those seats.

Reason number three: I always have something sarcastic to say. That one is probably self-explanatory.

Two: I’m antisocial. Unless it’s a concert, I have a hard time making myself get all dolled up to go out, coughing up fifteen bucks’ cover charge, and holding the same plastic cup of soda for five hours because drinks are twelve bucks a pop.

And finally, reason number one: Adventure Barbie.

When girls like me, who are relatively smart and pretty, who have something to say, and who have their own points of view, spend every Friday night home alone watching reality TV, this is because all of the guys they might potentially have dated are out with Adventure Barbie.

You know who she is — that girl with the perfectly tousled hair, long legs, and no fat anywhere because she doesn’t eat. She wears super-high heels, which she can walk in perfectly, but she also comes equipped with hiking boots. A guy who finds himself an A.B. is pleased to find out that she is equally at home zip-lining and fine dining. She will go with him to his kickboxing gym and impress all the guys there, and then she will go home and change into a little black dress and five-inch heels. A.B. does not exist in nature; she is her own creation. And no regular girl can match her. A regular girl’s face betrays her panic when she is asked to go rock climbing or cliff diving. A regular girl looks like a drowned rat after an afternoon of white-water rafting. But not Adventure Barbie.

The ways of the A.B. are very mysterious, though. I should know: I have been friends with one for going on three
years now. But Bailey and her skills remain a mystery to me. I watched her perform her magic on all the cutest upperclassmen — briefly upsetting their incestuous game of musical chairs — before, for some reason, she picked Eli. And it was too much to hope that Eli would be immune to the charms of Adventure Barbie. They went skydiving for his birthday last month. Adorable.

It was another (dateless) Friday afternoon, and I stood outside the art room waiting for Eli. I figured walking home from school would be the only time I’d see him until Bailey let him up for air somewhere around the middle of Sunday. I didn’t know what they had planned for this weekend; I only knew they’d look like a page from the Abercrombie & Fitch catalog doing it. Bailey had performed quite the makeover on Eli.

“Hey, X. What are you doing here?” Eli had finally emerged from the art room.

“Bird-watching.” I gave him a dirty look.

Eli looked confused. Maybe all the dye from his stylish new clothes had affected his brain cells.

“Duh, I’m waiting for you. I kinda thought that was obvious,” I told him.

“I thought you’d be halfway home by now.” When I didn’t say anything, he rushed to add, “I know how much you hate this place.”

“You used to hate it, too,” I muttered, turning away from him and starting back down the hall.

I didn’t get far; Eli held on to one of the straps of my
backpack. “Wait up, Xan. I’m sorry. I mean, I don’t know what I did, but whatever it is, I’m sorry about it.”

“That is the lamest apology in the history of the world.” I shrugged out of my backpack straps so that he would let go, but he didn’t. “Seriously, Eli, whatever — later.” I turned away again.

Eli let go of my backpack, but then he surprised me by grabbing my waist and pulling me toward him. “X … I’m sorry for everything — just all of it,” he said softly in my ear; he was standing very close to me, one hand still on my waist.

I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the stupid, useless feelings that his hand on my waist was causing. I wanted to either take one step closer and lay my head on his chest or run away. Everything in between just seemed too horrible to contemplate. I made myself count to ten so he wouldn’t see how much I wanted to get away from him. When I got to ten I stepped back, forced myself to laugh it all off. “Eli, chillax. I’m just getting sick or something. It’s making me cranky — ignore me. I’ll see you Sunday, yeah?”

Eli looked down at me for a second before agreeing. “Yeah, sure. Sunday. Bails and I are going to go hiking tomorrow — at her dad’s place in Tarrytown.”

“Of course you are,” I muttered, turning away and really making my escape this time.

“See you Sunday!” I heard him call out behind me. His voice already sounded far away.

Tavares, Florida — Saturday, October 9

A clown on stilts led the parade. The performers came out into the ring two at a time, in bright and sparkly costumes, to the sound of old-fashioned circus music. They were waving and smiling, but at the moment I was the only person actually sitting in any of the seats, until I saw Louie lead a small group toward some seats across the ring from me. It seemed like a strange crowd for the circus. It was mostly men in suits and a lady who looked just like one of the librarians from Sheldon.

When I looked back at the ring, I recognized some of the animal handlers, now all in costumes. I even spotted the grumpy tiger man wearing a tiger-striped suit and a top hat. The performers took their places in the ring in three long lines. They put their heads down, waiting, and then the beat of the music changed, and they began
doing their choreography, dancing to Katy Perry’s “Firework.” Some of them — I spotted Lina’s long, elegant frame right away — were amazing dancers. The animal trainers knew the steps but were clearly clumsier.

It would have been nice to watch with someone, I thought glumly as I sat alone. But I was getting used to being alone. It wasn’t that different from my old life. Wait — yes, it was! I hadn’t really been alone then — I’d had a family. But sitting here and crying was not an option I was going to allow myself, so I pressed both hands to my eyes and willed the tears back.

“I’ve seen better, but the charivari’s not that bad,” came a voice from somewhere under my left arm. I opened my eyes and saw Jamie sitting beside me, his head down to talk to me in my hunched-over position.

“Hi,” I said, redoubling my not-crying effort. “What’s a charivari?” I managed. New vocabulary was always a safe bet, emotionally speaking. I always liked learning words.

He chuckled. “Never been to the circus before?” he asked. “It’s the opening part of the show. It used to be just the clowns in the old days, but now most shows have a musical number with the whole cast.”

“Oh,” I said. “I haven’t actually been to the circus before,” I added. “There’s one in the city — the Big Apple Circus? But I’ve never been.”

Jamie whistled through his teeth. “Yeah, that’s a big
show. Probably the best one. They have a lot of sponsors, get a lot of press. Even did that Britney Spears video a couple years ago. We’re a little smaller. They don’t change our show up year to year. Last year, Louie got this idea that he was going to try and hire this director guy from Chicago and all. But that did
not
go well — he fired him, like, two days later. Louie likes being the one in charge.”

I smiled, picturing someone trying to direct Louie — I could already see where that might be a problem. Although at that moment, Louie was sort of fawning over one of the men he’d brought in with him.

“Who’s that old guy over there?” I asked Jamie.

“Good call — he’s actually our major sponsor. Lives around here, somewhere. He’s got, like, four private planes, supposedly. He likes the show — went to the circus in England when he was a little kid, so he sponsors it every year. Louie has to really kiss up to him.”

“I would have thought the circus was sort of profitable on its own,” I whispered. The two clowns from breakfast weren’t sticking to the choreography, and one of them had a little dog. They kept messing up and getting in the way. I saw the old airplane guy laugh.

“Not so much,” Jamie said. “The animals are incredibly expensive. But it wouldn’t really be a circus without them.”

The dance number ended, and Louie left his seat and walked out to announce the first act. He was in full ring-leader costume: top hat, red coat and tails with a line of gold sequins on each lapel, black shirt, black pants, and tall boots.
He addressed the money guy directly and bowed in his direction a couple of times.

First up was a woman I recognized as the elephant handler; she wore a spangly red, white, and blue costume — complete with sequined patriotic-colored hat — and she led the elephant out into the ring. She was holding a big metal cylinder in one hand and a whip in the other.

“That’s Marina,” Jamie whispered. “She’s really good. She’s, like, sixth-generation circus, all animal people.”

I turned to him. “How come you’re not in the show? Didn’t you say you were, like, fifth generation or something?”

“Fourth, far as I know,” he corrected me. “Like I said, not much money in it. Someday there won’t be any more Bobs — the sponsor guy,” he added at my look of confusion. “Old dudes who loved the circus when they were kids. But the carnival part, that’s here to stay. And I was never much of a show-business guy. I like machines, so I work the midway. That’s where all the action is, anyway. Only the little kids come to see the show. The rest of the town turns out after for the rides, the games, the food.”

“Makes sense,” I told him as Marina led the elephant to sit, then stand on the pedestal she’d brought in. Then the elephant got down low, and Marina got up on his back and rode around the ring. I had a disturbing flashback to my dream. “Nice elephant,” I said.

“Bull,” Jamie said. “They call them bulls when they’re in the show. The next part’s my favorite. Julian’s the fire-eater. Now that’s a righteous gig.”

I suppressed a giggle at Jamie’s choice of words. I watched as Marina rode her elephant — bull — out of the ring. Then a wiry man in a slightly shabby tux walked into the middle of the ring. He began a complex pantomime, but there was no fire anywhere. I turned to Jamie to ask what was going on.

“I guess he’s not gonna do it for rehearsal.” Jamie shook his head. “Shame. Julian’s getting up there in years. And he had a close call last season. Guess they’re playing it safe.” The little man bowed, doffing his bowler hat to reveal slicked-down jet-black hair. He turned to Jamie and me after he’d bowed to the money guy and bowed to us. I thought I saw him wink.

I realized I was actually having fun, sitting here watching the show with Jamie. The cute-boy effect had largely worn off. I’d even been speaking in full, coherent sentences for the last half hour. We watched the comedy act — the two clowns back with the dog. Jamie told me that they always brought a little kid in as part of their act, and it was really sweet. Although they had to be careful selecting the kid, he said. Sometimes they picked one who just sort of froze, and then it was awkward. I figured I would have been the kid to freeze.

Next came a wire act. “That’s Faina,” Jamie said, pointing to a whip-thin girl with pale skin and very pale blond hair. “She’s, like, seventh generation — further back than anybody except the Vranas. And all wire and trapeze people. She was probably born in midair.” He smiled.

“A little crush on wire girl?” I asked him. He was certainly regarding her more intently than he had the clowns.

He grinned. “Once, maybe. We went out when we were both younger. But now her husband would crush me to powder. She married a guy from Ringling. They hardly ever even see each other, but it seems to suit Faina just fine. Besides, Faina is … Well, let’s just say, nothing ever really pleases Faina. She drives Louie insane.”

She was very graceful on the wire, moving slowly in time with avant-garde-sounding music. Her act was cool, but the weird music kind of ruined it for me. Faina dismounted, bowed — this time only to Bob, ignoring Jamie and me — and ran off. The next act was two tigers that jumped through a big hoop that Jamie said would be on fire for the actual show. Then Jamie said, “And here’s the finale.”

Lina entered, along with the other elegant girl from breakfast and the guy who looked just like her. The two girls stood on one side on a platform, and the boy was on the other. They were all wearing black leotards, but not fancy costumes. The girls’ hair was pulled back tight. They had similar faces — angular, with high cheekbones and aristocratic features. But Lina had very dark hair, and the other girl was fair-skinned and her hair was dark blond.

“That’s Lina, Eliska, and Edvar.” Jamie snorted. “But he goes by Eddie, for obvious reasons. They’re all Louie’s kids, of course.”

“Not your favorite person, Eddie?”

“He’s a pain, but whatever. The girls are okay. Lina’s awesome. Eliska is kind of frosty until you get to know her.”

“If Lina’s warm compared to her sister, then I need to steer clear,” I said before I had time to stop myself. “Sorry — it’s nothing. Louie gave me a job; his kids can be whatever temperature they want. I’ll shut up now.”

“Don’t need to on my account,” Jamie said. “You came on as crew, so none of them probably even noticed you. They’re a nice family, though.”

“I thought Eddie was a pain?”

“Well, yeah, except him.”

There were a couple of guys from the ring crew checking the nets that were rigged beneath the swings of the trapeze. Lina looked massively annoyed.

“Jamie, will you please make yourself useful and check the rigging?” she called down to him.

Jamie smiled sheepishly at me before leaping away to do her bidding. “No problem, Lina.”

He checked things out for a couple of minutes, then gave Lina the thumbs-up, and she called “Ready” across to her brother.

“Eddie’s the catcher,” Jamie said, back beside me. “Lina’s doing a regular catch and return to warm up now. Then the first move’s an angel — the catcher will hold her by the feet and one arm.”

“You seem to know a lot about this,” I told him. “And she had you check the net or whatever.”

He looked sheepish again. “Yeah, my family’s done trapeze forever. My mom was a flyer. But look at me — too big.”

I looked him over. I wouldn’t say his size was any sort of problem, but looking up at Eddie flying in midair, I realized he kind of had a point. “Are you sad about it?”

“Not even a little,” Jamie said. “It’s a pretty harsh life. Lots of injuries, and you have to be really careful what you eat. No thanks.”

I remembered Jamie’s unrestrained bacon festival that morning at breakfast and smiled. “I’m with you. I don’t plan to give up bacon and French fries until it’s under doctor’s orders.”

“My kind of girl.” Jamie winked at me, and I blushed.

We both looked up and watched Lina’s sister do a knee hang from the trapeze. My breath caught at the sight, but she easily swung over to where Eddie caught her. I looked across the ring; Bob’s attention was rapt. “I can see why this is the finale,” I said.

“Yeah, it’s pretty awesome,” Jamie said. “But it’s no Hurricane.” He smiled. “My ride.”

“I know the Hurricane!” I told him. There was one on the boardwalk in New Jersey — Sea Isle, if I remembered right. I had ridden it once with Eli and my dad when we were younger.

“I’d say you should come ride it tonight,” he told me, “but apparently you’re gonna be busy selling stuffed tigers and cotton candy in the novelties wagon.”

“I guess that’s the plan,” I said. It definitely sounded better than being Costi’s assistant, so I wasn’t about to complain.

Lina, Eliska, and Eddie soared through the air a few more times, doing some flips. Eddie could do a triple, Jamie informed me — flipping around three times in midair before catching the bar again. I heard a gasp and was surprised when it turned out it came from me.

“Yeah. He’s really good,” Jamie said, not sounding too pleased about it.

And then it was over, and I was blinking in the bright sunlight outside the tent. “Thanks for watching with me,” I said to Jamie, meaning it. “It was cool to listen to a circus expert.”

“No problemo,” he said. “Hey, I gotta go check on some things over on the midway. You’ll be okay?”

I had no idea where I was supposed to go, or what I was supposed to do, but I nodded, not wanting to keep him. I saw Louie heading out of the tent, and I figured I’d risk annoying him and ask. Better to ask for a job than to have him think I was lazy, right?

I took a step back, squinting up at the outside of the tent. I saw the name
Circus Europa
in white script letters on the side. I realized I must not have been on the name side of the tent the night before.

“Is it named after the woman from mythology, with Zeus and the white bull?” I turned to Jamie, but noticed that Louie was standing beside him, head cocked to one side.

“In a roundabout way,” Louie answered. “My great-great-grandfather named it so. He broke away from his father’s show, which was called Jupiter —”

“Oh, I get it! Europa’s one of Jupiter’s moons. They are all named for Zeus’s — Jupiter’s — lovers. Clever.”

“Yes, I would say so.” Louie nodded, regarding me thoughtfully. “The story has been passed down through the family. Most people simply think the name refers to the style of the show — a one-ring show in the European style.”

“Like Big Apple,” I said, remembering my conversation with Jamie. “I think I read in the
New York Post
that it was the same kind of show.”

Louie nodded again, looking at me in what seemed to be an appraising way. “You read a lot, do you?”

I nodded. “Yes.” I didn’t tell him that I often read stupid Regency novels.

“You are finished with school?”

“No, sir. I am — was — a senior. I’ve got a semester and a half to go. In high school,” I added, when he still looked confused.

“I have another job for you,” he told me. “The teacher, she left before the last stop. I sent for another, but she won’t be here for a few days. You teach, yes?”

“Teach what? I mean, who would I be teaching?”

“We’ve got circus school,” Jamie told me. He’d been hovering.

“I thought you said you didn’t go to school.”

He shook his head, and I saw Louie shoot him some sort
of look. “I didn’t grow up on
this
show,” Jamie said. “Louie woulda made me go to school. All the kids here go. There aren’t that many. Maybe six?”

“Eight when they all show up,” Louie said. “Jamie will show you where. You can do this?”

I felt myself nodding. “I can try. I mean, as long as you know I’m still technically a student myself.”

“Better than nothing,” Louie said, and turned heel and walked away.

“And with that stunning endorsement,” I said, then looked at Jamie. “What’s bothering you?” I asked him. He was looking up at the tent, and he looked confused.