The only thing that hadn’t changed was that he had a book propped up on his knees. When he saw me, he raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“Oh, it’s you.”
“Hey,” I said, glad that Mr. Albert took that moment to jump down, so we both had something else to look at.
Kes walked into the RV and I heard him rummaging through the tiny kitchen, then he tossed me a bag of chips through the window.
“Get one for me, squirt,” Con shouted.
Kes muttered under his breath, but threw a bag of corn chips at his brother’s head.
Con laughed and caught it easily. “Temper temper, little brother. You don’t want to give your girlfriend the wrong idea about you.”
I didn’t like Con, but I loved hearing him call me Kes’s girlfriend.
After that, he ignored us, and it was only when the sky began to drag toward the west, that Con stretched and unwound his long body from the deckchair.
“Time to get ready for the show, Kes,” he said, yawning.
Excitement filled me, and Kes’s expression brightened.
“You’ll really like it,” he said, his gray eyes silvery in the failing light.
Kes and Con disappeared into the RV to get ready. I was going to take Mr. Albert with me to the makeshift arena, but Kes stopped me.
“He has to stay inside for this,” he said, pulling Mr. Albert into his arms.
“Why? He always used to sit with me.”
Kes smiled. “He doesn’t like it anymore. You’ll see.”
Disappointed, I slouched off to the bleachers. I didn’t like sitting by myself. It felt weird, and I could see people giving me sidelong glances as the seats began to fill with families and groups of teenagers.
I stared at my hands, pretending to be very interested in my ragged nails. Then I felt someone gently touch my arm. I looked up to see the dwarf Ollo smiling at me.
I put my hands over my ears, and Ollo looked at me in surprise.
“For when you blow the bugle,” I said.
His eyes scrunched in a smile and he laughed.
“I don’t do that now,” he chuckled. “We’ve got a new act. Didn’t Kes tell you?”
“Well, he said it was new, but I haven’t seen it yet.”
Ollo smiled. “Aw, he wanted it to be a surprise—that’s cute. It’s all his idea; he’s got a real talent for showmanship. He could go far.”
I wasn’t sure what Ollo meant. How far could anyone go in a carnival that traveled around small towns in the mid-West? But I didn’t say that.
Ollo winked at me, then went off to take his position at the entrance to the arena. He plopped down on the ground behind a set of small tom-toms and began to play. The sound of a steady drumbeat filled the air, and I shivered at the primal sound.
The murmur of the crowd dropped away, and we all gasped when Kes exploded into the arena riding at a gallop. Kes was barefoot and wearing jeans, but that was all. No costume, no bandana, no shirt, no hat. Instead he was carrying a flaming torch in each hand, controlling Jacob Jones with just the lightest pressure of his knees. My jaw dropped, and a sigh rose up from the crowd as the red and yellow flames flickered brightly against the darkening sky.
Con followed, carrying a single torch, similarly dressed. I heard two high school girls sitting behind me giggle, and I rolled my eyes.
Kes slid his leg across the neck of his galloping pony and leapt to the ground. I nearly jumped out of my seat when he brought one of torches up to his face and a huge flame shot from his mouth.
Then Con tossed him the third burning torch and Kes started to juggle with them. I could barely watch, and saw most of the act from between my fingers. But I was so proud of him, too. He couldn’t spell and he barely knew the alphabet, but he could hold a crowd transfixed.
Dono galloped in wearing a leather vest, then threw a fourth torch to Kes. I felt sick with fright as the flames seemed to engulf his hands. I knew they hadn’t, but gosh, it sure looked like it! The torches flew into the air as Kes juggled them expertly. Then he tossed a torch to Dono and one to Con as he leapt back onto Jacob Jones. I could almost feel the heat of the flames as Kes galloped past; the roar of the crowd, the steady beating of the drum—it was raw and real, too much and not enough.
At the end of the show, all three members of the family stood in the center of the arena to take their bows. The crowd gasped and I screamed as Kes swallowed the flames of a single torch. As one, people rose up, stamping their feet, clapping and cheering. The applause rolled around the arena as first Kes, then Con and finally Dono, jumped onto the backs of their galloping ponies and shot out of the ring.
I raced after them and saw Kes toss the last three torches into a water barrel. I threw myself at him, babbling incoherently as my fingers slipped on his sweat-slick skin.
“You were amazing!” I shrieked loud enough to make him wince.
His grin said it all.
“Where … how … who taught you to do that?”
Kes jerked his chin at Ollo who winked at me.
“I want to learn,” I whispered in Kes’s ear. “Teach me.”
At first he looked shocked, and then he nodded minutely.
“Don’t tell anyone,” he said.
I don’t know what made me say it and I was terrified when Kes agreed, but I wasn’t backing down either.
It turns out that there’s a trick to being a fire-breather—it’s more like being a fire blower.
“Just don’t breathe in,” Kes said, his expression serious and worried.
I’d never seen a worried Kes before, so that made me even more nervous.
“You don’t have to do this, Aimee,” he continued, a small quake in his voice.
I shook my head. I couldn’t say anything because my mouth was full of lighter fuel.
Kes had schooled me for two hours in the correct angle to hold the torch, the amount of fuel to hold in my mouth, and the way I needed to spit it onto the flames. He’d checked and rechecked the direction of the faint breeze, shifting me with his strong fingers to the exact place he deemed suitable. He’d also insisted on soaking my clothes and hair in water before he let me try, and my face and arms were smeared with a protective gel.
“Okay,” he said at last, his voice resigned when he could see that I wasn’t going to back out. “I’ll count down to one, and then you blow out. Just don’t breathe in!”
He’d said it like a gazillion times, but I listened because I was terrified of my eyebrows going up in smoke … or worse.
Even though he’d given me a pair of thick leather flame-proof gloves to wear, Kes didn’t even trust me to hold the torch myself, which was just as well because my hands were shaking so badly.
“Three, two, one … blow!”
I blew as hard as I could, toppling backward when a three-foot flame appeared to shoot out of mouth.
I yelled and coughed as I swallowed a trickle of lighter fuel.
Kes immediately tossed the torch into a water barrel and passed me a can of soda.
When he saw that I was unharmed, his face split with a huge grin.
“Wow, you did good, Aimee! That was awesome!”
I took a gulp of soda, rinsing my mouth in the sugary drink before I spit onto the ground.
My eyes were watering as I glanced up at him. The look of pride on his face was worth the effort.
“Can you teach me to do the other bit, you know, to be a fire eater?”
“No way, Aimee,” he laughed. “It’s too dangerous. But I can teach you to juggle. Without the flames.”
When he smiled at me, still shaking his head, his eyes were soft.
I felt like I’d live a thousand deaths to see that look again.
I never did learn to juggle.
The next day, we broke our pattern of lazy lessons behind the Ghost Train. Dono was going into town to talk to the mayor about permits—I guess people were causing trouble again—and we decided to take a ride with him. Con was going, too, on his w
ay to study at the library.
I didn’t like Con much, but I had to admire how dedicated he was. Kes said it was because he couldn’t wait to get away from the carnival. Looking at Con’s perpetual frown, I thought he was probably right.
Kes and I decided we’d spend some of my birthday money and share a milkshake at the diner. Unfortunately Camilla Palmer was there, one of the meanest girls I’ve ever met. She was sitting in a booth at the front where everyone could see her, with her entourage of sheep-like followers. I hated them, and they didn’t know I existed. Guess that made us even.
I stopped Kes as he was about to walk inside.
“I think we should go somewhere else,” I whispered, edging to the side so they wouldn’t notice me.
Kes glanced across and his expression darkened.
“You don’t want to be seen with me,” he said, his voice hard.
“It’s not that! They’re mean—I know they’ll say horrible stuff.”
Kes just looked at me stony-faced, his arms crossed over his torn t-shirt.
“Fine,” I sighed, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
And he was partly right, too; I was afraid of what Camilla and her pack would say to me when we were back at school. There was no way I’d admit that to Kes. I didn’t want him to think I was a coward, even though I was.
He opened the door and shouldered his way inside. I followed, keeping my head down. I hoped he’d choose a booth at the back, but that wasn’t Kes’s way. He took a stool at the counter in full view of the whole diner. I scuttled up behind and sat next to him, pretending to study the menu that I already knew by heart.
“Oh my God!” Camilla screeched. “It’s Lamey Aimee wearing her thrift store clothes.” And then she laughed like a drain.
My heart clenched. It looked like Camilla did know who I was after all; worse still, she had a horrible nickname for me. My cheeks were bright red and I felt tears prick my eyes.
Kes nudged me.
“Is that why you didn’t want to come in here?”
“I told you she was mean,” I said, dodging his question.
Then Camilla noticed who I was with and she laughed again loudly. “Looks like Lamey Aimee has a boyfriend. Talk about scraping the bottom of the barrel.”
I didn’t know if she meant me or Kes, not that it mattered, because he jumped off his stool and stalked over to Camilla’s booth.
They got really quiet then. Kes could be pretty intimidating when he wanted to; he carried an air of recklessness that said to hell with the consequences, and right then he was scaring the pants off of those girls. I wondered what he was going to do.
“You’ve got a mean mouth,” he said flatly.
Camilla looked at him uncertainly, and one of her friends whispered, “He’s one of those carnie boys.”
Camilla wrinkled her nose. “I wondered what the smell was.”
Kes didn’t say a word. He just picked up the dirty plate from their table, still smeared with ketchup, and mashed it all over Camilla’s white tank top.
She squealed and jumped up. “You’ve ruined my shirt! You’ll pay for that!”
Kes grinned. “Nah, you just need to wash it.”
Then he flung a glass of coke over her, leaving her shocked and dripping. Everyone turned to stare as Camilla screeched.
Kes stood with his hands on his hips laughing at her. Then he turned to me and winked. God, I wish I’d had the nerve to do something like that—I just knew Camilla would take it out on me once we were back in school. Maybe if I showed her my fire-breathing she’d leave me alone. Maybe.
As before, time passed too quickly. Kes and I spent every day together, and every evening I went to see his show.
When Mom spoke to Dad on the phone and told him how I was spending my time and with whom, I heard her say some harsh words about “that white trash boy”, a phrase that made my cheeks burn hotter than my attempt at fire-breathing. But Dad was out of town again, so I tried not to pay too much attention.
I didn’t tell Kes what had been said, but I didn’t have to—he knew what townspeople called the carnies. He’d heard it in every town he ever visited. A lot of people said that they ripped you off and stole your money if you didn’t keep a close eye on them. It seemed so unfair.
Mom and Dad didn’t know that I’d overheard them, but they wouldn’t have cared anyway. If they had their secrets, I certainly had mine, because every night, when they’d gone to bed, Kes would jump in my window and we’d talk and talk and talk, carrying on the conversation that had been running all day.
It was so innocent, and if Kes liked to kiss my cheek before he left at dawn, well, that was our business.
“I’m really going to miss this,” I said as we sat together on my bed, our last night together.
Kes sighed. “Me, too.”
The year before, I’d tentatively suggested to Kes that we stay in touch by email but he’d immediately blown that idea out of the water. I decided to try again now. I got the same response.
“But you don’t have to write much,” I tried to convince him. “You could just send me photos. That would be cool.”
“No,” he said adamantly.
Then he scratched his thumb over his eyebrow, a gesture that meant he was nervous.
“I’ll be 13 in December. Grandpa says I can have a cell phone for my birthday. Sometimes he says stuff like that and it doesn’t happen, but if I get one, can I call you sometimes?”
“Seriously?! You’ll have your own phone! That’s awesome, I’m so jealous. Jennifer didn’t get her own cell until she was 14, so I’ve got awhile before I’ll get my own.” I frowned. “I’ll give you my number here, but…”
“But what?”
“Mom and Dad are weird about … about me getting calls, so…”
He sneered at me. “You mean they’ll be weird if you get calls from me?”
I winced, peering up at him from under my lashes. “Well, yes. Probably. But if you phone on a Sunday evening about 7 o’clock, that’s when they watch TV together.”
“Yeah, whatever,” he said.
I knew his feelings were hurt, but it was the best I could do.
“I really hope you call,” I said lamely.
When I woke up the next morning, he’d already gone.
It was a week after New Year’s when the phone rang one Sunday evening.
It had been a month since Kes’s birthday and I’d almost given up hope that he’d call. Maybe he’d lost my number. Maybe Dono hadn’t gotten him a cell phone after all. Maybe he didn’t want to talk to me. Maybe, maybe, maybe. I hated not knowing.
I’d sent him a card for Thanksgiving, another for his birthday, and yet another for Christmas, but I never heard back, not even a postcard. But then that night, he called.
Dad told Mom that the phone was ringing. Mom told Jennifer to answer it, and Jennifer yelled that I was nearer. Grudgingly, I put down my book and picked up the phone—caller unknown.
“Hello?”
“Aimee?”
“Oh Em Gee! Kes, is that you?”
His laughter crackled down the line. “Yeah, it’s me.”
“How are you? Where are you? What are you doing right now? It’s so good to hear from you!”
“I’m [hiss] and we’re [crackle] so maybe…”
And then the call cut off. I waited impatiently for him to call back. As I shivered in the cold hall, praying silently, Mom shouted from the living room.
“Who was it, Aimee?”
“I’m not sure,” I lied. “The call got dropped and it was all crackley.”
“They’ll call back if it’s important,” she said.
He didn’t, but a week later I got a postcard. Kes had drawn a picture of himself shooting a cell phone with a bow and arrow. I laughed out loud then ran upstairs to hide it.
It’s hard to explain what those two weeks every summer meant to me. I lived for them, I breathed for them, and the rest of my life seemed to be spent waiting.
Of course, I went to school and I had girlfriends—no boyfriends because I was still skinny and hadn’t really gotten any boobs yet. Not that I would have been interested; none of the boys in school could measure up to my colorful carnie boy.
Unsurprisingly, Camilla hated my guts and went out of her way to pick on me. But I discovered that all I had to say to her was, “Do you want fries with that?” and it shut her up.
It didn’t stop her doing mean stuff like leaving horrible notes in my locker, or getting the other kids to refuse to talk to me, but I could live with that.
And every summer I had my precious two weeks.
The year I turned 13, Con left to go to college at Northwestern, which really impressed me. But he didn’t even stay to work the summer season. Kes told me he got a job as a waiter in the city, instead. I knew that hurt Kes and Dono, although neither of them said anything to me. They’d had to bring in a couple of older guys who did a cowboy/target shooting/knife-throwing act, and that year I got to be the target, which made me scream and almost disgrace myself. But the highlight was always Kes’s riding, fire-eating and flame-juggling—it was captivating, magical.
Each year Kes seemed to grow taller and broader and more handsome. By the time we were 14, Kes’s eyes wandered when pretty girls walked past, and his voice cracked and squeaked like a broken toy. But 14 turned to 15, and 15 turned to 16, and it was still me that he spent his time with. I just didn’t know what he did the other fifty weeks of the year. I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
And I wasn’t the only one who noticed that he’d changed. The summer I turned 16, Camilla plotted her revenge.
Jennifer was full of stories about how amazing college was: how awesome her roommate was; how fabulous the professors were; how incredible the campus was; how cool Minneapolis was to live in. I couldn’t help thinking that with a year of college under her belt she’d have been more creative with her adjectives. She said I was being a bitch (true), and that I was jealous of her (also true), and that I wished I had her life (not true).
The Traveling Man Page 6
