When we hear the first chords of “Gonna Fly Now,” the theme song to Rocky, it’s our cue that the show is about to begin. We form a line and jog back into la palestre. I can feel the music filling me up. Soon I’ll be doing the triple star roll, which is about as close as I’ve ever come to flying. If only Mom could be here to see me do it!
Those of us not performing in the first act move to the back. Guillaume is doing the phonecall routine Genevieve and I saw Leo do at the beginning of circus camp. Genevieve is sitting up at the front, near the rope and tissu. I catch her eye, and she nods at me.
Guillaume pretends to telephone an older lady who is sitting in a chair near him. When he blows the woman a kiss and she blushes and covers her mouth with her hand, the audience cracks up.
Guillaume saunters over to the lady and sits down in her lap. He’s slipping his arm around her shoulder when he notices the man sitting in the next chair—it must be her husband.
Guillaume lifts his hands into the air so the audience can see them trembling. He pops up from the lady’s lap and slinks away in the direction of the equipment room. On his way he pauses, catches the lady’s eye, takes out his pretend phone and calls her again. From the way he grins, we can all tell he’s trying to arrange a date to see her later. He puts the phone back into his pocket, winks at the audience and disappears.
There’s more laughter from the audience and applause too.
Hana and two other girls are on the mats, doing the pretzel. Hana’s feet are over her head, and I can see right into her eyes. She looks at me without blinking, and when she smiles, I know her smile is for the whole audience, not just me. Hana might have been homesick, and her English still needs work, but I’m beginning to understand that she has what it takes to become a circus star. Sure, she’s hardworking and talented. But she’s got courage too.
I’m waiting by the rope when I hear Carly Simon’s voice begin to sing “Itsy Bitsy Spider.” The riggers have just finished arranging the flowerpots and garden hose. I don’t know why, but I’m not nervous. Maybe it’s because my mom’s not here. Except for the friends I’ve made at circus camp, no one in the audience knows me. If I screw up…I stop myself. I’m not planning to screw up.
I’m excited. I’m ready.
I’ve practiced hard and long, and I want to share what I’ve learned at circus camp. I want to show the audience what I can do—and how much I love my rope.
My arms and legs work together as I climb. I feel strong, confident. My act is becoming automatic, the way Terence told me it would if I practiced hard enough.
The audience lets out an appreciative aah when I do my single star roll. Wait, I think, until you see my triple.
I’m working and I’m playing. And now, already—how did the time go so quickly?—it’s nearly the end of my act and time for my triple star roll.
I climb nearly to the ceiling of la palestre and gaze out at the audience beneath me. Genevieve is in the first row. Her injured leg is elevated on a chair, and she is craning her neck to watch me. Terence must be there too.
I take a deep breath and prepare to invert. The rope is hanging on my right side. I concentrate as I wrap it over my right thigh, then three times around my waist. I tug on it to make sure it’s secure. I look up at the carabiner. When I do, I think of Louise.
This time, though, thinking of her doesn’t make me feel afraid. Louise died a terrible, senseless death, but she died doing what she loved. I am lucky to be able to do what I love too. If one day I make it and become a professional aerialist, I won’t climb only for myself or for the audience. I’ll climb for Louise too.
I take another look down at the audience. Why is Genevieve waving her hands? My first thought is that she’s trying to distract me. Trying to ruin my performance. How dare she do that?
I look up and away from Genevieve. I can’t let her rattle me.
I hook my toe on the rope. I can almost hear Terence’s voice in my ear, telling me, “Release! Now!”
But I don’t. Something stops me.
That’s exactly when I realize what I’ve done. I’ve wrapped the rope over the wrong thigh. And now I can see Terence waving at me too. They both know that if I let go now, the rope will set me on the wrong side. I won’t be able to move at all. I’ll be trapped in the air like some dumb bug caught in a spider’s web.
Carly Simon is singing, “Down came the rain and washed the spider out…”
There’s just enough time to make the fix. My fingers are shaking, but I manage to loosen the rope from around my thigh. When I wrap it around my left thigh and then three times around my waist, I start feeling more like a spider again. I hook my toe, and as I release it from the rope, all I can think is, Thank you, Genevieve!
When I dangle in the air, and when I slide down to the mats, the audience is clapping. Except for Genevieve and Terence, no one else seems to realize how close I came to screwing up my finale.
A few people are actually standing up and giving me an ovation. I feel proud and embarrassed at the same time, but I take a bow.
Only when I’m lifting my head and looking at the people who have stood up do I realize who is in the audience. My mom. She must have caught another plane. How else could she have made it to the performance on time? I feel myself starting to tear up. Not only because my mom just saw me do a triple star roll at the MCC, but because my dad did too. He is standing next to her, clapping his hands.
I can’t hug them until the reception, which is being held out on the terrace.
When I get there, I spot my parents talking to a distinguished-looking Korean couple. Hana’s parents.
I expect Hana to rush to them, but she walks over calmly. “We are so proud of you,” they tell her, and then they kiss her.
Hana’s mugunghwa tattoo is covered by her leotard. I wonder if she will show the tattoo to her parents when she is back in Korea, or if she will continue to keep it a secret.
“Mom! Dad! You made it in time! Dad, I didn’t know you were coming.” My voice breaks a little.
“He decided at the last minute,” my mom says. “When he saw me packing my suitcase, he got on the computer and booked another ticket.”
Mom won’t stop hugging me. On another day I might feel embarrassed, but not today. “You were amazing,” she says. “You never told me you were practicing the triple star roll.”
Dad is watching us. “I nearly screwed up that last move,” I tell him. “I was about to make a really dumb mistake—”
“But you fixed it,” he says. “I saw you adjusting the rope up there, so I figured something must’ve gone wrong. You made a mistake. It happens.” He’s watching my face. “But you fixed it. That’s what’s important. Fixing things. I’m proud of you, Mandy.”
Dad is hugging me now too.
Hana taps my shoulder. “I want you to meet my mother and father, please,” she says. And then I spot Genevieve hobbling toward us.
This reception is starting to feel like another three-ring circus.
I want to hang out with my mom and dad, and I want to meet Hana’s parents, but first I need to talk to Genevieve. I tell Hana and my parents I’ll be right back, and I walk toward her. I’ve never seen anyone get around as quickly on crutches as she does. Something tells me she’ll be back on the tissu sooner than anyone expects.
“Hey,” I say to her. “Thanks for what you did. You saved me from looking like a total idiot out there.”
“That would have been something, wouldn’t it?” Genevieve says. Her eyes are dancing. I think she’s picturing me trapped in my rope. “Anyway, you don’t have to thank me. You’d have done the same thing for me.”
I nod my head. It’s too hard for me to speak. I think the reason I’m getting all emotional is that this time, Genevieve is right.
I would have done the same thing for her.
Acknowledgments
I could never have written this book without the help of many people. Special thanks to two colleagues at Marianopolis
College, Philip Dann and Kate Sheckler, who introduced me to their friends at Montreal’s École nationale de cirque. One of those friends was Selene Ballesteros-Minguer, who got me hooked on the world of rope climbing. ENC administrators Daniela Arendasova, Laurence Cardin, Marilou Cousineau and Christophe Rousseau gave me access to the facility. Librarian Anna-Karyna Barlati made me feel at home in her library. Kia-Melinda Eastman helped me learn about tissu. Aaron Marquise, my favorite clown in Montreal, kept me entertained and taught me that intelligence is a big part of clowning. Summer circus camp students Ainsleigh Jackson, Elodie Paquin and Ryan Madis answered my questions and demonstrated their routines. Aerial instructor Sarah Poole patiently answered many questions and reviewed sections of the manuscript.
Thanks also to the entire team at Orca Book Publishers, especially to Robin Stevenson for her gentle, incisive input. Thank you to aerialist Adrienne Jack-Sands and photographer Ibon Landa for the stunning cover image.
And, as always, thanks to my husband, Michael Shenker, and my daughter, Alicia Melamed, for their love and support and for letting me talk out another story with them. All of you have shown me that when the stars align, work can feel like play.
This is MONIQUE POLAK’s seventeenth novel for young adults. Her historical novel What World Is Left won the 2009 Quebec Writers’ Federation Prize for Children’s and Young Adult Literature. Monique is also a journalist whose work appears regularly in the Montreal Gazette and in Postmedia publications across Canada. She has been teaching English literature and humanities at Marianopolis College in Montreal, Quebec, for thirty years. Monique lives in Montreal with her husband.
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