High Wire

by Melanie Jackson

  I noticed that Pooch had dropped the pink leash and collar. Now, in a corner of the trailer, he was fastening his jaw around one of Sorelli’s shiny black boots. I picked him up.

  “I’ve texted my aunt about Pooch. She’ll take him when she gets back. It’s just a few days, sir.”

  Sorelli plunged his big hairy hand into a box of tissues. Wrenching out half of them, he wiped the sweat off his face. “Last night Pooch wriggled out of his collar and ran to you, right in the middle of your juggling act. The city inspectors hear about that, they figure he’s a performer. They revoke our permit and shut us down.”

  My shoulders sagged. I thought, Sorry, Pooch. I tried.

  Sorelli pulled the remaining tissues out of the box. He mopped at a fresh outbreak of sweat on his forehead. “Besides, if I let you have a dog, every other performer and crew member will want a pet. Soon we’ll be overrun with dogs, cats, lizards, birds, fish—”

  “Okay, Mr. Sorelli,” I interrupted, before he could go through the entire animal kingdom. “I’ll find a home for Pooch.”

  “You have twenty-four hours. If the mongrel is still around, I replace you. Savvy? There’s somebody else who’s dying for the high-wire job.”

  Cubby, I thought. “Yes, sir.”

  The ringmaster gave me a phony smile that was scarier than any of his scowls. “Do you know why I’m giving you one more chance?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Because I happen to like you. And Zachary?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  He glared at Pooch. “Get that mongrel out of my trailer!”

  Whitney was waiting for Pooch and me outside. She lifted Pooch up and kissed his flabby face.

  For such an ugly guy, he had all the luck.

  We walked to the mess tent. We got a couple of Cokes for ourselves and filled a plastic cup with water for Pooch. Over his loud gulping, I related my conversation with Sorelli.

  Whitney said, “Don’t worry, Zack. If nothing else works out, he can stay with my parents till your aunt gets back.”

  I wondered how keen Whitney’s mom would be to have a pup dumped on her. The Boothroyds sounded well off. They probably had a pretty nice place. Pooch might chew on their Ming vases or something.

  “That’d be great,” I said, not too hopefully.

  “Mom will be at the show tonight.I got her a seat front row center.” Whitney laughed. “You’ll probably notice her. You can’t miss Mom. No matter where she goes, she’s always draped in bling! She says, what’s the point in owning diamonds if you don’t enjoy them?”

  Whitney’s gaze dropped to the pink leash and collar that I’d put on the table. She turned the collar over in her hands, studying the medallion.

  I glanced around. Cubby was sitting with the other clowns, two tables away. They were wolfing down burgers.

  He had his back to us, but I played it safe. I lowered my voice. “Clunky collar, huh? It’s a gift from Cubby. He said it was once used in a poodle act.”

  Whitney cracked open the medallion to show me a couple of springs inside. “I’ve seen those poodle acts. You put a battery in here. Lights flash out the holes while the poodles parade around.”

  “Sounds hokey to me,” I said.

  “Welcome to the circus. Nothing is too hokey.” She lowered her voice too. “Strange gift though.”

  “Strange guy.”

  Outside the mess tent, I picked up a stick. I started throwing it for Pooch to fetch. He brought it back every time. He was worry-free. That made one of us.

  That evening, I left Pooch in the trailer during the show. Sorelli would have nothing to complain about. Both my wire and juggling acts would be seamless.

  I climbed the ladder. On the ledge, I flexed my arms. I inhaled deeply and exhaled deeply.

  I shifted my weight to my sides. I let go of all thoughts. My mind was clear as an Alberta summer sky.

  I stepped on the thin black line. I started across, and soon I was one with the air.

  There was the usual silence as people watched in awe. Then the silence was interrupted.

  With a piercing scream.

  What the—?

  My skin tingled, a signal from my brain telling me it was curious. It wanted me to look down.

  There was another scream.

  The thought hammered at me: I had to see what was going on.

  Distracted, I wavered.

  The audience gasped. I was losing my balance. I was going to fall.

  Chapter Seven

  Distractions were no good. They pulled you down—on the wire and in life.

  I clenched my arms, straining to keep my weight at my sides. I threw all thoughts overboard. I wouldn’t look down. Nothing, nobody would get to me. I lifted my gaze so that the only thing I saw was the dark dome of the big top.

  I was steady again. I kept going. My mind was blanker than it had ever been. I was lighter than I had ever been. I weighed nothing.

  People were shouting at the screamer to be quiet. The audience was worried about me. They were indignant on my behalf. But I wasn’t just seventy-five feet above them. I was an infinity away.

  I reached the opposite ledge. The audience broke into wild applause.

  Sorelli was climbing the ladder to greet me—a first.

  Beaming, he hugged me. Over the applause, he shouted in my ear. “I’ve never seen anything like it. You kept your cool, even when that dame started screaming. You’re a natural, Zen Freedman. You have a big future in the circus. Ringling, Cirque du Soleil… You’ll be able to write your own ticket.”

  The audience, now standing, kept clapping, whistling and cheering.

  “What was the screaming about?”I asked as I walked out of the ring with Sorelli. The strobe light stayed fastened on us.

  “Wave!” Sorelli ordered me. He was grinning and bowing as we exited.

  Through his grin, the ringmaster replied to my question. “Some dame got scared. It happens. The circus is intense for some people.”

  But when we pushed through the black curtain, we found a Circus Sorelli security guard trying to comfort a pale, shaking, middle-aged woman. “I came to the circus to enjoy myself—not be robbed!”

  Beside the woman stood Whitney. Her dark eyes were wide and frightened.

  Sorelli gaped from the woman to the security guard. “What’s going on?” he bellowed.

  The woman pulled aside the collar of her silk blouse to reveal a gash on her throat. “While I was watching this young man’s act, someone behind tore my diamond necklace off my neck. When I turned, I saw a shadowy figure running up the aisle to the tent’s entrance. The figure had a shawl over its head and shoulders—obviously as a disguise.”

  Sorelli’s normally apple-cheeked face went gray. “A robbery at my circus? Madame, I’m—I’m—”

  The woman snapped, “That necklace was an heirloom, Mr. Sorelli. Priceless. Irreplaceable! Yet when I tried to call for help, people yelled at me to be quiet. Hmph! So much for helping a citizen in distress.”

  “Erm, Madame…” The ringmaster loosened his shirt collar. He seemed to be having trouble breathing. “You didn’t say anything. You just screamed. We didn’t know that you’d been—”

  Another type of scream, this one from a siren close by, interrupted him.

  The woman gave a thin, bitter smile. “We’ll see what the police have to say about this, Mr. Sorelli. And the mayor, for that matter. I have influence in this city. Circus Sorelli isn’t safe. I’m going to see that it’s shut down.”

  Everyone gasped. Whitney burst into tears. Sorelli went even grayer. I hoped he wasn’t going to have a heart attack.

  The wailing siren prompted another sound: loud barking from my trailer.

  Sorelli whipped around to glare at me. His fury at Pooch restored some of the color to his cheeks. “That dog goes on the barbecue. Now.”

  Whitney placed a hand on the woman’s silk-sleeved arm. “Please don’t shut Circus Sorelli down. Please, Mom.”

  The next mor
ning, before the postmortem, everyone huddled around copies of the Vancouver Sun. The air in the big top grew heavier as we read.

  Circus Becomes a Zoo

  Anger and fear as necklace theft

  disrupts performance

  A well-known socialite is vowing to shut Circus Sorelli down after a diamond necklace was torn off her neck.

  “It’s an outrage,” Betty Boothroyd fumed of the theft, which occurred during last night’s show. “Citizens should be able to go out without being terrorized. I’m contacting the mayor. I want Circus Sorelli’s license revoked.”

  The Circus’s second act was interrupted as police swarmed through the grounds and big top, seeking witnesses to the theft. Several people reported seeing a shawled figure flee from the tent.

  After last evening’s events, some circus-goers said they’d be too afraid to return. Boothroyd has gone a step further. She’s withdrawing her daughter Whitney, a gymnast, from the show.

  “If audience members aren’t safe, performers aren’t either,” Boothroyd snapped.

  But some Vancouverites may be too curious to stay away. In perhaps the most surprising development, high-wire walker Zack Freedman managed to keep his balance and finish his act despite the uproar below.

  “Way to go, Zack,” a few kids murmured. Others nodded.

  We were all too shocked to say much. Would Whitney’s mom really be able to shut us down?

  I found Whitney. She was even more miserable, if that was possible, than the rest of us.

  “I wanted to get away from the circus, Zack. But not like this,” she said. “Not in the middle of the season—if we even have the rest of the season.”

  Her eyes were full of tears. “I can’t believe Mother would go this far. It’s so unfair to everyone here.”

  Sorelli walked into the big top. He didn’t have his usual brisk, impatient step. He looked defeated.

  He inserted the DVD of last night’s show into the player. He said nothing as the acts rolled on, even when Whitney flubbed her landing, or one of the clowns knocked over the can of yellow paint instead of plunging into it headfirst. Or later, when one of the trapeze artists missed connecting with her partner on the opposite swing and fell into safety net. Sorelli understood everyone had been knocked off their stride.

  Sorelli did manage a crooked smile when my high-wire act came on. “Zen Freedman strikes again,” he said.

  He paused. He spoke in a quiet, very un-Sorelli-like voice. “The police have asked me to tell everyone that they want to search the grounds—including our trailers.

  “They think the robbery may have been an inside job.”

  Chapter Eight

  During the day, performers took turns practicing in the ring, because it could only hold so many of us. When we weren’t in the ring, we were expected to work out.

  I decided to go for a jog. I’d take Pooch with me.

  When I returned to the trailer to get Pooch, Cubby was in his bathrobe. He’d finally showered off the remains of the clown goop. He was holding the pink leash and collar high, and Pooch was jumping at it. I guessed Pooch was so excited by the idea of a walk, he’d forgotten his dislike for Cubby.

  “You missed the postmortem,” I said to Cubby.

  “I decided to miss Sorelli spouting off this once.”

  Cubby teasing Pooch bugged me. I grabbed the leash out of his hand. “Sorelli said the cops were going to search everyone’s trailer for the stolen necklace. They think it was an inside job.”

  “An inside job,” Cubby snickered. “Aren’t you Mr. CSI.”

  He turned and riffled through his chest of drawers for some clothes. He obviously wasn’t worried about a search.

  I tossed the leash on my bunk. I went outside, Pooch following.

  I was on the other side of the big top, heading to the gate, when it occurred to me that Cubby’s reaction to news of the police search was odd.

  Cubby not only wasn’t worried about a search—he hadn’t been surprised by it.

  The rest of us were pretty cheesed about the cops going through our stuff. Maybe Cubby didn’t care.

  Or maybe…he’d expected a search.

  I paused in the middle of the concession area. Not understanding the delay, Pooch ran around me, panting.

  If Cubby had expected a search, that could mean he’d been involved in the necklace theft. He could have been the shadowy figure.

  No, that was crazy. Cubby was sore about losing the wire act. He was resentful and hostile. That didn’t make him a thief.

  Still…

  I started walking again, Pooch trotting happily beside me. I wasn’t so happy. I was remembering yesterday afternoon in the mess tent. Cubby had been in earshot when Whitney described her diamond-flashy mother and mentioned exactly where she’d be sitting.

  Cubby wanted revenge on Sorelli. He wanted to humiliate the ringmaster as Sorelli had humiliated him. This would have been the perfect way.

  My mind ticked on, working out the possibilities.

  Before the clown act, Cubby would have had time—just—to zoom out of the performers’ area and into the big top. Everyone’s eyes were glued to me on the high wire. Cubby could have raced up behind the unsuspecting Betty Boothroyd, wrenched the necklace off and escaped.

  At the gate, a security guard was talking to a police officer. After a few minutes, the officer closed his notebook and walked away.

  I went over to the guard. He was a young guy, only a few years older than me.

  “Hey, Joel. Anything new on the necklace robbery?”

  Joel turned and spat into the bushes by the fence. “Nothing yet. But the way that cop was grilling me, you’d think I was a side of beef. I thought this would be nice summer gig. Fresh air, sunshine, smiling faces…” He glanced up at the Circus Sorelli billboard. “The Be Happy place. Right.”

  Pooch had wandered into the trailer the guards used as an office. He was sniffing at a knapsack. Joel’s lunch, no doubt.

  And now Pooch’s teeth were closing in on one of the knapsack’s straps.

  “Get out of there!” I called, annoyed.

  Joel laughed. “Aw, he’s okay.”

  I glanced around. The cop was still in sight talking on his cell phone. I asked Joel, “Why do the police think somebody at Circus Sorelli was involved?”

  Pooch ran out to us. I picked him up to avoid any further property damage.

  In a low voice, Joel explained, “The cops interviewed the guard who was on duty last night. When he heard the screams, he headed to the big top. He saw a shadowy figure sprint out of the big top, someone wrapped in a shawl.

  “Whoever it was headed straight for the performers-and-crew-only area. They unlocked the gate and went in.”

  Joel finished uneasily, “The thief is one of us, Zack.”

  Chapter Nine

  Pooch and I reached Kits Beach. I started jogging. The sand pulled at my feet, slowing me down. It was a good workout. It was what I needed, a break from my problems. And boy, did I have problems—enough to fill a three-ring circus.

  Problem one was the idea that Cubby might be the necklace thief. I couldn’t shake it.

  Problem two was that I had to find a home for Pooch until Aunt Ellie could pick him up.

  I glanced down at Pooch. He was running with his tongue hanging out. I hoped he wouldn’t forget his tongue was outside his mouth and bite it.

  “You can look as goofy as you want. I can’t keep you,” I informed him.

  Problem three was that Whitney was going to be yanked out of the circus by her mom. I would miss Whitney. I liked her. A lot.

  Joel was right. Some Be Happy summer this was turning out to be.

  I ran faster, Pooch puffing behind me. My head started to clear. I realized that Sorelli was the hardest hit by the necklace scandal. He might lose his circus. For me, Circus Sorelli was a cool summer gig. For him, it was everything.

  I remembered how Sorrelli had played the DVD of last night’s performance and barely wat
ched it. All those flubs, and he hadn’t said a word.

  Maybe he’d felt there was no point. Maybe he believed Betty Boothroyd would really shut us down.

  I stopped. Something was knocking at the edges of my mind. Something bothered me, but I wasn’t sure what.

  Pooch stopped, too, and looked at me inquiringly. Then he ran into the water for a drink. The salt water. Dumb dog.

  I whistled for him—Hooo-eee!

  When he trotted back to me, I said, “You want to make yourself sick?”

  I led Pooch away from the beach and into a park. I tried to figure out what was nagging at me.

  I mentally rewound. I’d been thinking of the postmortem. Specifically—

  The DVD.

  Was it something I’d seen on the DVD? Something from last night’s show?

  The problem was that I hadn’t paid much attention to the DVD. None of us had. We were all feeling too stressed.

  I flashed back over what I could remember. The moment Betty Boothroyd screamed. All the performer flubs after that.

  I paused my memory on Cubby. I recalled his garish leer, his ghostly painted skin.

  I shut my eyes, replaying Cubby’s part in the clown act.

  His performance had been seamless.

  Maybe that’s what was bothering me. After the scream, everyone had botched their act.

  Not Cubby.

  Maybe Cubby was the show-must-go-on type who kept his cool. Maybe that’s why his performance had been flub-free.

  But the more I thought about it, the less I saw it that way.

  Say Cubby had stolen Mrs. Boothroyd’s necklace. He’d done what he set out to do. He had humiliated Sorelli. He’d got his payback.

  He’d been too pleased with himself to make mistakes.

  When I got back to the Circus Sorelli gate, Joel told me to hurry inside. The security guard looked scared. “You weren’t supposed to leave the grounds,” he said. “Nobody is, till the cops finish searching. If Sorelli finds out, it’ll be my job.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t think.”

  It was getting close to my practice time in the ring. I got my stuff together, left Pooch in the trailer and headed to the big top.