Louise Trapeze Did NOT Lose the Juggling Chickens

by Micol Ostow

  TO SARAH M., MELISSA W., AND LYNN W.—

  FOR SOAP BUBBLES AND OTHER EUREKA! IDEAS

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2016 by Micol Ostow

  Cover art and interior illustrations copyright © 2016 by Brigette Barrager

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Random House Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  Random House and the colophon are registered trademarks and A Stepping Stone Book and the colophon are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Visit us on the Web! randomhousekids.com

  Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at RHTeachersLibrarians.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Ostow, Micol.

  Louise Trapeze did NOT lose the juggling chickens / Micol Ostow ; illustrated by Brigette Barrager. — First edition.

  pages cm

  Summary: Seven-year-old Louise, who performs in a trapeze act with her mother and father, finally gets an important job at the circus, but when things go wrong she wonders if she is really ready for new responsibilities.

  ISBN 978-0-553-49743-4 (trade) — ISBN 978-0-553-49744-1 (lib. bdg.) — ISBN 978-0-553-49745-8 (ebook)

  [1. Circus—Fiction. 2. Responsibility—Fiction.] I. Barrager, Brigette, illustrator. II. Title.

  PZ7.O8475Lm 2016 [Fic]—dc23 2015006428

  This book has been officially leveled by using the F&P Text Level Gradient™ Leveling System.

  Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.

  v4.1

  a

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Copyright

  1. Baby(ish)sitting

  2. Grown-Up Things to Do

  3. Spaghetti Overboard!

  4. Elephant Ears

  5. Prettiest Please?

  6. Real Live Proof

  7. A Teeny-Tiny Oh No!

  8. Snack Time for Chickens

  9. Bubble Trouble

  10. Here, Chickie Chickie!

  11. Unsticking Ideas

  12. Slippy Feathers

  13. Happy-Happy-Happy

  About the Author

  About the Illustrator

  Flip-flop-ZIP!

  Petrova the Human Pretzel rolled across the floor of the Easy Trapezee tent. She had bent completely backward, grabbing her ankles so her body made a big, round wheel. Then she just started rolling away!

  She rolled all the way around so she was right side up again, then let go of her ankles and—boing!—sprang back up to her feet like a regular, standing-up person.

  “And that’s how you do the Wheel,” she said. She smiled. “It’s all in the back.” She did another bend to show what she meant.

  “I don’t know,” my BFF, Stella Dee Saxophone, said. Her face was very doubtish. “Some of it looked like it was in the ankles. And the hands.”

  “And the front,” I added.

  The Wheel was Petrova’s newest contortion* for our circus performance.

  Petrova, Stella, and I are all members of the Sweet Potato Traveling Circus Troupe. Petrova is our human pretzel. Stella and her parents have an acrobatics act that includes a real live elephant named Clementine. And my family is Mama, Daddy, and me, Louise Trapeze! Together, we’re the Easy Trapezees! Can you even?

  Being in a traveling circus means lots of fun, exciting, adventure-ish times in lots of different places. This month, the Sweet Potatoes were performing in Funky Town.

  (Funky Town is a special name that Stella and I made up. We like to be unique. We have lots of secret, just-for-us words and names for things.)

  And tonight, Mama and Daddy were having their own fun adventures with Max Saxophone and Ms. Minnie Dee!*

  They all went out to a fancy, grown-up dinner at a restaurant in town.

  That’s why Petrova was babysitting us. Because even though we’re both seven years old now, we’re still young enough for trouble, as Mama likes to say.

  Except I wish it weren’t called babysitting. The word baby is right in there! There should be a more grown-up name for it. Maybe Stella and I can come up with one!

  At least Petrova was giving us a sneak peek at her newest contortions while she watched us. That was exciting. Also, she was letting us help cook dinner, which is an extra-grown-up thing to do! We were making a giant pot of spaghetti on the hot plate in our tent. Stella and I took turns stirring the noodles.

  The pasta was boiling away, so I decided it was the perfect time to practice the Wheel myself. It could even help improve my form on the trapeze! Practice makes perfect, as Mama likes to say.

  “Stand back,” I said to Stella and Petrova. They each nodded and took one step away from me so I had more space.

  “I’m going to try the Wheel,” I said. “Here goes nothing!”

  First, I “limbered up” with some stretches. That’s the fancy way of saying I shook my muscles until they were warm and ready for twisting. Then I lay on my back on the ground, planted my hands next to my ears, and pushed up high-high-high until I was all curved-up backward like a bridge. Or better yet, like a rainbow! (Rainbows are the prettiest.)

  “Go, Louise!” Stella cheered.

  “You’ve got it!” Petrova called.

  It wasn’t totally, one hundred percent, a wheel—more like halfway there—but I was feeling very bendy! Hooray! If I could only bring my hands closer to my ankles, I’d be able to grab hold of them, just like Petrova.

  But then! As I inched my fingers along the ground, I felt something tickle-ish on my forehead. Something furry.

  “Cheeze Louise!” I called. Bump-thump-knock! Down I went.

  A face popped right in front of mine, shiny brownish eyes blinking away.

  Shiny, brownish, ferrety eyes.

  Linus!

  There is one important thing to know about the Sweet Potato Circus:

  But there is another, also-important thing to know:

  And that enemy has a pet ferret.

  “Ferret-breath Fernando!” I called out. I jumped up and scratched the tickle-ish part of my forehead where Linus, Fernando’s ferret, had rubbed.

  There he was: Fernando Worther, Ringmaster Riley’s son. He thinks he’s the boss of the worldwide universe because he’s nine. So what? I almost stuck my tongue out at him, before I remembered what an unmature thing that is to do.

  Linus the Ferret sat on Fernando’s shoulder. He peered at me with little ferret eyeballs. Linus is not actually a trained circus ferret, just a pet that Fernando taught to sneak up on enemies and tickle with his furry, whiskerish snout.

  “You gooberhead!” I said. (I meant Fernando. It’s not Linus’s fault that his person teaches him mean tickling tricks.)

  “Sorry,” Fernando said. He shrugged. But he didn’t really look sorry at all. “Linus was just curious about what you were doing, all upside down like that.”

  “I was practicing the Wheel,” I grumbled. “Until you interrupted. What are you even doing here?”

  “My dad wanted me to drop off this schedule change for your parents,” Fernando said. He held out a sheet of paper. “And he wants to meet with them to go over some things tomorrow.” He gave one to Petrova. “You get one, too. All the adults do.”

  “Well, our parents aren’t here,” I said. “Th
ey went out to a fancy restaurant for dinner.”

  “I’ll hang on to the schedules,” Petrova said. She took the papers from Fernando.

  “Oh, I see!” Fernando said, smirking. “So Petrova’s babysitting you two tonight, huh?” The way he said babysitting made it sound extra unmature.

  “So what?” Stella asked.

  Fernando shrugged. “My dad is out tonight, too. But he trusted me to hand out the schedules without him. And to watch Linus. And he didn’t ask anyone to babysit me.” He raised his eyebrows at me. “I must be more responsible than you guys.”

  Ooh, that made me angry. “No way!” I said in a shoutish voice.

  “Face it, Louise,” he said. “I’m the one here with actual grown-up things to do.”

  “Taking care of a stinky ferret is not so special,” I snapped. I pointed to where the spaghetti was bubbling on the hot plate. “Look! Stella and I are cooking dinner! How grown-up is that?”

  Petrova nodded. “It’s true. They’re excellent helpers.”

  Petrova was being nice. But I didn’t want to be a helper! I wanted to be responsible, just like Fernando!

  Well, I’d show them. The pasta was boiling. So that meant it was ready. And I knew just what to do.

  I pointed to the spaghetti pot again. “Look,” I said. “The pasta is ready. I’ll just drain it so we can eat.” I was sure Fernando had never made a spaghetti dinner for his family all by himself!

  So there! I thought, running to the hot plate.

  “Careful, Louise! The water is hot!” Petrova called. She rushed after me. “Don’t touch!”

  Steam was rising up-up-up from the bubbling pot. Actually, it looked like Petrova was right—that pot was too hot for me! I stepped away from the bubbling water and all its steaminess. Fernando snickered while Petrova drained the pasta into a strainer by herself. She put the strainer down on a stool by the hot plate.

  “Guess you’re not grown-up enough for that job, either,” Fernando teased.

  I glared at him. “I’m still the best helper of all times.”

  “You are,” Petrova agreed. She gave Fernando a glance of her own. Then she turned back to me. “In fact, Louise, why don’t you help me pour the drained spaghetti into that bowl?” She pointed to our little folding dinner table with a large glass bowl on top.

  That sounded nice. I smiled at Petrova in an agreeing-with-her way. But then I explained, “I don’t need to help you carry the spaghetti. I can do it all by myself!”

  Before Petrova could say anything, I quick-reached and picked up the strainer. I lifted it very dramatically so Fernando could completely see all my grown-up-ness.

  Except.

  It turned out the strainer was heavy.

  Super heavy.

  And steamy. Like hot-steam-burny-in-my-eyes steamy. And I was one hundred percent probably going to drop it!

  “Agh!” I grunted, and clenched my fists tight-tight-tight around the strainer. But I still couldn’t hold it up.

  Oh no!

  The strainer tilted, spilling spaghetti into a giant, slippery mountain at my feet.

  “Spaghetti overboard!” Fernando called. He snickered again.

  Petrova stood next to me. She looked sadly at the spaghetti mountain. “Louise,” she asked, “why didn’t you let me help you with that?” She didn’t sound angry, just confused.

  But actually, it wasn’t confusing at all. It was very easy to understand:

  I didn’t want Petrova to have to help me. Not with my circus tricks, not with cooking spaghetti, not with anything. I didn’t want help from grown-ups.

  I wanted to be more like Fernando. Even if he was a big-time gooberhead.

  Can you even?

  Thank goodness gracious, it was easy to clean up the spaghetti-mountain spill. Petrova and Stella were very nice about it. Petrova didn’t even say anything to Mama and Daddy about it when they came home. And when we woke up in the morning from our sleepover party, Stella didn’t mention it, either.

  “Do you want to work on the Wheel some more this morning?” I asked Stella after we were all dressed and ready for the day.

  Stella smiled. “Yes!” she said. But then she wrinkled her forehead. “But wait. I have to give Clementine her breakfast right now.”

  “Oh.” My mouth turned down. First Fernando and Linus, and now Stella and Clementine. Everyone had real, grown-up responsibility except me!

  It’s a good thing I am way too mature to be jealous of Stella. I worked hard to push a smile onto my face.

  But Stella could tell I was feeling saddish. “Why don’t you help me?” she offered.

  Stella and I share some Important Circus Jobs that we do together, like brushing Stefano Wondrous’s Wonder Dogs’ coats. But I wanted a job that was just mine-mine-mine.

  Helping was totally the opposite of mine-mine-mine. But it was better than nothing. Also, it was nice that Stella wanted to make me feel better. “Okay!” I said.

  Clementine was waiting for us when we got to her pen. She waved her trunk in a good-morningish way. Stella unlocked the gate and in we went.

  “I’ll go fill her food trough,” Stella said. She went to the shed at the back of the pen that stored the bazillion kinds of plants that elephants like to eat.

  While Stella was in the shed, I thought about what to do to be helpful. It wasn’t long before a eureka! thought popped into my brain.

  There was a tub of water off to one side of the pen. A spray bottle and a towel were next to it, sitting on top of a small stepladder.

  “I’ll get your morning sponge bath started!” I told Clem. She nodded to say this was an excellent plan.

  I pulled the bottle, the towel, and the ladder closer to Clementine and climbed up-up-up until I was just at the height of her ear. “Let’s scrub those ears out before they sprout potatoes!”* I told her.

  Clementine opened her eyes wide. “There, there,” I said. I patted her very gently. Then I spritzed away at her giant elephant ear.

  Splish-splash-splosh! Clementine shook her head like craziness. She trumpeted loudly. Yikes! What was happening?

  Stella came running from the shed. “Oh no!” she cried. “Louise, you have to be careful not to spray the inside of Clem’s ears! She hates the way that feels!”

  Uh-oh! I didn’t mean to hurt Clementine!

  I rushed down from the stepladder. “I’m sorry!” I said to Stella. “I didn’t know about elephant ears!”

  “It’s okay,” Stella said. “We know it wasn’t on purpose.” She climbed up the ladder and patted Clem’s ear off with my towel.

  When she was done, she looked at me. “But why didn’t you just wait for me to come out of the shed? Then I could have helped you do it right.”

  My face got very hottish and my throat felt lumpy.

  I swallowed and tried to push the lumpiness down. “I’m sorry,” I said again.

  I was sorry. But I was also wondering two things:

  1. Why did everyone think I needed help all the time?

  2. And even worse…why did it seem like they were right?

  Flip-swoosh-flop! Mama whooshed over her trapeze bar, graceful as a gazelle.*

  After I left Stella and Clementine, I went to find Mama and Daddy. Their giant, grown-up-sized trapeze rig is always set up behind our tent.

  Mama swung out and prepared for a trick. She hooked her legs under the bar and hung by her knees. Then she let go, arched back, and reach-reach-reached for Daddy’s hands. He caught her, and they swung—whiiizzz!—back to Daddy’s side of the trapeze. As their swinging slowed down, Daddy held his arms out and Mama dropped to the net below the trapeze bars.

  Boing-flip! Mama’s face popped up from the net. “Lou!” she called, smiling at me. “How was Clem’s breakfast?” She blew her shiny bangs off her forehead and slid to the edge of the net. She rolled off so she was next to me on the grass again.

  I shrugged. “Okay,” I said.

  “Hmm,” Mama replied. “Then why do you look s
o down?”

  I sighed. “It’s just that…I also tried to give her a bath. But I forgot Clem doesn’t like when water gets sprayed inside her ear,” I said. “So that was a mistake I made.”

  “Ah,” Mama said. “Is Clem okay?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  Mama nodded. “Well then, it was just one mistake. Everyone makes mistakes, Lou.”

  Except it wasn’t just one mistake. There was also the spaghetti-slipping mistake from last night. But I for sure wasn’t going to bring that up!

  “Everyone else in the circus has grown-up things to do except me,” I said. “Petrova babysits. And she can do the Wheel. Stella takes care of Clementine. Fernando watches Linus. And he helps his dad deliver important messages!”

  I gave Mama my saddest eyes of ever. “I don’t have any actual, grown-up responsibilities that are only-my-own.”

  “What about your Important Circus Jobs?” Mama reminded me.

  “Like brushing the Wonder Dogs! And oiling Clara Bear’s unicycle,” Daddy added. He’d climbed down from the trapeze platform while I was talking to Mama. He sat down with us and made a listening face.

  How could I make them understand? “But I have to share my Important Circus Jobs with Stella. So they’re not only-my-own.”

  “Are you really ready for your own responsibilities?” Mama asked.

  “Yes! And I’m seven now!” I said. “I’m extremely mature! I’m totally, one hundred percent, ready for responsibility that is just mine.”

  And I was ready. Even if I’d spilled the spaghetti. And even if I’d gotten Clementine’s ear all wet. Those were both just flukes.*