Free Girl on a Wire by Gwenda Bond

when I walked outside, I wanted to be like her.”
    I studied his face, but couldn’t read his expression.
    “Don’t make fun, or I’ll kill you, okay?” I cringed as I realized it was perhaps not the best choice of words, but he just raised his eyebrows, and I kept going. “For whatever reason, this is my dream.”
    “Birds can fly, people can’t,” he said. But then he added, “I’m not making fun. And I wouldn’t be thrilled.”
    “Good.” I swallowed. “Then you can live. Besides, don’t think of it as tempting fate. Think of it as embracing my destiny.”
    “Cheesy.” He gave an eye roll.
    “What can I say? I was born with a theatrical instinct.”
    I punched his arm, and he let me.
    I was reminded we were alone. No one else was here.
    One hand—well, one finger, actually—would be sufficient to count the number of boys I’d been alone with that I wasn’t related to. The two of us were making a habit of it.
    So it was probably for the best that voices approached outside. The crew, coming to set up the dressing tables. Yes, definitely for the best, since it made us step apart. That was what I told myself.
    “Break a leg tomorrow,” Remy said.
    And before I could say I didn’t plan on it, he was gone.

eight
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    The process of getting ready conspired to make me late the next day. I finished adjusting my hot-off-the-sewing-machine outdoor walking costume in the full-length mirror in Mom and Dad’s room.
    The costumer had made it beautifully, if much faster than she wanted. It was fitted and covered in flat red sequins. A square neckline gave way to sleeves that would stave off any chills from potential breezes, above a short straight skirt those winds wouldn’t budge, with slits to the waist on either side for ease of movement. I wore a pair of leggings underneath and my best pair of slippers. With one last tug on the sleeves, I ran—glittering—through the RV.
    “I’m coming! Let’s go!” I shouted as I flew out the door, slamming it shut behind me.
    “We thought you might need a ride,” Mom said.
    She was on Beauty, her favorite mare. Beauty was saddled with an ornate leather contraption, a shock of red and gold feathers shooting off the bridle at her milky forehead.
    I would have sworn Mom’s eyes were shining with tears. Which I did not want. I was already crackling with nervous energy. I believed I could do this, but what if I couldn’t? What if something went wrong? What if there was truth to what Nan said, and old magic that might put me in greater danger did exist?
    There isn’t. It doesn’t. You’re going to prove it.
    “All right,” I agreed, not thrilled about it. I did needa ride, just not this particular one.
    Mom smiled. She knew I wasn’t good with horses. She’d tried turning me into a rider when I was a kid, but all I’d done was kick and scream whenever she made an attempt to lift me into the saddle. It might have broken her heart, for a day or two, when I climbed onto the wire for the first time.
    “How far behind schedule are we?” I didn’t want Thurston to think I’d changed my mind.
    I put my foot in the stirrup, and Mom helped pull me on behind her. “We will be right on time.” She clicked her tongue and gave a command in Russian. Beauty bounced into a trot across the field. Mom’s ponytail swished in my face. We hit the sidewalk, the horse’s hooves clattering on concrete. Mom called back to me, “ Solnyshka , you do not have to do this to make us proud. You know that?”
    My answer was light. “But you will be proud, right?”
    I was glad I was behind her, because I could hear the shiny tears in her answer. “I am always proud of you, my brave girl.”
    “Mom . . . I’ll be fine. I promise.”
    “If anything happens to you”—she paused, then—“I’ll kill your father.”
    We both laughed, though she probably wasn’t joking.
    The parade lineup came into view beside the river. Orange traffic cones blocked entry to the bridge