Free Girl on a Wire by Gwenda Bond Page A

connecting this side of the waterfront to the city. A couple of police cars were parked sideways to send a message: No Admittance. The herd of performers waited on this side, so bright and wonderful in the full sun that I almost regretted I wouldn’t be crossing into downtown among them—even if they were probably glad to have one less Maroni in their number.
    There was the silver-haired older lady ironically named Kat, wearing her epauletted uniform and surrounded by a half dozen of her dogs, barking and running around everyone’s feet in excitement. The Chinese acrobats wore their dragon-covered costumes, holding long streamers to wave in the air when they weren’t doing flips or when they were walking on each other’s shoulders. The clowns, diamonds of red greasepaint on their faces, stood near them on stilts covered by ballooning white silk pants. They towered over the Garcias, decked out in their pink and red and black. I scoured their group and finally picked out Remy, standing next to Novio and clearly making the blonde twins laugh. Dita wore a bow tie with her costume. The fact that it clashed with her skintight sequined number made me think that her mom probably didn’t approve of it any more than she had Remy’s quad attempt.
    And there was Dad, striding out of the pack toward us, with Thurston in full ringmaster garb at his side. I’d already seen Thurston earlier, when he met Dad and me in the morning to discuss the wire setup with the crew. Since then, Dad had been here supervising.
    Thurston outpaced Dad to meet us, a wireless mic clipped to his collar. “Good timing,” he said to us. “One of those cops is getting nervous. I’m afraid he’s going to call someone. Vonia.” He nodded at Mom in greeting.
    “We’ll be right here the whole time,” she said, quietly.
    “I know.” I slipped off Beauty as Sam, wearing the fringed ensemble he donned to assist with getting the horses in and out of the ring, clopped over on another of Mom’s mares.
    Thurston rattled on, “I was almost afraid our star here had decided not to—”
    “Do I look like a chicken?” I interrupted. When Sam opened his mouth to give a smart-ass answer, I gave him a good-natured dose of Bette Davis dragon: “Not a real question, Sam.” I made sure Thurston was listening before I went on. “This was my idea. We’re late because I just got my costume. No other reason.”
    “I was going to say, ‘No, you don’t look like you just came from a henhouse, ’ ” Sam said. He grinned. “It was supposed to be a compliment.”
    I met Dad’s eyes, gave him a nod to let him know I was solid. He gave me one back that said he’d never questioned it for a second. It did more than anything else to make me feel ready.
    “Good,” Thurston said, chastened. “Like I said, we have a nosy cop, and we need to get things moving. I had to pretend we have a helicopter that’s going to fly over and drop a banner onto the wire.”
    Sam snorted. “What moron would believe that?”
    “That’s what I’m saying. Eccentric rich guy only goes so far. Let’s get a move on.” Thurston motioned toward the colorful crowd. Dad put a hand on my shoulder, squeezed, but that was it.
    None of them bothered with questions, with last-minute good lucks or be carefuls or offers to stay with me until I went up. Maybe we were all too superstitious to do it. Or maybe it’s just wiser not to consider the worst-case implications of anything we do, not right before we go on. I knew Nan was watching from the other side of the bridge. Maybe she’d keep her chipped fingernails crossed for me.
    The bridge was painted a vibrant blue. A steel structure made up of crisscrossing beams stretched in a long arc over the deeper blue waters of the Saint Johns River, the two towers rising on either side of its middle section like some giant’s Erector set.
    As we approached, the circus’s band arranged themselves at the back of the pack. They had brought the horn