High Wire by Melanie Jackson Page A

finish line. You could so easily let down your guard. You could relax and let some of your weight go forward, instead of at your sides.
    And you’d fall, whissssh! , into the safety net. Into failure. Into humiliation.
    Not me. I kept my bargain with gravity. I stepped onto the ledge.
    The crowd roared their approval. They stood up, clapped and whistled.
    I climbed down the ladder. The spotlight was already swooping down to high-beam the Circus Sorelli clowns.
    One by one, the three clowns made their entrance on tiny bicycles. Their routine was to throw water-filled balloons at each other, crash into the ringside wall and do other goofy stuff.
    In the shadows, crew members hurried into the ring to fold up the safety net. They moved lightning-fast.
    Keeping out of their way, I walked toward change rooms behind the ring so I could switch my leather slippers for runners. I didn’t want to wear the slippers down by walking too much on ground.
    â€œThat’s your act, Freedman? Your mommy and daddy bribe the ringmaster?”
    It was the third clown, Cubby Donnell, who was waiting in the shadows for his cue.
    I shared a trailer with Cubby. From day one, he’d been giving me a hard time. I was so busy practicing and working out that I’d pretty much ignored him. Till now.
    He probably didn’t know about my folks being dead. It didn’t matter. This time he’d got to me.
    I wheeled round and glared into his painted face. I grabbed his floppy collar. “Maybe you’d like to try being up in the air too,” I invited.
    Twisting the collar, I lifted Cubby off the ground.
    In the spotlight, the second clown smashed his tiny bike into a tub of yellow paint. He dived headfirst into the tub. The crowd screamed with laughter.
    This was Cubby’s cue to bike into the ring. I didn’t let go. I’d been feeling good about the standing O, and he’d tried to wreck that.
    He thrashed around, but I kept my grip on his collar. I smiled into his neon red grin.
    â€œWhat’s your problem with me, Cub?”
    The spotlight beamed, empty, into the ring. Cubby was supposed to be there. The crowd murmured. People knew something was wrong.
    Cubby was sweating through his clown makeup. “Lemme go. I’m sorry for hassling you… Zen .”
    Zen was the nickname I had at Circus Sorelli for being so calm on the wire.
    I dropped Cubby. He staggered sideways. He was too stunned to climb on his bike. Instead, holding it by the handle-bars, he stumbled into the spotlight.
    The crowd thought this weaving-around entrance was part of Cubby’s act, and applauded.
    I didn’t know what Cubby’s problem was.
    As he biked around the edge of the spotlight, he passed close to me and hissed, “I’m not through with you, Freedman. Not by a long shot.”

Chapter Two
    I pushed through the black curtain. Usually the next performers were lined up behind it. They did stretching exercises or watched the ring act on closed-circuit TV .
    This time they stood in a huddle. At the sight of me, they stepped aside. One of the gymnasts, Whitney Boothroyd, was holding a bundle of blankets.
    â€œHey, Zack,” Whitney greeted me. Her dark eyes shone. “Congratulations. Your aunt dropped off a present. Someone to keep you company, she said.”
    Whimpering came from the blankets.
    Oh no , I thought.
    Aunt Ellie had been saying she wished we had more family. More relatives to keep me company.
    I could only gape at the bundle, which was struggling inside the blanket. I couldn’t believe it. Aunt Ellie had gone and adopted a baby. I thought that was crazy for a woman in her mid-fifties.
    â€œDon’t you want to hold him?” Whitney urged.
    â€œNo,” I said. “He’s got to be returned.” Vague images of bundling the kid into a courier package flashed through my mind.
    Okay, I might have to rethink the method of transportation. But there was no way I wanted a baby