build a golden statue of her, perched at the top of their downtown clock tower and about to begin a walk, so she could stay up there forever. Maybe it was even there by now.
For my part, I believed she’d like to be remembered in motion, far above it all, a bright light in the sky. And I believed she’d approve of another girl on the wire, proving herself. She’d approve of me.
Not to mention the beautiful big top I finally neared. She’d have fit right in here.
The tent, already up, rose from the gravel and concrete like a striped mirage. It was as if a different world had poked through into this one to improve it. Wrapping my head around the fact that the parade would happen in the morning wasn’t easy. The entire troupe would march and dance and twirl into downtown, hoping to draw people to the opening-night performance.
But I’d be above them all, the real lure.
I could hardly believe my first outdoor walk was almost under way. Well, the first one in front of an audience. I would have pictured it on a wire strung between two buildings, like Bird. But in this case, I was going to be walking a bridge.
Thurston had called Dad and me to his trailer a few hours after our competition performances, and pulled up a picture of Jacksonville’s skyline on his computer. His permit lawyers, after first telling him the whole idea was nuts and shouldn’t be pursued, had been adamant that there was no way to get a permit for this kind of thing in two days, not with a minor involved, not even with parental consent. But these were lawyers who wanted to keep their jobs. One of them finally pointed out that the Cirque already had a half-day permit to close down the Main Street bridge for the parade route. And that the bridge had two towers, jutting high above its middle span. A little more Googling told us the towers were two hundred feet tall with a 365-foot span between them. We’d string the wire between them, and I’d be off.
It was ideal. Illegal, but ideal.
I made it to the tent and kept going, heading inside the entrance flap to the adjoining tent that had been raised behind it. This would serve as the backstage area, and was currently deserted, save for trunks and dressing tables set close together. Not fully unpacked yet.
A light breeze wafted over my bare arms, and I looked up to see Remy step inside and pull the flap closed behind him. He had on a pair of beat-up jeans and another T-shirt, this one dark blue, a uniform he wore so well he could have marketed it as the Remy Collection.
“Hi,” I said, then kicked myself for not coming up with something pithy.
“Hi,” he said back.
Okay, then. We were on equally awkward footing.
“Are you really going to do the walk tomorrow?” he asked.
Remy’s dad was in charge of the rigging at the site Thurston, my dad, and I had agreed on. His dad and mine would be the ones who oversaw the crew responsible for setting up the outdoor wire.
“You must already know the answer is yes. Come to wish me failure?”
He took a couple of steps nearer. “Aren’t you tempting fate?”
“First you bring up magic, now fate. I may need to stage an intervention. You’re just jealous they can’t get your trapeze set up that high. If this does go wrong, the Garcias will be thrilled, from what I can tell.”
He nodded, though it didn’t strike me as agreement. Then, “Seriously, though. You’re going to do it?”
Either he was trying to psych me out in some way I’d never encountered before or he was . . . concerned . . . at least a little, on my behalf. Despite my best efforts, I was touched. Hoping I wasn’t about to make a fool of myself, I offered him an explanation.
“We had an open air setup back home that I spent hours and hours on, growing up. Dad is a big fan of learning to deal with wind currents, because it’s good training for walking in any conditions. And I . . . well, I’ve always idolized this famous old performer named Bird. My whole life,
For my part, I believed she’d like to be remembered in motion, far above it all, a bright light in the sky. And I believed she’d approve of another girl on the wire, proving herself. She’d approve of me.
Not to mention the beautiful big top I finally neared. She’d have fit right in here.
The tent, already up, rose from the gravel and concrete like a striped mirage. It was as if a different world had poked through into this one to improve it. Wrapping my head around the fact that the parade would happen in the morning wasn’t easy. The entire troupe would march and dance and twirl into downtown, hoping to draw people to the opening-night performance.
But I’d be above them all, the real lure.
I could hardly believe my first outdoor walk was almost under way. Well, the first one in front of an audience. I would have pictured it on a wire strung between two buildings, like Bird. But in this case, I was going to be walking a bridge.
Thurston had called Dad and me to his trailer a few hours after our competition performances, and pulled up a picture of Jacksonville’s skyline on his computer. His permit lawyers, after first telling him the whole idea was nuts and shouldn’t be pursued, had been adamant that there was no way to get a permit for this kind of thing in two days, not with a minor involved, not even with parental consent. But these were lawyers who wanted to keep their jobs. One of them finally pointed out that the Cirque already had a half-day permit to close down the Main Street bridge for the parade route. And that the bridge had two towers, jutting high above its middle span. A little more Googling told us the towers were two hundred feet tall with a 365-foot span between them. We’d string the wire between them, and I’d be off.
It was ideal. Illegal, but ideal.
I made it to the tent and kept going, heading inside the entrance flap to the adjoining tent that had been raised behind it. This would serve as the backstage area, and was currently deserted, save for trunks and dressing tables set close together. Not fully unpacked yet.
A light breeze wafted over my bare arms, and I looked up to see Remy step inside and pull the flap closed behind him. He had on a pair of beat-up jeans and another T-shirt, this one dark blue, a uniform he wore so well he could have marketed it as the Remy Collection.
“Hi,” I said, then kicked myself for not coming up with something pithy.
“Hi,” he said back.
Okay, then. We were on equally awkward footing.
“Are you really going to do the walk tomorrow?” he asked.
Remy’s dad was in charge of the rigging at the site Thurston, my dad, and I had agreed on. His dad and mine would be the ones who oversaw the crew responsible for setting up the outdoor wire.
“You must already know the answer is yes. Come to wish me failure?”
He took a couple of steps nearer. “Aren’t you tempting fate?”
“First you bring up magic, now fate. I may need to stage an intervention. You’re just jealous they can’t get your trapeze set up that high. If this does go wrong, the Garcias will be thrilled, from what I can tell.”
He nodded, though it didn’t strike me as agreement. Then, “Seriously, though. You’re going to do it?”
Either he was trying to psych me out in some way I’d never encountered before or he was . . . concerned . . . at least a little, on my behalf. Despite my best efforts, I was touched. Hoping I wasn’t about to make a fool of myself, I offered him an explanation.
“We had an open air setup back home that I spent hours and hours on, growing up. Dad is a big fan of learning to deal with wind currents, because it’s good training for walking in any conditions. And I . . . well, I’ve always idolized this famous old performer named Bird. My whole life,
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