High Wire by Melanie Jackson

beaming.
    â€œGonna be a big night tonight, Zachary. The capture of the thief has been all over the news. We’ve been rushed off our feet with calls for tickets. We’re already setting up the cattle guard.”
    Cattle guard meant temporary low seats set up in front of the regular seats to accommodate an overflow audience. “That’s great,” I said.
    â€œAnd, I got word that a talent scout from Ringling will be here. He’s heard about you.”
    â€œThat’s great,” I said again.
    Sorelli looked at me. “You gonna be okay tonight? I know you took this Whitney thing pretty hard.”
    I thought of Whitney’s so-dark eyes looking up at me. Trusting and warm, then cold and blank. I had no chance to tell her that I still cared, no matter what.
    Yeah, I’d taken it hard.
    But what else could I have done? If I hadn’t revealed what I’d figured out, Whitney would have got away with the theft. Worse, suspicion might have fallen on Cubby.
    I slumped back in my chair. No wonder I liked the wire so much. Up there, you escaped these kinds of complications.
    â€œIf only life were as simple as the thin black line,” I muttered.
    â€œWhat’s that?” Sorelli leaned forward. “Speak up, son! You gonna be able to walk the line tonight?”
    I looked at him in surprise. “Yeah, I can walk it, sir.”
    He sat back, satisfied. “That’s my boy. That’s my Zen Freedman talking.”
    I was on next. I waited by the black curtain. When the unicyclists finished, I’d go into the ring.
    Cubby stood behind me, waiting with the other two clowns. He whispered, “So now you’re a thief catcher as well as a wire star.”
    The guy was still needling me.
    I whipped around.
    But, in the midst of his painted-on face, his eyes were friendly. He asked, almost shyly, “How’s Whitney?”
    I relaxed. “I dunno. I’ve tried calling, but she doesn’t want to speak to me. Surprise, surprise.”
    Cubby nodded. “Sorry, Zack. I know you liked her.”
    From the other side of the black curtain, the packed audience burst into applause. It was just about my cue.
    There was something I wanted to tell Cubby first. “Hey, Cub. Earlier today I was thinking about how Pooch sees you.”
    He looked down at his oversized clown shoes. “Not very favorably. Guess he just doesn’t like me.”
    â€œNo. Listen. Pooch doesn’t like you when you’re wearing that clown guck. But when you’re cleaned up, he plays with you. He jumps for that pink collar.”
    The unicyclists pushed through the curtain. I needed to go on.
    But Cubby was watching me, his eyes half dubious, half hopeful. “I don’t get it.”
    â€œI finally figured it out,” I told him. “Pooch has coulrophobia . Fear of clowns. People get it. Why shouldn’t dogs?”

Chapter Fourteen
    The cheering started when I climbed the ladder. I heard my name called over and over. That Sun story was building a rep for me.
    I grinned. I basked in it. I got why people sweated out the hours of practice, the close quarters and having no life of their own. There was nothing like audience adoration.
    I stood on the ledge. I took deep breaths.
    I thought of Philippe Petit and his walk between the Twin Towers. The Towers weren’t there anymore, but Petit’s walk lived on in documentaries, books and paintings.
    The police had warned Petit that the wire walk would be illegal. That didn’t stop him. In fact, when he saw the police waiting for him at the other side, he jumped and danced on the wire to taunt them.
    The guy was a rebel. He wrote a book about himself called The Square Peg . In other words, someone who doesn’t fit in. Who does the unexpected.
    Maybe that was what I most admired about Petit.
    The audience was quieting down. They were waiting for me.
    Somewhere down there was a talent scout. I wanted to show off