“Now!” Claude yelled. In the center of the ring, Loyd scooped up Wombat, placing him at the end of a tightrope held taut between Lloyd and Bertie.
Here was what was supposed to happen next:
Wombat was to use his strong legs to walk across the tightrope. When he reached the other end of the rope, Rigby—who had been waiting with a beach ball, his face and paws concealed beneath his fur—was to leap to his feet in a jack-in-the-box moment of surprise, balancing perfectly atop the ball. In his teeth would be six unlit fire sticks. Susan would then jump down from Juliet’s back to light the fire sticks and toss them one by one to Smalls, who would leap through the hoop of fire and catch the sticks with his tongue in a grand and sparkling display.
Finally, Lord Jest would spray water from his trunk in a perfect circle, dousing the flames in the hoop of fire. Only then would Claude step into the ring. He’d lift his top hat—and out would leap Tilda, doing a flip–double axel–flip routine before landing gracefully on all fours. It was a finale more complex and gasp-inducing than any the Most Magnificent Traveling Circus had ever attempted. “It’s going to knock Ames’s socks off,” Claude whispered to himself.
And it probably would, if what was supposed to happen happened. But right now, it didn’t. Not even close.
There were two things that went right: Susan leapt off Juliet’s back at just the right time, and Lord Jest sprayed water from his trunk in a flawless circle, dousing the hoop. But everything else went awry.
Wombat teetered on the tightrope, plummeting to the ground after only two steps. Meanwhile, instead of leaping onto all fours atop the beach ball, Rigby flopped helplessly onto his stomach, and Smalls yelped out in pain as the hoop singed his paws, letting every one of the fire sticks crash to the ground. Finally, when Claude removed his top hat, Tilda tripped instead of leapt—tumbling to the ground without a single flip or axel.
It was, in a word, disastrous.
For a split second, everything was silent. Then, like a volcano, Claude erupted. “Worthless! I need stars for tomorrow. And what do I have? A wombat that can’t use his claws. A rabbit that can’t hop. A dog that can’t balance.” He stepped toward Smalls, swinging Wilson at his side. “And a sun bear with a USELESS TONGUE!”
Trembling, Smalls backed away, bumping into the edge of the ring. Claude stepped closer, raising the curved stick above his head. Smalls closed his eyes, bracing himself for the hit. I’m in my oak tree, he told himself. I’m eating bucketfuls of honey. But it didn’t help. He could feel every one of his muscles quivering in fear.
“Looks like we Lifers are safe this time,” Smalls heard Lord Jest jeer. “Master’s got himself a brand-new punching bag.”
“I think it’s time you have a little run-in with Wilson, bear,” Claude hissed. Suddenly, the stick was knifing through the air, lower, lower, lower—
“Wait!” Bertie’s voice echoed through the tent. “I . . . I think I know why Smalls isn’t catching the fire sticks.”
“What did you say, boy?” Claude whipped around to face Bertie. Smalls blew out a sigh of relief as the stick dropped to his side.
“I think I can help,” Bertie said quickly. Claude raised his bushy white eyebrows. “Let me work with Smalls, Uncle.” A few feet away, Bertie could see Susan watching him. He straightened up to his full height, pushing his baseball cap off his forehead.
“Me too.” Susan came over and stood next to Bertie, flashing him a tiny smile. “I can help Bertie.”
Claude gnawed on a fingernail as he looked back and forth from Bertie to Susan. Bertie held his breath, hoping Susan couldn’t hear the way his heart was hammering against his ribs.
“Fine.” Claude spit the nail out at Bertie. “From now on, you two are in charge of the bear.” He turned to Lloyd and Loyd. “And you two are in charge of the others.” He nodded to himself, looking pleased. “And I,” he muttered, “will be in charge of a nice, big jug of hot cocoa.”
Clearing his throat, he waved for them to get started. “What are you waiting for? There’s an important show tomorrow night, and I’m expecting it to be perfect.” He looked at Bertie. “All of it.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Bear Boy
Susan looked at Bertie. His mouth was set in a determined line, but when he reached up to push a wisp of red hair out of his eyes, she saw how clammy his hands were. “It looks like we have a job to do,” he said.
“So what’s your idea?” Susan asked. She pinched his shoulder. “You do have an idea, right?”
Bertie laughed. “I have a theory,” he told her. “I don’t think Smalls is lifting his legs high enough when he jumps, which is why he keeps getting burned by the hoop. If he makes it through the hoop without getting burned, he’ll have a much better shot at catching the fire sticks.”
Susan nodded. “Makes sense.”
Bertie glanced over his shoulder to where Lloyd and Loyd were trying unsuccessfully to teach Wombat to walk on the tightrope. Loyd threw up his hands in exasperation. “Balance, you stupid wombat!”
“The problem is,” Bertie said, “how do you explain that to a bear?”
Susan looked over at the bear. He was pressed up against the back of the ring, watching them cautiously. “Hi,” she said softly.
“His name is Smalls,” Bertie told her.
Susan took a step toward him. “Hi, Smalls,” she said. Smalls cocked his furry head, watching her. His eyes were attentive, serious, but most of all scared. It made her want to fling her arms around him and hug him tight. The impulse took her by surprise. It had been six months since she’d hugged anyone at all.
She moved closer, slowly lifting her hand to pet him. Instantly, Smalls tensed, his eyes following her every movement. He’s paying attention, she realized. It made her think of something her mom used to say. “Artists don’t watch, Susan. They see.”
“He sees,” she said.
Bertie looked over at her curiously. “He has fine eyesight,” he agreed. “As far as I can tell.”
She shook her head. “It’s more than that.” And it gave her an idea. “I’ll be right back.”
“Where—?” Bertie began, but Susan had already disappeared backstage.
Bertie looked over at Smalls. He was cowering at the edge of the ring, looking terrified. Slowly, Bertie took a step toward him. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said soothingly. Smalls cocked his head, watching him, and Bertie hoped that in some way, he recognized the reassurance in his tone. “I’m not Claude,” he went on, making his voice as unlike Claude’s as possible. He took another step toward Smalls, fiddling with the slice of plum nestled at the bottom of his pocket.
His lunch that day had been a single scoop of dry oats, like usual. As he’d choked down the rock-solid bits, trying to ignore the way they cracked against his teeth and lodged themselves in his throat, he’d watched Claude devour a thick slice of doughy, cheesy pizza. With every bite Claude took, the pizza’s hot cheese had stretched and pulled and snapped, its creamy tomato sauce dribbling down his chin. And the whole time, waiting for Claude on his plate, was a juicy purple plum. The plum had seemed to stare at Bertie as he finished his oats. Think how delicious I’d taste, it seemed to taunt. Think how good I’d feel in your stomach.
When Claude had started slicing the plum, its sweet, syrupy smell filling the air, Bertie hadn’t been able to take it anymore. He had to have a slice. “Uncle,” he’d said slowly, unable to draw his eyes away from the plum. “I think I hear the hot cocoa truck outside.” Once a month, a special motorcar delivered Claude’s hot cocoa to wherever the circus was performing that week, and Claude made sure he never missed it.
“You do? But they just came last week!” When Claude rushed outside to search for the truck, Bertie quickly plucked a large slice of plum off his plate, dropping it into his pocket.
All day long
, Bertie had saved that plum. He’d been planning to eat it after dinner, to rid the chalky taste of oats from his mouth. But now, as Bertie stood in the ring, looking at Smalls’s soot-covered muzzle and scorched fur, he knew he couldn’t keep the fruit for himself. In one more step, Bertie was standing next to Smalls. “Here,” he said, holding the plum out on his palm. He angled his back so neither of the Lloyds could see him. “It’s for you.”
Pressed up against the barrier of the ring, Smalls stared at the slice of plum in Bertie’s hand. His breakfast that morning had been another serving of crusty, congealed slop, and although he’d forced it down, his stomach was already rumbling for something more. He looked up at Bertie.
“Go on,” Bertie urged. “Take it.”
So Smalls did. He stretched his long tongue out, snatching up the plum. Instantly, the juice exploded in his mouth, as cool and sweet as Smalls was hot and achy. He let out a sigh of pleasure as it slid down his throat, pooling softly in his stomach.
Bertie smiled as he watched Smalls eat. His eyes were closed and for a second, he looked almost relaxed. Gently, Bertie reached out and scratched Smalls under his chin. Smalls let out a pleased grunt, looking up at Bertie with wide, dark eyes. “It’s going to be okay,” Bertie whispered. “I’m watching out for you now.”
If only he could understand me, Bertie thought. But Smalls was a bear. He didn’t speak the language of boy.
Smalls leaned into Bertie’s hand. Thank you, he wanted to say. But Bertie was a boy. He didn’t speak the language of bear. So instead Smalls stretched out his tongue and gave Bertie’s hand a big, wet lick.
“You have a good way with him.” Bertie jumped a little at the sound of Susan’s voice. He’d been so focused on Smalls that he hadn’t heard her come up behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to find her smiling at him. “It’s almost like you two were talking to each other.” She laughed. “Which obviously isn’t possible. Unless . . .” She studied him thoughtfully. “Unless you were a bear in another life!” She nudged him playfully in the side. “Is that it, Bear Boy?”
Bertie broke into a grin. Bear Boy. He liked the sound of that. With his bear at his side, he could gallop across fields and leap up mountains in a single bound. He gave Smalls another scratch under the chin. Now, that was a hero he’d like to be. He looked over at Susan. “I have been told I growl in my sleep . . .” he said. He couldn’t help but beam a little when she laughed. “So tell me: what’s your idea for this bear?”
Chapter Twenty-five
A Hug
Susan led Bertie over to the flaming hoop. “I filled the animals’ water bucket up backstage,” she said, tapping the bucket with her foot. “Will you help me lift it so we can put the fire out?”
“What does this have to do with your idea?” Bertie asked as they doused the flames with water.
“Here’s what I’m thinking.” Susan paced around the hoop as she talked. “Smalls seems really perceptive. He wasn’t just watching us before. He was seeing us. He was paying attention. So it made me wonder. What if I actually demonstrate how he’s supposed to jump? Maybe it will help him understand.”
Bertie stared at her for a second. “That’s brilliant,” he said slowly.
Susan felt a blush creep onto her cheeks, and she quickly willed it away. Since when did she blush? “I don’t know about that,” she said. “But I think it’s a worth a shot.” Pushing a strand of blond hair out of her eyes, she got down on all fours.
She heard Bertie let out a surprised chuckle above her. “You weren’t kidding around about demonstrating.”
“Of course not,” Susan replied in her most nasal Claude voice. “There’s no kidding around at the circus!”
Bertie burst out laughing. He had a nice laugh, Susan decided. The kind that made you want to join in. “Sorry,” he gasped. “You just look funny like that.”
Susan gave her hair an indignant toss. “Well, get ready to laugh even harder, Bear Boy. Because I’m about to jump through that hoop.” She whistled loudly, drawing Smalls’s attention to her. “Watch this, Smalls!”
Moving forward on all fours, she neared the hoop. When she was just a few inches away, she let out her best bear-like grunt and—pretending her arms were front paws—she lifted them into the air. Tucking them close to her body, she pushed off the ground with her toes. Then she dove through the hoop like a bear.
As she soared through the air, the rest of the world seemed to fall away and for a second she was back in her ballet class at home, leaping to the crescendo of a violin. But as she landed gracefully on the other side of the hoop, reality returned with a bang, and once again she was at the circus, miles and miles away from home. She turned around to find Bertie gaping at her.
“How did you do that?” he exclaimed. In the back of the ring, she could see Lloyd and Loyd watching too, both their jaws hanging open.
Susan shrugged nonchalantly, but she couldn’t help but feel a flicker of pride. “I was a ballet dancer before I was an acrobat,” she told him. “In a way, it’s just like leaping.” She walked over to Smalls. “The real question is if he saw that.” She gave Smalls a pat on the head. “So did you, boy? Did you see the way I tucked my ‘paws’ to my chest when I jumped?”
Smalls stretched out his tongue, giving her a lick on the hand.
“I think that means yes,” Bertie translated. “But just to be safe, you should probably demonstrate a few more times.” He grinned at her. “Back on your paws, Bear Girl.”
* * *
Several hours later, Bertie tossed a fire stick into the air for the umpteenth time, watching as it spun upward. Ever since Susan had finished demonstrating for Smalls, they’d been practicing with him nonstop, throwing fire stick after fire stick as he leapt through the flaming hoop. And all that time, they’d been talking too, about anything and everything: her parents, his vanished memories, their favorite places the circus had traveled to. “So where do you paint?” Bertie asked Susan, keeping his voice down so Lloyd and Loyd couldn’t hear. She’d just finished telling him about her paint set, how she wasn’t sure if she could have made it through these past six months without it.
“Anywhere I can.” She said it so fiercely he had to smile. “When I find scraps of paper—which is rare—I’ll paint in my sleeping compartment. But most of the time I sneak off the circus grounds and find places to paint outside.” Her whole face lit up when she talked about painting, and Bertie couldn’t draw his eyes away from her as he threw several more fire sticks for Smalls. “I’ve found my best place yet at this venue,” Susan went on. “A cave at the foot of the woods. It’s amazing, Bertie. When I’m there, it’s like . . . I have a place all my own.”
Bertie threw another fire stick into the air. “I don’t even remember what that feels like,” he said quietly. He thought of his sleeping cubby, where Claude was constantly barging in. Even that tiny, minuscule place wasn’t his own.
“You should sneak away to my cave before we move on to the next venue,” Susan told him. She shot him a mischievous look. “I swear you won’t find a single drop of cocoa there.”
Bertie laughed. “Sounds like my kind of place.” He tossed up the last fire stick, and Smalls caught it easily, like he had all the others.
Susan clapped for him. “He’s really getting it.”
“Your crazy demonstration actually worked,” Bertie replied, shaking his head in awe.
Susan raised her eyebrows at him. “Never doubt me, Bear Boy.”
Bertie laughed as he held his hand out for Smalls. Smalls trotted over, carefully dropping the sticks into his palm, flames pointing outward.
“One more time?” Susan asked.
Bertie nodded. “Let’s see what this bear can do.”
Bertie held up the flickering fire sticks, and Smalls crouched in front of the hoop, his ears bent low. “One,” Susan counted. “
Two. Go!” She clapped, and Smalls sprang into the air, tucking his legs tightly beneath him. As he landed easily on the other side of the hoop, not a single flame biting at his fur, Bertie began to throw the fire sticks.
Smalls waited until the first fire stick was right in front of him, then he flicked out his tongue, catching the non-lit end. “One,” Susan cheered.
Smalls caught another one, then another. Soon there was only one fire stick left, hurtling toward him. Susan reached out and squeezed Bertie’s arm. “Come on, Smalls,” she murmured. Smalls leaned forward. With an effortless swipe of his tongue, he caught the final stick. He lifted his head proudly, six flames sparkling above him.
“Yes!” Susan shouted. She threw her arms around Bertie, hugging him tight.
Bertie’s breath caught in his throat. Susan was hugging him. Her hair brushed against his shoulder, and he could smell the faintest scent of freshness—like grass and trees—lingering on it. Then just as quickly, she pulled away.
“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered. Her face was flushed and her eyes flitted around the ring, refusing to meet his. “I shouldn’t have . . . I just got caught up in . . .” She trailed off, tugging nervously at a strand of hair.
“No, it’s fine,” Bertie said quickly. He could feel his face growing hot, like his freckles had caught on fire. “I didn’t . . . I mean . . .”
“I should go get water to put out the hoop,” Susan said quickly.
“I should get the fire sticks from Smalls,” Bertie added. Turning away, they both hurried in opposite directions.
The Daring Escape of the Misfit Menagerie Page 9