Betti on the High Wire Read online

  No one noticed as I plucked the leftover snake off the foreigners’ dinner plates, and hid the leftovers in the pocket of my special occasion dress. I escaped through the pig yard and climbed way up into the very tallest tree.

  In my tree I could see everything, just like a circus star. They’d never find me.

  Or ... they wouldn’t have found me if it hadn’t been for George.

  While George was singing, the monkey jumped off his shoulder, stole one of the Melons’ purses, and dashed through the woods and straight up my tree.

  “I FOUND HER!” shouted George. “And the monkey! And the purse!”

  “Shhhhh! George, no!” I hissed down at him. My tree shook a little, and the monkey threw tree nuts down at George.

  “HI, BABO!” George waved happily into the tree. “What are you doing up there?”

  “Quiet, George!” I bugged my eye out at him. “Shhhhh.”

  I’d have to go higher to hide. But as I stood up, wobbly and shaky from my missing toes, George said: “Babo! Sister Baroo has been looking for you! One of the foreign couples wants to adopt an older girl. They want to talk to you, Babo.”

  I sucked in a bunch of air and nearly fell straight out of my tree. “Me?”

  The Horrible Unhappy Promise

  “THIS IS ... MR. and Mrs.... Buck-worth. They come from ... Amair—eek—a,” Sister Baroo announced in her bad baby English. The quiet couple was politely sitting on a log in front of the elephant ring: the Buckworths. I got to stare at them up close. The woman, Mrs. Buckworth, had nutty brown hair that was almost as short as a boy’s. It curled under each ear like a baby pig’s tail. Her teeth were cleaner than a row of river stones and her eyes were the color of sea-green water. Mr. Buckworth had thick tree legs and curly hair the color of a copper coin. He had eyes like George that twinkled as if he had a funny secret. Neither of them was elephant fat or skin-‘n’-bones skinny, which was very unusual. The leftover kids always called me Big Mouth, but suddenly my words were eaten up. My knees were shaking. What are you supposed to say to a Melon?

  Normally I hid until the Melons were gone, or I made funny faces so they’d think my brain was out of order. Sometimes I let my tongue hang out the side of my mouth like a lizard and they’d go away. But the Buckworths stayed.

  This time I bugged out my fish eye so the Buckworths would think that I was really haunted, really broken, but they didn’t even seem to notice.

  “Can we call you ‘Babo’?” asked Mrs. Buckworth. Her face was light brown from the sun.

  I stared at her until Sister Baroo nudged me. She was still mad about the cracker box.

  “Uh,” I finally answered, “yes?”

  “Babo, we just ...” Mr. Buckworth put his elbows on his knees and spoke in a soft voice. “We want to know a little about you.”

  “What?” I scrunched my eyes. “Like what?”

  “Well, what you love to do,” continued Mr. Buck-worth. He leaned forward and looked straight into my eyes, which made me very nervous. “The things you care about.”

  I shook my head so my hair would cover up my bad eye.

  Mrs. Buckworth was tilting her head and waiting. “What makes you happy, Babo?”

  I didn’t answer. Instead, I looked up to where my line went into the sky and I imagined my mama, the Tallest Woman in the World with a Tail. She was waving and smiling down at me. My dad the Alligator Man was waiting at the bottom. He smiled too, and his green scales sparkled like water in the sun.

  “I like the circus. I like to eat snake,” I finally spit out. “That make me happy. I like to chase pig and get dirty. And play game. And get more dirty.” My words were mushy as I searched my brain for the right ones. “I have Big Mouth. I tell Big Mouth stories. Sometimes scary stories. I like to go to the market. And I do not like Melons.”

  Sister Baroo flicked my back and I made a face.

  “That’s okay.” Mr. Buckworth shook his head. “I don’t like melons that much either.”

  Mrs. Buckworth laughed, and I swear her smile arched all the way up to her round Melon eyes. “We have one daughter,” she told me. “Her name is Lucy. She’s younger than you. And she really wanted to come here with us, to meet you and the other kids.”

  “She likes to play games too,” added Mr. Buckworth. “And she likes to talk.”

  My ears perked up. “She has Big Mouth?”

  Mr. Buckworth squeezed Mrs. Buckworth’s knee. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.” They laughed a private laugh. “You’d probably like her a lot, Babo.”

  I stared.

  “We heard that you’re so great with the little kids here,” continued Mrs. Buckworth. “That you protect them.”

  I looked over my shoulder. The leftover kids were all watching like orangutans behind a thick tree.

  “We also heard that you love to learn and you study very hard. Auntie Moo here tells us that you’re very smart.”

  I whipped my head around and caught Auntie Moo’s eyes. She looked down and pretended to sweep the fire circle.

  “No!” I said loudly. “She is wrong. I mix words and make big trouble. Not smart.”

  Mr. Buckworth laughed. In fact, both of the Buckworths seemed to laugh all the time. This was not a bit funny. “Uh-oh,” said Mr. Buckworth, “Lucy gets into big trouble too. Now with the two of you? At the same time? Well, Mrs. Buckworth and I are probably asking for a handful!”

  I also didn’t know how the Buckworths thought they were going to fit Lucy and me into their hands, unless Lucy had a teeny-tiny puppet head, but if they didn’t care that we were big trouble, then I had to try even harder. I practically screamed, “I am very, very OLD. Foreigners do not adopt old children. They want babies. And pretty children. And I am not pretty!”

  “Nonsense,” said Mr. Buckworth. “You’re such a beautiful girl.”

  “You really are, sweetie.” Mrs. Buckworth put her hand on my bony chicken wing shoulder.

  My face suddenly felt warm and I smiled, just a little, because I couldn’t help it. “My mama is beautiful. Most beautiful woman in world.”

  “I’m sure you’re right about that,” agreed Mrs. Buck-worth. “She must’ve been very beautiful too.”

  I pointed straight above the Buckworths’ heads. “She live up there.”

  The Buckworths both looked up at the same time. “In that tree?” Mr. Buckworth squinted his eyes.

  “No. In sky.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Buckworth nodded their heads, still peering into the hot sun, even though the sky was empty.

  I wanted to change the subject. Fast. “What about you?” I asked them. “I want to know about you.”

  “Well, we do lots of fun things together,” Mr. Buck-worth started. “As a family.”

  “Like what?” I couldn’t imagine Melons having any fun at all.

  “We go bowling, and skating, and we go out for dinner—”

  “And we go on vacations once in a while too,” added Mrs. Buckworth. “You’d probably love that.”

  “Last year we went to Disneyland.”

  Whatever Diznee-land was I didn’t love it at all.

  The Buckworths were quiet and so was I, for once.

  “Oh, you probably don’t understand all of that, do you,” said Mr. Buckworth.

  “Are we talking way too fast?”

  “Sorry, Babo.”

  Mrs. Buckworth started talking slowly, as if she had sweet potato mush stuck in her throat. “We heard ... that you speak ... excellent English, but—”

  “I understand,” I said quickly. “America is happy. You are happy. You love Diznee-land. Lucy has Big Mouth.”

  Auntie Moo gave me a sly look out of the corner of her eye. I still couldn’t believe she had told the Melons anything good, anything at all, about ME.

  “And my family live ...” I folded my arms across my chest and stuck my nose in the air. “Here. Happy.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Buckworth gazed at each other before Mrs. Buckworth said, “Well, we really want
to ask—if you think you could be happy in America too?”

  “Would you like to—to come to America, Babo?”

  The two of them, sitting on that log, looked awfully hopeful.

  I poked at a rip in my special occasion dress and said, “America is too big. I will get lost.”

  Sister Baroo inhaled until I thought she was going to fall over, but the Buckworths just laughed.

  “We wouldn’t let you get lost, Babo,” said Mr. Buck-worth.

  “We promise.” Mrs. Buckworth smiled.

  But promises from Melons didn’t mean much. Melons had promised to make our country better. They had promised to help us, not to steal us away.

  The Buckworths kept talking and laughing and asking me things for a whole bunch of time. I knew I didn’t give the right answers. I was trying to make the Buckworths choose another leftover kid, but as it turned out, they liked ME. It wasn’t supposed to go like this at all.

  How were my real mama and dad supposed to find me in America?

  The Buckworths and a Boom

  SOON I ALMOST forgot about those Buckworth Melons and I was sure they forgot about me. They probably picked a pretty kid with two good eyes. They probably picked a kid who really wanted to go to America. Or a kid who didn’t have a Big Mouth. Or a younger kid who could play with their puppet-head kid and wouldn’t get into big trouble.

  But a couple of months after their visit to the circus camp, Sister Baroo came running up the dirt path from the village. She was waving around an envelope.

  Good luck or bad luck, it was hard to say. I thought it was probably very, very bad luck.

  I didn’t understand exactly how it happened, but the Buckworths called an agency in their country, and the agency mailed the thick envelope to Sister Baroo at the Mission, and the Buckworths wanted to adopt me.

  It all happened way too fast. I’d be leaving for America in just two days.

  The leftover kids squished into a huddle as Auntie Moo and Sister Baroo held out the pictures. In one picture, Mr. and Mrs. Buckworth stood smiling in front of a funny-looking tree. In another, a little girl was wearing red shoes with wheels on the bottom. Auntie Moo said that this was Lucy. My new little sister. She was missing her teeth, so Toro asked Auntie Moo if Lucy lost all her teeth in the war. Most of us were missing at least a few. But Auntie Moo said there was no war in America; Lucy’s teeth fell out by themselves.

  “Scary,” said Toro.

  “Why do they need me then, if they already have a kid?” I scrunched my face. It really didn’t make any sense.

  “Maybe they want another one,” said George.

  “They seem like very nice people, Babo,” said Auntie Moo.

  She had already told me about ten times that the Buckworths wanted me even though I was old. Melons usually think that older children are mean and angry, much more wounded from the war than the younger kids. Scarred from the inside out. But Old Lady Suri from the bean stand said that foreigners don’t want to adopt older children because we’re less likely to become Melons. Old children like me are stuck like bean paste to the ways of our real home.

  “I have a good feeling about them,” continued Auntie Moo. “I think you’re going to like it there.”

  “I like it here,” I said with my arms crossed and my nose high up in the air. But then I looked around and shut my Big Mouth. The leftover kids were looking at the pictures, oohing and aaahing. All of them wanted to be chosen by a Melon. All of them wanted to go to America. All of them except for me.

  And then Auntie Moo told George that he was going to America too. We were going to live in the same village because the Buckworths’ friend was going to adopt him. Our village in America was not the biggest village and not the smallest, but somewhere in between. We all leaned over to see the picture of George’s new life. A young woman stood in front of a purple plastic thing filled with water. Auntie Moo said that the plastic thing was called a “swimming poo” and that children in America swam in it.

  “Why will George have to swim in that weird little plastic thing?” I practically shouted. “Why can’t he just swim in a river or a swamp like NORMAL kids?”

  None of the leftover kids were paying any attention to me because they were too busy staring at the lady who was going to steal George away from the circus camp. She was smiling, and underneath the picture in very neat and pretty letters she had written: I can’t wait to see you, George.

  George stared at the picture too, and his eyes looked like they’d pop straight out of his head. “She’s my mommy?”

  “She’ll be your adopted mommy, yes,” laughed Auntie Moo.

  George wouldn’t let anyone hold the picture after that. He was afraid it would get chewed or torn up.

  THE NEXT NIGHT, before George and I left on an airplane for America, we all sat in a circle in the lion cage. Auntie Moo put a bowl of peanuts in the center and sat down too. I had to tell one last important story ...

  “The beautiful girl was ready for her special show up in the sky. When she looked down at her audience the soldiers were there. Hundreds of soldiers. Mixed in with all the circus people. And those soldiers smiled and laughed—”

  “What?” asked Toro, tugging on my shirt. “What’s happening, Babo?”

  I had to repeat every part of the story straight into Toro’s ear because his hearing was messed up. I skipped over some parts fast and went on:

  “But the soldiers were afraid of the beautiful circus girl because of her freaky eye. Just like they were afraid of the other circus freaks. So she was chosen to go away—to a very foreign place—all because of those lousy soldiers and the lousy war.”

  “Some soldiers are very nice, Babo,” said George.

  “SHHH!” I swatted him. “So ... With her Big Mouth, the beautiful circus girl was definitely going to tell the foreign Melons all the mean stories about the war. Because they should know. But—”

  But just then, when I was getting to the good part, a huge explosion rocked the circus camp.

  BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

  We shook and so did the lion cage. FLASH! The sky lit up with colors. Whites and reds. Gray smoke filled the air. BOOM! All of us hit the floor and covered our heads with our hands.

  “Babo?” said George.

  “Boom,” said Toro.

  “Children,” whispered Auntie Moo. “Stay down.”

  Then there was another BOOM, even closer. We heard big boots running down in the village and lots of shouting. Soldiers were in the woods, not far from the pig yard. They were speaking gobbledygook words. It was impossible to tell where they came from and whether they liked us or not.

  But there was only so long we could duck down without getting fidgety. We were way too used to big blasts and marching men and a smoky sky. George grabbed a handful of peanuts and crunched on them, which made Auntie Moo hold his hand and put her finger to her lips. Shhhh.

  I was sick of being quiet. I was sick of everyone being so afraid.

  “I’m not afraid of you,” I whispered.

  “Babo ...”

  I stood up in the lion cage and held on to the bars and whispered even louder, “I’m not afraid of you.”

  Toro whimpered, “Don’t have a Big Mouth now, Babo,” and a few of the leftover kids slapped their hands over their mouths. I could barely make out the white in their wide-open eyes. I didn’t care. I was the brave one. I stomped out of the lion cage and stood alone at the base of the woods. “I’m not afraid. I won’t be afraid!”

  I knew that’s what the circus people probably said, my mama and dad. They probably shouted it up to the sky. The earth probably shook like crazy as their voices echoed across my country and probably the whole world. “YOU CAN’T MAKE ME AFRAID!”

  My voice came out smaller than a squeak. No one could hear me, not even the hairy spider on my foot.

  BOOM! BOOM!

  I dropped to the ground and covered my head.

  I was a little afraid.

  Auntie Moo walked to th
e entrance of the lion cage and called my name quietly, but I knew she couldn’t see me in the dark. And she knew that I was way too stubborn about soldiers. If they were going to get anyone, they’d get me.

  After half an hour, the soldiers moved on. Auntie Moo shook her head, as usual. “Come in now, Babo. Come back with us.”

  I mumbled, kicking my feet as I walked back to the lion cage.

  We were all quiet until George whispered, “How does it end, Babo?”

  “How does what end?”

  “The story. The beautiful circus girl?”

  “Well ...” I took a deep breath. “She did have to go away. But she knew everything was going to be okay. Someday she would make it back, because the circus is her home.”

  My story made everyone feel sort of okay. Auntie Moo left to sleep by the fire circle and I waited until the last leftover kid fell asleep.

  Then I stepped over them and left the lion cage. The logs from the fire were turning from red hot to black ash. Without even saying any words, Auntie Moo sat up and I crawled onto her lap, and she hugged me and we rocked back and forth. She didn’t mind that I was about ten years old and way too big.

  “Are you sure they’ll like me?” I whispered. “The family?”

  “Of course they will.” Auntie Moo ran her fingers through my knotty hair. “Why wouldn’t they?”

  “Because one of my eyes is broken?”

  “Babo, the Buckworths don’t care about your broken eye. They like you exactly the way you are.”

  “Maybe. But what about the rest of those people in America? If they don’t like me, well, how am I supposed to get back here?”

  “Hmmmm.” Auntie Moo thought about that. She straightened out her long braid and it brushed against my face. “It will be difficult. You’re right about that.”

  I sniffled and squeezed my eye shut so I wouldn’t cry. “Then how will I get to see you again, Auntie Moo?”

  “I’ll be right here, Babo. You can always write to me.” Auntie Moo sighed. I listened to the sounds of the circus camp: an owl’s hoot from far away, and a few lost birds calling to each other from the trees, and the frogs croaking by the river, and the leftover children talking in their sleep. “Sometimes things aren’t as bad as we imagine, Babo. You’re going to be okay.”