Breathing Fire, page 6
Sandy grabs the money bag and gives it a little shake. “Don’t worry, folks, we’re professionals. That’s why we perform on the street!”
I get into position and light the torch. I lift my right leg and place both feet in Lorna’s outstretched left hand. She lifts me slowly with one hand, raising me above her head. Even though she is as solid as they come, I can still feel the tiny movements in her arm as I’m lifted six feet into the air. I concentrate on my balance, on breathing without tipping forward or backward.
The crowd waits with bated breath. I lift the torch and hold it at an angle, then spray a long, even breath into the fire.
Standing on Lorna’s outstretched arm, I’m already more than eleven feet tall, and with the torch angled up, the fire shoots a good twenty-five feet up into the air. A fireball leaps up into the sky like a demon and seems to pause for a moment, suspended, until the rest of the column of fire catches up to it. Orange flames arc out of my mouth like a shooting star, making the night sky a wall of flame. For a moment, even the stars disappear behind the blinding light. My body quakes with it. I am fire.
Chapter Sixteen
My bags are packed for my last lunch with Lorna and Sandy. The festival is over, and they have other circuits to visit this summer. Besides, they drive a Smart car, so I couldn’t come along even if they wanted me to.
I met up with Tate after the last show and gave him back his torches as well as half the money. The rest of it is all divided up again—bills in my socks, bra, pockets, backpack and just about anywhere else I could think of. I figure if I get mugged on the road, they’ll have to invest forty-five minutes in searching to get it all.
When I get to the pizza place, Lorna and Sandy are already there. They’ve ordered a large, and each third has a different topping group.
I can’t help but laugh at my third. “We know each other too well if you’re ordering tomatoes, pineapple and onion for me.”
Lorna grins. “Especially since onions are disgusting. You’re lucky they agreed to put your slices far away from my slices.”
As we eat, all I can think about is how I’ll never see them again. They think I’m this totally different person, this normal kid with a made-up mom and dad and a place to go. I think about Lorna lifting me over her head, and about Sandy trusting me enough to throw a flaming torch into her hand.
There are only so many people in this world you can entrust with your life.
Sandy finishes her pizza and smiles at me. “I’ll bet your mom is going to be glad to have you back for the rest of the summer.”
I clear my throat. “About that…” I reach back and open my pack to take out my cardboard box. “I have something to tell you guys.” The box is darker in the places it got wet by accident, and the label is starting to peel off the top. I set it on the table gently. “This is my mom.”
Lorna draws in a breath and looks at Sandy. Sandy reaches over and takes my hand.
“Ally, honey, what the hell?”
I tell them everything, about Mom stepping in front of a bus, the foster home, Tate. Even the bit about eating out of the garbage. Lorna shakes her head, and Sandy sits back, thoughtful.
“What are you going to do now?” asks Lorna.
“She’s a runaway, Lorna. She’ll need to go back and report herself.”
I shrug. I know it already. I can’t spend the rest of my life on the street, trying to get enough money to stay in a crappy motel. At least if I go back, I’ll have some money to show for the summer. When I’m eighteen, I can figure something out. Maybe work tables and busk on the side for some extra cash.
“I’ll go back in a couple of days. I just need to clear my head and figure out what I’m going to say to the social worker and Darla, my foster parent.”
Lorna shakes her head. “So you’re really fifteen?”
“I am.”
“And you have no one. No aunts or a family friend?”
Sandy takes Lorna’s hand. “That’s the way it is sometimes, babe.”
I look at Lorna and Sandy. “There’s no one. No one but you guys.”
There’s been an idea brewing in my head for the last few days, but I don’t know if I’m crazy for even thinking it. I probably am crazy, but that’s the least of my worries. I take a breath and throw it out there. “You mentioned before that you have a spare room.”
Sandy shakes her head. “Ally, it’s a tiny room, and we can’t just take you. These things have to be legal.”
“No, you can’t just take me. But you can foster me. It’ll give you a bit of extra cash, and there’s no commitment. I mean, I could even work part-time in your yoga studio.”
Lorna sets both her palms down on the table. “Ally, we need a bit of time. This has all hit me a bit out of left field. I mean, a relationship is built on trust, and you’ve just come clean off of a pretty big lie.”
Sandy takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. I feel my heart sink. It was stupid, but at least now they know who I am. At least someone does.
Lorna takes Sandy’s other hand. “Let’s meet up at our practice spot at six. I can’t tell you we’ll have an answer, but maybe we can talk about this a little more.”
They get up to leave, and then Lorna pauses and comes back to the table. “Ally, there’s one thing about your story…”
“I swear to God, Lorna, I’m telling you the truth now.”
She rubs her face. “No, I know. It just occurred to me though—I think you’re wrong about your mom. I don’t think she committed suicide.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s just that…who packs a lunch when they’re planning on jumping in front of the 9:00 AM bus?”
I sit back, stunned. I can picture it too, the way she pulled the butter knife out of the mustard jar to wave goodbye with one hand. She didn’t know. Neither of us knew what was coming.
Waiting to find out about your life is a hard thing to do. The park seems empty now without all the crowds and buskers wandering around. There are only a few families now, centered on the playground. I sit down and start to pull out blades of grass, one by one.
When I spot Lorna and Sandy, I wish I could read their decision by their walks, but they’re like they always are—Sandy’s a graceful float, Lorna’s a purposeful stride.
They sit down opposite me. Whatever happens, I had this summer on my own. And now I can choose where to go from here.
Sandy starts. “We’ve talked it over and called a few people. We’re not really cut out to be moms, at least not yet, but if you want a place to stay, and you want to be with us, I think we can make this work.”
“You’ll foster me?”
Lorna takes my hand. “We’ll foster you.”
I reach out, and they both envelop me in a hug. We must look funny, three women hugging on the grass, Lorna’s muscles bulging as she wraps her arms around me. I don’t care though.
Sandy pulls back and grins at me. “There are ground rules though.”
Lorna nods. “Right. Like no fire breathing inside.”
I laugh. “I think I can manage that.”
Epilogue
Sandy passes me the popcorn. “Did you talk to Rachel today?”
“Yeah, she’s doing well. Failed her French class again though, so she’s in summer school this year and pissed about it.”
Lorna leans back in her chair and raises her eyebrows at Sandy “You’re sure this will be better than TV?”
Sandy punches Lorna lightly. “You’re dead inside if you don’t like shooting stars. Everyone likes shooting stars.”
I munch on the buttery popcorn and lean my head back. Mom would have liked today. It’s cool on the roof of the yoga studio, and the air feels extra clean since it rained yesterday. The sky is blue-black. There’s supposed to be a whole bunch of bright shooting stars tonight. Heaven’s fire show.
For now, though, I’m happy just watching the familiar constellations reveal themselves piece by piece. Every star stepping into its own place in the sky.
Sarah Yi-Mei Tsiang is the author of the poetry collections Sweet Devilry (winner of the Gerald Lampert Award) and Status Update. She is also the author of four children’s books and the editor of Desperately Seeking Susans. Sarah’s work has been published and translated internationally and named to the OLA Best Bets for Children 2010, Best Books for Kids and Teens 2011 and 2012 and the Toronto Public Library’s First and Best Books List (2012). She can hardly light a match without burning herself.
Sarah Yi-Mei Tsiang, Breathing Fire
