Flor
The wheels of Betabel’s old skateboard rolled ba-bump, ba-bump over the pebbly dirt floor of the shed. I just sat there pushing it back and forth, back and forth.
It was a dumb idea. I saw that now. The thing of it was, I had really and truly thought it might work.
I got up and stomped my foot when I thought about how proud I had been when I finally coaxed Betabel onto the skateboard, and about the loose change I had been saving up to buy her a new one.
I stomped my foot because Papá knew all along the zoo was in trouble, and that meant things must have been even worse than I’d realized.
I stomped my foot because I couldn’t make myself stop crying.
It was not the first time I ever had to say good-bye to an animal. Animals were born and animals died. Animals came and went. Bringing them home meant letting them go someday. Always.
But this was different. It was more than saying good-bye to Betabel. It was saying good-bye to the idea that all of this—the petting zoo and the carnival—could stay the same forever. That I would never have to leave the place where I finally had friends, knew all the rules, and wasn’t the only one who was a little bit strange.
But Betabel was going—Betabel was probably gone—and it seemed like no matter how hard I tried, I would have to go too. I sat back down, hugged my knees, and picked at a thin spot in my blue jeans. Any day now, it would rip. The thing of it was, no one would even notice at the carnival. But they would at school. Someone always noticed your mistakes, your bad luck, the patches your mamá sewed over the holes in your jeans. It was why I didn’t want to go back.
I blinked hard when my eyes went all blurry again. When I opened them, I noticed something up on the counter. Betabel’s kettle corn was right where I had left it earlier that afternoon. I jumped up and grabbed the bag. There was still a little left inside. Betabel would want it. Betabel would need it. There was no way that man, Mr. Forrest, would know it was her favorite. How could he?
I had to stop him before he took her away without it.
Racing back to the front of the zoo, I nearly tripped over the skateboard. I kicked it out of the way, and it rolled straight into the metal wall of the shed, knocking over the currycombs and nail clippers that had been resting on a shelf. They clattered to the ground. But I couldn’t stop to pick up the mess. I still had a chance to catch up and say good-bye to Betabel like the friend she was.
Then that chance slipped away too.
By the time I made it up front, all I saw was Papá, his hands back in his pockets, watching Betabel and Mr. Forrest get smaller and smaller as he led her by the leash toward the exit. Eventually, I lost them in the crowd. I would never find them.
“Flor?”
Randy was in the corner of the pen with Chivo on her lap. She set him down and stood. She was probably trying to be nice. She probably wanted to help. But she didn’t realize that the only way she could help me now was if she didn’t sing.
Her sister and brother—the girl with the accordion, the boy with the guitar—were probably waiting for her. It must have been time to get dressed or warm up or whatever it is people do when the spotlight is about to shine on them.
If I wanted to stop her, it had to be now. This was my last chance.
But it was only a thread of a chance, thin and frayed and about to snap.
Anyway, I had already tried everything. There was nothing in a carnival food stand so spicy, sweet, or sour it could unsettle her stomach. And there wasn’t any ride that spun fast enough to knock her off balance. So I decided Mr. Reyes must have been right. Miranda was main-stage material, and I couldn’t stop her.
I would tell her good luck and to leave me alone.
Then, like the sparkle of one more last chance, the lights of the midway rides blinked on.
Mr. Barsetti had them on a timer. It was a waste of electricity, he said, to keep the lights on while the sun was still shining so bright. So it wasn’t until closer to sunset that the midway lit up. The Ferris wheel blinked pink and gold. Blue chevrons flashed along the sides of the Zipper as it tumbled end over end. The carousel horses pranced under a pearly glow. You could hear everyone say “Aaaah.”
And all around the top of the Cloud Chaser, lights twinkled purple, orange, yellow, green.
It was a high-flying swing ride and one of our oldest. It broke down more than it should have, at least once a weekend. Passengers dangled over the midway like stuffed animals over a carnival game booth until the mechanic arrived to get the ride moving again. They usually weren’t stranded for more than fifteen minutes or so. But sometimes it took longer to get everyone down. Sometimes a lot longer.
I could ask Miranda Reyes for one ride on the Cloud Chaser, and maybe it would run perfectly smoothly. We would get on, we would get off, and I would know I had tried everything I could to save the zoo. She had a future on the main stage, and there was just no keeping her from it.
Or we’d get stuck up there.
“Are you all right?” Randy asked. She looked worried. She looked like she cared. I swallowed hard.