Albury is bigger than I imagined. In the main part of town there are lots of grand old brick buildings with awnings, like proud eyebrows, to shade the streets. You can tell that it’s an old town, which makes it kind of stately. There’s modern stuff too: big shopping malls and takeaway joints, and young blokes screeching around in panel vans with flames and loud engines. This makes you think it’s not quite so stately. So you think one thing and then you think another, which means it’s complex and that’s how a city should be. It’s bigger than your average country town because the town centre isn’t just one main road like I thought it would be, it’s lots of main streets with all kinds of traffic on them, almost like a city. And then the houses are mainly nice old weatherboards with big gardens, like the yellow house where Kite and Ruben live. I even begin to think Albury wouldn’t be a bad place to live, if only it weren’t so far away.
At dinner that first night, Ruben talks a lot about Albury and the circus. He says how it had made a huge difference to a country town, where usually there is very little opportunity for the arts to flourish. But here, because of the Flying Fruit Fly Circus, every kid has a chance to be introduced to the arts, or at least to get an idea about how beautiful the arts can be. Also, the great thing about traditional circus is that it’s for people who don’t fit in; you can be any shape and size, in fact, the less you conform the better.
‘Like Caramella and Oscar,’ I say, and he says, ‘Exactly.’ And then he tells me a story about a boy who reminded him of Oscar. He’s tall and awkward, this boy, and he can’t do any tumbling, couldn’t even do a back flip, so he had a lot of trouble fitting in with the other boys who were all tumblers and jugglers. But he persevered. He took up spinning bowls and he practised and practised and, because of his character, which was obsessive and kind of sad, not only did he get very good at it but he was always picked for the main shows, as the kind of tragic, comic circus figure, and his performances were always very good. So his confidence grew and grew and soon all the boys wanted to learn spinning bowls too. He’s left the circus now, but he’s still performing, and the spinning bowls legacy remains.
The more Ruben talks about the circus the more excited I become, and my old opinion about the absolute necessity of me becoming a circus star quickly re-lodges itself in my head again and then I begin to grow nervous, especially as the conversation veers towards my impending audition. Ruben starts to fill me in.
‘There are actually two kinds of auditions going on. First there’s a selection group of kids who do basic training on Saturdays. At the end of the year, those kids get to audition to become part of a training group. Once you are in a training group you join the circus, go to the circus school and begin full-time training. That’s what Kite is in now.’
‘How many are in that?’
‘Somewhere between seventy and a hundred. But from that group there’s another selection made for the show, so maybe forty kids, depending on what the show needs, will be chosen. That’s what Kite will be auditioning for.’
‘And I will be auditioning for the training group?’
‘Yes. Now, because you’re not part of the selection group, I’ve organised a private audition for you. That means the trainers will ask you to do certain things and judge whether you’re up to the standard. Most kids here start training at the age of eight, so you’ll be expected to be at the same level as the other kids who are your age and who have been training a lot longer, so it won’t be easy, but its not impossible either.’
Ruben smiles, but maintains a serious tone. I can tell he doesn’t want me to get my hopes up, and I can feel them sinking fast.
‘So, I don’t have to do any special act.’
‘No, that’s just for the training group. Kite might have been confused about that.’
I look at Kite. I’m thinking, All that time learning a skateboard trick for nothing.
Kite jumps in. ‘But Cedar’s as good as Frankie and all those other girls,’ he says, as if he can tell I’m losing hope.
‘Well, yes, her basic tumbling is and her natural ability might even be better, but what she doesn’t have yet is the form, and she doesn’t have a specialist skill.’
‘What’s that?’ I say.
‘Ah, form is just learning to point your toes and keep your legs straight. It’s nothing,’ says Kite, rolling his eyes, ‘we have to do bloody dance classes for form.’
Ruben laughs.
‘Kite’s form isn’t his strong point, either.’
‘What’s a specialist skill?’
‘As well as learning basic skills, all kids have to specialise. It can be in trapeze or manipulation, or hoop or cloud swing, whatever you choose. Spinning bowls, even. But for you, I imagine some kind of aerials.’
‘What about tumbling?’
‘That’s a basic skill. Everyone has to learn tumbling, even the jugglers.’
I feel my hopes unravelling and lying flat on a table like a dirty trampled-on ribbon.
Ruben looks at me like he’s trying to loosen me up with his gaze, trying to get that ribbon flying. He says, ‘But Cedar, the thing is, what you do have is the right kind of determination and courage, and also a lot of raw potential. I’m sure the trainers will see that. You have to go in there knowing you’ve got a good chance. All you can do is give it your best shot. Okay?’
I sigh a big long sigh.
‘Okay.’ I try to find my courage. Where does it go when your fear starts flooding in? It’s like a little rock that’s been submerged and you have to dive down deep to feel it sitting there.
Kite reaches over and squeezes my hand. ‘You’ll be great. Don’t worry.’
I look at him and then I think, I want to be great because I want him to believe I am. Will he still like me if I’m not?