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and his father wore to work. Satchel s father
rose early each day, showered, dressed, and
had a quick bite to eat before heading to
work. And while Satchel wasn t exactly sure
what he did, he knew it had something to do
with numbers.
 Numbers are safe numbers are low
risk, his father always said.  If you know
how to work  em, then they always add up in
the end.
The carnival was only in town for a week,
and all of the kids at school had been talking
about it though of course no one actually
mentioned it to him, Satchel had merely
overheard them.
He was too weird too creepy and he
came from a really weird, creepy family or
at least those were the most quoted excuses
kids used to avoid him.
But from the moment Satchel glimpsed
the tip of the Ferris wheel on a rare trip into
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town, he wanted nothing more than to see it
up close wanted to see if it was anything
like the one in the movie he once saw.
Knowing he wasn t allowed to go on his
own (he wasn t allowed to go anywhere on
his own except school, church, and the occa-
sional movie, and even then, only during the
day anywhere else was deemed far too dan-
gerous for a boy of thirteen), he d made a
deal with his parents. Promising that if they
would just accompany him then he would
agree to not go on any rides, not eat anything
made of sugar, and not waste any of his fath-
er s hard-earned pennies on games his father
claimed were probably rigged anyway.
A promise he had every intention of keep-
ing until he saw her.
Mary Angel O Conner.
The girl who sat a few rows before him in
school the girl with the glorious mane of
long red hair that spilled over the back of her
chair like a trail of smoldering embers. Those
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silken strands gleaming in the slant of
noonday sun that crept through the win-
dow appearing so glossy, so inviting,
Satchel imagined it would feel like warmed
silk in his hand.
Unlike all the other kids, Mary Angel had,
on more than one occasion, said a kind word
to him. They were moments he d never for-
get. Moments he replayed in his head again
and again, like a favorite movie.
And there she was, surrounded by a large
group of friends, though one glance at
Satchel made it clear he saw only her.
I shot a nervous look first at his mom, then
at his dad. Hoping they hadn t noticed what
had claimed their son s attention, knowing
they d view it as a threat, try to make him
fear it. I was already feeling really, really
sorry for him.
But they didn t see, they were too busy dis-
cussing all the dangers around them, com-
pletely unaware of the spark of an idea that
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just flared in Satchel s mind one that
would ve resulted in a hasty stroll toward the
exit if they d had even the slightest inkling of
it.
I have to get away from my parents, he
thought. I have to do whatever it takes to rid
myself of them. I have to get far, far
away if only for a few seconds.
He yanked at the cuffs on his shirt, then
patted his hair with his hand, two of his usu-
al nervous tells. Deception did not come eas-
ily to him.
Carefully steering his parents in another
direction, one that was opposite Mary Angel
and her friends, he looked first to his mom,
and then to his dad, as he said,  I think I just
saw someone from school. May I go say
hello, please?
I stood off to the side, polishing off the last
sticky strands of cotton candy, while his par-
ents exchanged a worried look. His mother
verging on no, the most overused word in
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her vocabulary, some might argue the only
word. You could see it engraved on her face,
the lines permanently stamped in the place
where a smile could ve, should ve been.
While his father peered closely at Satchel
and said,  Who? Who is this person you
know from school?
Knowing the truth would only land him in
trouble at best, and back home at worst, he
gulped, crossed his fingers behind his back
in an attempt to lessen the sting of the lie,
and said,  It s just & it s just one of the
teachers. I want to ask her a quick question
about Monday s assignment, that s all.
I veered closer as his parents consulted,
listened as they discussed the possible merits
along with the very real dangers of allowing
him to drift off on his own. And just as his
mother was about to say no once again, his
father overruled her when he nodded and
said,  We ll wait here. Right here. We expect
your return in three minutes. Consulting his
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pocket watch to mark the time.  If you re not
back by then, we are coming to get you.
If it d been me, I would ve run like the
wind to get the heck out of there, afraid of
wasting a single second of such a ridiculously
short time frame. But Satchel and I are noth-
ing alike. Which means he didn t run. Didn t
even consider it. Running could lead to fall-
ing, and falling was bad a fact that was re-
peated to him ever since he d taken his very
first step.
With hammering heart, and sweaty palms,
he made his way toward her. Having no idea
what he d say once he got there, and know-
ing all too well there was a good chance that
her friends would all laugh, he still had to go
through with it. He couldn t let the chance
slip away. He was at the carnival just like
any other kid just like any normal kid and
he wanted Mary Angel to see it.
He wanted her to see him the way he saw
her.
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By the time he caught up, she and her
friends had made their way to the front of
the line for the Ferris wheel, waiting for their
turn to board.
I stood beside him, the two of us gazing up
at the car that loomed highest. And while I d
always loved the Ferris wheel, carnivals too
for that matter, Satchel made me see it in a
whole different light.
Carnivals were dangerous and dirty
places operated by shady carnies with even
shadier pasts and while all of the rides held
their own unique dangers, the Ferris wheel
was the granddaddy the most dangerous of
them all. His father had assured him of that
on the drive over, while his mother had sat
right beside him, head nodding in silent
agreement.
I shot him a worried look. He was just a
few inches shy of Mary Angel, and I braced
for what he might do, what he might say. He
was in unfamiliar territory to say the least.
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Mary Angel turned, smiling in a way that
made her face shine with happiness, and
though the smile was in no way directed at
him, she d been merely laughing at
something a friend said, Satchel was too
sheltered, too hopeful, too socially awkward
to see the smile for what it really was.
He used it as an excuse to approach her.
Stopping just shy when a boy, Jimmy
MacIntyre, otherwise known as Jimmy Mac,
or sometimes just Mac, placed a possessive
hand on her back, threading his fingers
through her blaze of red hair while gently
pushing her toward the vacant, waiting car.
 Hey, Satchel, you gonna ride too? Mary
Angel called, finally seeing him as she slid
onto the seat.
And though he d sought her attention,
though it was the number-one reason, the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]