For a moment, Carter thought he was imagining things. People dressed as clowns began to hop out of the tiny red car, one after another, until a dozen different-shaped men and women were huddled in a tight group of polka dots and stripes, staring toward a lone black train car parked on its own track. Instead of a smile, each of the clowns wore a painted frown on his or her face. Each had a bag in hand.
Carter shuddered. He was not a fan of clowns. Whenever he’d seen them in advertisements or books, their fake expressions made him think of his uncle.
The clowns made their way to a lone train car with a giant man’s face painted on its side. Big and round, as if it might just pop off the wall and roll around like a runaway boulder. The face held a creepy smile; either that or it was smirking a dastardly grin. Over his head were five letters spelling BOSSO.
The first frown clown unlocked the door of the train car. The rest began to load the bags inside the metal car. From this angle, Carter couldn’t see inside. He wasn’t sure what they were carrying, but he had a feeling it wasn’t something good. He knew the body language of someone who felt guilty. Their shoulders were hunched and they moved jerkily, as if they were about to jump out of their skin.
“There’s no more room!” one of the clowns whined. “What do we do now?”
“Up to the boss man,” another clown said. “He’ll probably wanna move most of the goods over to the Grand Oak Resort. Let’s bolt before the coppers show.”
Carter wondered if the gloriously lit buildings on that far hill were the resort they were talking about. The compound certainly looked grand.
Before he knew it, all of the frown clowns had squeezed back into their impossibly small car and driven away. Carter didn’t know what that was about. And honestly? He didn’t care. One thing he’d learned growing up on the street was to mind his own business.
What he did care about was the police showing up. So Carter climbed down from the roof and made his way across the gravel parking lot toward the manic carnival lights, where he knew he could blend into the crowds.
Whenever Uncle Sly had dragged Carter to a new town, they’d always followed a strict series of rules. First, scope the surroundings. Second, find food. Third, a bed. Finally, Uncle Sly would seek out some victims so that he could get to work as soon as possible.
As a violent rumble shook his stomach, these rules flew out of Carter’s mind. Ms. Zalewski’s grilled cheese and radish sandwich was the last food he’d eaten, and painful hunger pangs were making him suddenly dizzy. The breeze carried scents of fried dough and pit barbecue and boiled sweets across the gravel lot, motivating Carter to move faster.
When he bent down to check how much of his emergency money was left in his shoe, he gasped in horror. The stash was gone! Memories of yesterday flickered through his brain like film images in a clunky old projector. Had Uncle Sly anticipated that Carter might run away and stolen his stash in advance? Or maybe Carter had been so upset about Ms. Zalewski’s diamond, he’d forgotten to remove his money from his pillowcase and shove it back into his shoe as he had done every morning since he could remember? Whatever happened, it didn’t matter now. He was broke.
As Carter approached the source of laughter and music and jovial shrieking, his senses were quickly overwhelmed, which was a good thing. It gave him something to concentrate on other than his empty stomach and his swimmy vision.
Bright lights spun around the Ferris wheel and merry-go-round. Stage lights lit the red-and-white tents. Young couples lined up for cotton candy and shows, while children called to their parents for more tickets. Games cried out: rat-a-bang-clang and ding-ding-dang!
“We have ourselves a winner!” someone shouted with glee. Dozens of other voices said, “Better luck next time!”
Carter strolled beneath a giant sign that read:
Bosso! That was the name from the metal car in the train yard. The puzzle pieces were starting to fit. The clowns in the tiny car were probably dropping off stuff from the carnival. Costumes. Wigs. Juggling pins. Jars filled with leftover ketchup. But why keep that train car so far from the rest of the carnival?
It didn’t matter. Carter knew the best way to make it to tomorrow was to keep walking.
The smell of fried grease grew stronger, and the ground became sticky wherever he stepped. Carter’s stomach roared. The salty and sweet aromas mixing in the air made his mouth water. Something that Uncle Sly said zipped back into his brain: Just wait until your belly rumbles and you’re so hungry you can’t see. You’ll be stealing more than necklaces in no time. What if Uncle Sly had been right?
With no money, nothing to eat, and a growing sense of desperation, Carter wondered how he’d keep himself from breaking his code that very evening. He could have easily used his talents to acquire some carnival tickets, but he didn’t steal, which included tricking people into giving him something for nothing. However, if he fainted, someone might call the cops.
“Welcome, one and all, to the greatest show this side of the Appalachian Trail!” a sideshow barker echoed through a cone from the top of his podium. The thin man looked like a stick figure, yet his voice boomed like he was a giant.
“Play games, win prizes! Eat food ’til you’re sick. Hear the hysterics within Cuckoo’s Fun House! Get lost in the Mind-Bending Maze of Mirrors. Shudder in the shadow of Bosso’s Blender, the most thrilling thrill ride since the last time you threw up! And make sure you stick around at the end of the night for Bosso’s Grand Finale Show!”
Strings of lights glimmered overhead. People streamed by Carter, burbling with shouts and laughter. A burly carnival worker in suspenders swung a sledgehammer down on the base of a machine that said TEST YOUR STRENGTH, and a bullet-like capsule shot up and rang the bell.
“Step right up!” The burly man pointed the sledgehammer at Carter. “Are you a man or a mouse?”
“Neither,” said Carter. “Sorry, I don’t have any money.” He was too embarrassed to tell the burly man how hungry he was. “But maybe I could help you, and you could buy me a corn dog or something?”
The burly man looked annoyed. He nodded at another man in a stiff-looking dark blue security uniform. As the guard came closer, Carter noticed that his face was painted like one of the frown clowns from the tiny car in the train yard. He was even freakier looking than an ordinary clown.
Yikes, Carter thought. Time to vanish again!