Sideshow Girl

"Mom!" I squealed, skidding into the kitchen in my socks. I held my digital camera rather tightly in my hands, so that I wouldn't drop it. "Mommeeeeeeeeeee! I have to show you a picture of my friends!" I opened the picture that I had taken with the guys the previous day. Both of them were leaning on me like I was an armrest. We looked kind of like a football goalpost because I'm so short compared to them. "The blond one's Dane, but he performs under the name Asbestos. Other guy's Bik."

"That's nice," my mom said, not even looking at the picture.

"Mother! Please to tear your attention away from your brownies for two seconds!" I exclaimed dramatically, thrusting the camera at her. She looked at the glowing LCD display.

"Yuck!" she groaned. "The one is wearing eyeliner!"

"Yeah, that's Bik," I repeated.

"Guys aren't supposed to wear make-up," she said. "And what's with the other one's long hair?"

"Dane keeps his hair tied back," I reasoned. "Bik wears eyeliner so that his facial expressions are more visible from the stage. It's a live theatre trick. You rarely see an actor without eyeliner."

"I don't care," Mom said, returning to her baking. "They're gross!"

I sighed loudly and went into the living room, plopping down in the chair next to my dad's. Kiwi immediately came over to me, her stubby tail wagging. I petted her and scratched behind her ears. "Have you been taking pictures at work, Louie?" Dad asked, pointing at my camera.

"Yeah," I said. "I showed Mom the one of my friends and me, but she thought they were gross." Dad laughed and I opened the picture again, then handed him the camera.

"Oh," he said, looking at the picture and nodding. "These are your friends? The, uh, the Inflammables?" I nodded. "Which one's which?"

"White shirt's Dane, or Asbestos," I explained. "Blue shirt's Bik."

"Cool," Dad said, handing back my camera. "And they're the fire guys you met, huh?"

"Uh-huh," I said, smiling. "They're really nice." I invited Kiwi up onto my lap. She hopped up and lay down on my legs.

"And Scott's doing all right?" Dad asked.

"Yup," I said.

Sometimes I can hardly believe how boring my home life is compared to the festival. I started to long for it. At home, I sit at my computer and play games all day. At work, I get to hang out with really cool people. They're not all crazy festival nerds with no lives, either. Some are, but most of them are really intelligent and kind. They're all such creative people, too. How else would they come up with their fabulous characters? I mean, Bik's a very, very smart guy, but his character doesn't even know how to read. Don't ask me how that works.

I was really glad to be seeing Scott every week, even though he'd gotten grouchy. After more than a year of not seeing my best friend, any time I get to spend with him is good.

Then, there's Voti. He's gorgeous, he has a fabulous accent, and we get along perfectly.

Dane confused me. After what he talked to me about on the weekend, I was starting to wonder about Scott and me. What kind of relationship were we supposed to have? Thankfully, I can always count on my crazy friends to stop me from thinking too hard, for my phone started to ring in my bedroom. I gently nudged the dog off my lap (she wasn't too happy with me for that) and sprinted to my room. It was a text from Scott's brother, Jamie. All it said was: "Can I lay a fabergé egg?"

I have never been so happy to recieve a pointless text message from my best friend's baby brother.

Oh, how these days can drag on like weeks! When I finally made the drive back up to the metro on Friday, I was nearly crying out of sheer joy. Again, I was on my way to Bik's to work on my fire trick. It was extra dangerous and it scared the hell out of me, and that's why I loved it. I experienced Bik's temper the previous week, and I was determined not to piss him off again, so when I reached the house, I brought my supplies with me right away. Again, I was greeted at the door by the artistic little sign. I walked around to the back gate to see my friends. "Hey, guys!" I said, waving.

"Did you remember to bring your shit today?" Bik asked as he walked over to unlock the gate. I nodded. "Good girl."

"She's not a dog," Asbestos said from where he stood on the patio. "Wanna learn to put out fire with your bare hands?"

"No, thanks," I said, laughing.

"Doesn't hurt," he said, closing his fist over the burning wick of his torch. "Wanna try? I'll teach you."

"Maybe later," I said. "Right now, I want to tell you guys about an idea I had." I paused.

"We're listening," Bik said.

"I was thinking, since I can put the rod in my throat while it's lit... maybe I could pull it out while it's burning, too. Once it's out of my throat, I'll blow it out."

"Good thinking," Asbestos nodded. "Let's work on that today. And I can teach you how to put it out with your palm, so you look extra bad-ass when you do the trick."

"Fine," I sighed. "Teach me how to put out the damn torch with my hand."

"First, you light it," Asbestos said, lighting his torch. "Next, you make sure there's some moisture on your palms. The moisture has to evaporate before any part of your hand burns. I've got some sweat on my hands right now, so I'm fine. Then, you just take your whole hand and grab the wick really quickly. If you do it like I just showed you, you shouldn't even feel it." He re-lit the torch. "Now, I want you to try. If your palms are dry, you'll want to cup your hands over your mouth and breathe on them to make some moisture." Asbestos handed me the torch and I took it. "Got moist hands?" I nodded. "Grab the wick." I hesitated. "Just do it." I did. I felt warmth, a little extra wetness on my palm, and that was it. "Did it hurt?"

"No," I grinned. "I barely even felt that."

"Good," Bik said, putting a hand on my shoulder. "You learned new stuff today. Time to get down to business."