Zillie the Circus Freak. Alley Bucci

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СКАЧАТЬ had the money to do it up, and no doubt everyone would have ideas on how to improve it, but as usual, nothing would ever get done and time would not allow us to stay long enough to make any improvements anyway. Before Mum and Dad had Zenny and I, they happily lived it up in the caravans like the rest of the crew. Their possessions were few, so they didn’t have much to cart around and they preferred to sit on foldup chairs with herbal teas and make up their own stories, rather than watch someone else’s problems on TV. For the first seven months after I was born, they simply made do, but when I started to crawl, things changed and one time – things got a bit hairy. Apparently mum had left me sleeping in a bouncer one afternoon and stepped out without closing the door properly. I woke up and somehow ventured out, because they soon found me just about to enter the horse enclosure; covered in mud and holding a pile of droppings. From then on, they said a caravan was no place to raise kids, and insisted on renting out homes that backed onto parkland, or were very close to the circus. That way, we were close to the action, but still had some kind of normalcy. They tried to stay at the one site for as long as possible, even as long as four months sometimes. That gave everyone time to recover from the last show, rehearse any changes to the acts that might be necessary, set up circus and market surrounding areas so that the audiences could come to us, rather than packing up all our stuff just to move twenty minutes down the road. This also made it possible for us to attend the local school, since being home schooled by Uncle Stan and random circus performers as special guests, was not proving to be very successful so far. Although on the plus side, Zenny and I could now speak a bit of Russian and Romanian, which was pretty cool.

      Zenny is, naturally, ridiculously smart. A teacher was once so impressed, she gave him school books from a few grades ahead to take home and he soaked it all up like a mop in just one week. Harry Highpants, the dove trainer, was probably his best friend. Actually his name wasn’t even Harry, but everyone called him that. He always wore his pants as close to his chin as possible and when someone once asked him why he wore them so high, he answered, “Because I am Highpants Harry.” And since that day, the name just stuck. He was a sweet, smart, old man and Zenny was always doing something brainy with him. Me, well I’m just an all-rounder I suppose. Good at everything, but great at nothing. I jump head first into things and ask questions later. My words often get muddled up, especially if I’m nervous and it is most frustrating how clumsy and klutzy I can be. Mum and Dad said I had been a bit moody lately, rightfully so, but I just couldn’t put my finger on what my problem was. They asked me if I wanted them to quit the circus, but I found that too difficult to answer. Sure it’s frustrating at times, but a more traditional way of life might bore me silly. I was so used to all the colours and sounds, everyone buzzing around the place, the animals … without all this, would the silence drive me batty? And would that mean an end to using the excuse; ‘the donkey ate my homework?’

      My thoughts were interrupted, as another four caravans rolled into the drive. The other circus freaks had arrived …

      I decided to crawl into bed early with my bad breath … I still reeked of garlic from the vegie souvlakis we’d had for dinner. Of course I didn’t manage to have a shower, because by the time the bathroom was finally free, my pea-head brother had not exactly left it smelling like roses. Need I say more? I would just have to get up early and have a nice hot shower, while there was some hot water, and have my hair all freshly done for the first day of school at Brookevale College.

      Usually I didn’t mind so much starting a new day at school, but this town seemed different. I wondered how I would be able to slot in discreetly. My red curly hair that bounced around like a slinky was bound to make me stand out. Hrmmm … maybe I ought to use the hair straightener that Aunt Jan bought me for Christmas, the most normal present anyone in this family had ever given anyone. Ever.

      

      I woke up to the pea-head bouncing on my head, screeching; ‘Wake up! Wake up!’

      As if in a nightmare, my alarm clock was flashing.

      OH. NO. The power had gone out. It was already 8:30am. Macaroni cheese! How could this happen? Where were my clothes? I raced to the dryer, but my favourite jeans were still soaking wet; “You have got to be kidding!”

      Mum was chasing her tail, pacing in circles, somewhat hyperventilating. “Ten minutes. Ten minutes. We have to go! Imagine being late on your first day, oh my goodness, why can’t the Crombies ever be on time? Just for once! Where are my shoes? Don’t tell me that cheeky pony has eaten them for breakfast again …”

      I was horrified. I couldn’t believe that on my first day at a new school in Poshville, I was going to rock up in a purple and yellow striped parachute tracksuit. As luck had it, apparently my suitcase of clothes mysteriously fell open on its way into the house from the van and everything inside it just happened to fall out, right into a puddle of pony vomit. Aunty Jan had decided to put all my clothes in the wash, but forgot to hang them out. So either I was either going to school in wet clothes, or in my pyjamas. Or the only other choice: Aunty Jan’s jogging parachute extravaganza. Ooohhh I wanted to dunk my head in vomit myself. This had to be a nightmare. I kept blinking to see if I was awake or asleep. I wanted this nightmare to end. Uncle Stan started shaking me, “She needs a doctor! Help! Help! Her eyes are rolling back!” And with that, he picked up the jug of water from the kitchen table and poured it over my head. Yep. Thanks for that. Now my hair would soon be even more frizzy, if that was even at all possible. Brookevale College, prepare to meet your newest student – Zillie the freakster.

      As I entered the classroom, ten minutes late, a skinny, awkward man in a boring, brown suit stopped mid-sentence, took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, looked at the clock above the door and shook his head. “You must be Zillie. Zillie is it? What is your real name?”

      He sounded annoyed.

      I remained frozen at the door. I could feel every pair of eyes on me and I could feel the sweat start to trickle.

      ‘Zillie. That’s it. Just Zillie, as in, Zillie.’

      Laughter began to erupt.

      “Well don’t just stand there like a garden gnome, go and take a seat, you can catch up on what you have missed in detention.”

      Garden gnome? That was a new one. Was he allowed to call me that? I took my seat when –

      “Violet’s my name,” she whispered, “I just love your hair! It’s totally rad! And your outfit is so … retro.”

      “Hi Violet –“

      “Let’s just stop shall we class? It’s obvious that Zillie here has something more important to say than what I do, so go ahead. Tell everyone what is so important.” The brown suit tapped his foot, impatiently waiting for my response.

      “Nothing Sir. Go on …”

      “Well, thank you for your permission Miss Zillie! Now let’s increase that detention time by ten minutes.”

      My first day ended in way that was perfectly appropriate to summing up the day I’d had. Uncle Stan didn’t own a mobile phone (he believed they were invented by aliens to monitor our every move), and since he did not know I would be late because of detention and I had no way of letting him know, I got to walk home. Alone. I got lost. Then it started to rain. Heavily. Yep; perfect!

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