Touch of the Clown Read Online Free Page A

and down below me are kids splashing and building sandcastles, and people lyingon the beach sun tanning, some of them reading, some of them doing word searches. But now, when Cosmo asks me, I surprise myself.
    â€œAn actress,” I say.
    â€œWell, kid,” Cosmo chuckles, “you got the right name for it.”
    An actress. Livvy is chattering away to Cosmo about the trip her grade one class took to the firehall last spring and, for a minute, I let what I’ve said soak into me. Is it something a person could actually put down as a career choice on those little personal inventory sheets our school counselor, Mr. Graydon, makes us fill out? Dentist. Gas-station attendant. Actress.
    â€œYou might like to get involved in the work-shop that’s starting in a couple of weeks. It’s for kids fifteen and up, but it’s not full and I could probably squeeze you in.”
    For no reason, I feel my face flushing.
    â€œSeriously, think about it,” Cosmo says.
    The rush hour seems to be winding down. Fewer people on the sidewalk, mothers calling kids in to supper, traffic thinning.
    â€œMaybe I should come home with you. In case your dad or your grandma have any questions about the accident,” Cosmo proposes as Icheck to make sure everything is in place in the survival bag.
    â€œWe’ll be okay. Thanks,” I add.
    Livvy is chasing Bingo around the yard. “Come here, you stupid ball!” she shrieks.
    â€œYes, I guess Miss Olivia de Havilland is going to live after all. But here, before you put your scribbler away, let me write my phone number down. If it’s okay with your folks, maybe you and Livvy can pop over when I get home from work tomorrow–no, make that the day after tomorrow–and I’ll give you a brochure on the clown workshop. Have to pick some up from the office. Any time after four.”
    â€œSure,” I say. “I’ll check.”

CHAPTER FOUR
    I think about the clown workshop all the way home while Livvy sings her Bingo song. The more I think about it, the more I think it is something I want to do.
    The school that Livvy and I go to offers a drama option in grade seven.
    â€œI’ll put you down for it,” Mr. Graydon told me at the start of last year. Mr. Graydon has me come into his office often. He has an old sofa chair by his window, where you can look out and see the rooftops of buildings for blocks around. “When I listened to you doing that reader’s theater part in Mrs. Femeruks class last year, I made a mental note to make sure you get into Ms. Billings’ drama class this year.”
    I am always surprised at how much he knows about me. Mr. Graydon keeps a little bowl of pretzels on his desk. He likes to give visitors to the counselor’s office a pretzel or two. In addition to the pretzels, he gives me compliments.When he starts, I count the church spires. You can see four in the winter, but only two in September when the leaves are still on the trees.
    â€œI understand you’ve read your way around the world,” he tells me. “A book for each of twenty different countries. Mrs. Mattingley says you take out three or four books a week. Do you do anything else for recreation?”
    â€œWatch movies,” I say. “Daddy and Grandma like movies.”
    â€œWhat about you?”
    â€œSure,” I say. “Who wouldn’t?”
    Another time he asks me about Livvy. “Hows she doing at home? She’s been having lots of accidents at school.”
    â€œShe has…a few accidents at home, too.” I feel my face going red.
    â€œOf course it helps that you’ve been keeping a change of clothes in the nurse’s office.” Mr. Graydon passes me the pretzels. “Take a few,” he says.
    Livvy’s problem is not one of my favorite subjects. Sometimes I wish she could have some-thing clean and simple like scoliosis or acute sight loss. I’ve read books where girls