The circus lights blazed against the night sky, a kaleidoscope of red and gold ribbons swirling above the crowded festival grounds. Children clutched sweetbread in sticky fingers, couples laughed as jugglers tossed flaming clubs, and the air buzzed with the pulse of drums.
Behind the curtain, Nakiya "Naki" Mensah tightened the strings of her painted clown mask. The smell of chalk and greasepaint clung to her skin, heavy as a chain.
"Keep smiling, girl," her mother's sharp voice rang out. Madam Efua Mensah, once the star trapeze artist of West Africa, now ruled the Mensah Family Circus with iron precision. "The crowd didn't pay for sulking. Make them laugh!"
"Yes, Ma," Naki whispered, though her heart pounded with a different rhythm. Not laughter. Not jokes. The ropes above the tent called to her, taut lines whispering in the dark.
Her older brother, Kwesi—Torch, as the audience knew him—passed by carrying a torch in each hand. His fire-breather's grin flashed. "Cheer up, Naks. You're the best clown they've got. And anyway, I'll keep an eye on you."
Naki forced a laugh, but it cracked. The best clown they've got. But what if I could be more?
The drumbeat thundered—the show was starting.
When the curtain lifted, Naki stumbled into the ring, tumbling clumsily, squeaky shoes flopping. Laughter rippled through the audience. She painted smiles on children's faces with balloon animals, pretended to fall over her own feet, and slipped on an invisible banana peel. The crowd howled.
But halfway through, something inside her snapped. A tightrope stretched above, unattended for the moment, glittering like a silver line across the sky.
Just one leap. Just once, her heart whispered.
She charged forward, flipped mid-air—perfect form, arms outstretched. Gasps filled the tent. For a heartbeat, she wasn't a clown. She was a star.
Then her feet landed hard, wobbling, and she stumbled back into a pratfall. The crowd erupted in laughter again, unaware they'd glimpsed the truth.
From the shadows, Grandpa Ofori clapped once, softly, eyes gleaming with pride. But Madam Efua's face was stone.
When the curtain dropped, Efua seized her daughter's arm. "Never—never—try that again. Do you want to die like I almost did? Stick to your role, Naki. You're a clown, nothing more."
Tears burned behind the paint. Naki bit them back, chin lifting. I'll prove her wrong. One day, they'll all see what I really am.
Outside, the crowd's cheers faded into the night. But inside her chest, a brighter fire had just been lit.
The Flying Star was waiting.