When Clara was a little girl she used to go to the street fair every year with two of her best friends, Steve and Bucky. However, when the stock market crashed, no one had money or time to sponsor the frivolities. Clara's own father had lost his job at the factory. She had tried to help her family by collecting pieces of scrap metal, wood, and junk that could be re-purposed and resold. It wasn't the most pleasant task, and often she got chased down and shouted at, but it helped her family, and that was all that mattered.
Steve and Bucky had often joined her while she scavenged, joking and keeping her spirits up. Sometimes the three of them played dragons and knights, both boys taking turns fighting off one another to "protect" Clara and the junk heap. On other days she had taught Steve the dances that Elizabeth, Clara's older sister had taught to her, Bucky looking on in amusement as she and Steve tripped clumsily over each other's feet.
Her favorite memories, however, were the years before the depression. The three friends would attend the moving pictures, Bucky, the oldest member of the group, promising Clara's mother that he would watch out for her daughter. Steve had always liked the swashbuckler films while Clara fell in love with the romantic genre. Bucky didn't care what was playing on the screen— as long as there were pretty girls. The friends got into trouble too; Steve had punched the boy who kept making fun of Clara's hair, and Bucky would always have to separate them before they could kill each other. They climbed over fences and explored abandoned buildings with reckless abandon. The days that were the most unforgettable, though, were the ones spent at the street fairs.
There were always carousels and Ferris wheels, animals and sideshow attractions, and of course, long rows of carts of delicious foods. But the thing that Clara loved the most were the games. Games of skill, games of luck, games of strength: they were all accounted for. Steve and Bucky always competed to see who could win the most prizes, and at the end of the day, all three were always loaded down with stuffed toys and small trinkets.
This year was a bit different. Instead of spending money to rent out booths and games, the community members in charge decided to ask for donations of any sort. Men volunteered to make booths out of wood scraps and women sewed small tent covers from pieces of old clothing. The children in Clara's apartment building donated small toys that they'd outgrown, and she and some of her friends had made dolls and stuffed animals out of things they had found laying about. The main attraction this year, however, the fair committee had scrimped and saved for. It was a Ferris wheel—a rickety old thing with a rusted frame— but a Ferris wheel none the less.
The stairs creaked as Clara rushed down them, her younger brother, Robert, tugging her hand. He had barely given her time to get dressed and pin back her unruly black hair before yelling at her to hurry up. She had quickly and carefully dressed in her green floral dress with short sleeves and a high-belted waist that Clara had worked long hours at her uncle's flower shop to earn money for. On her feet were halfway-buckled shoes that she had shined earlier in the morning.
She could hardly blame her brother for being excited— the last time they had had a fair, he was 3, and much too young to remember anything. But in her forced rush, Clara had left her sweater upstairs, and it was looking to be a typical, chilly New York night.
"There it is!" Both siblings stopped in the middle of the street and craned their necks to see the top of the giant wheel that sat only a block away. Clara had forgotten just how tall the Ferris Wheel was.
"Let's go, Clara!" Her brother took off again, and she followed at a light jog, stopping briefly to re-buckle her shoes. The lights from the fair lit up the street and Clara couldn't help but be amazed with how well everything had come together.
She caught up with her brother under a patchwork tent. He had already met up with a ragtag group of boys- ranging in ages- each carrying burlap sacks.
The youngest, a four-year-old from the top floor of Clara's apartment building, tugged on her skirt and she bent down to his level.
"Miss Clara, are you going to play games with us?" She ruffled his long sandy hair and was about to answer when Robert groaned loudly and threw his cap on the ground.
"No—she's not."
"Yes, mom asked me to watch you," Clara stood and put her hands on her hips. "I'm supposed to—"
"I'm not a child!"
"You're ten!"
"Which is five years older than you were when we all snuck out to the movies for the first time." A new voice cut in.
Clara didn't even turn around, "You're not helping the issue, Bucky."
"I wasn't trying to help," she could picture his stupid little arrogant smirk. Bucky always seemed to be around just when she didn't want him to be. Clara folded her arms and turned on her heel.
He looked like he always did, his hair perfectly coiffed and face half-shaven. His signature smirk was, as she had guessed it, playing across his lips.
"Hey." She rolled her eyes as he flung his arm around her shoulder. He pulled her around so they were both facing Robert and his friends who, at this point, looked fairly impatient.
"Hey fellas, if you don't mind, I'm going to borrow Clara for the evening." None save for the four-year-old seemed too disappointed. Robert even grinned widely and mockingly waved.
Clara began to protest, but with a whoosh, her world was tilted on its axle. It took her a minute to realize what had just happened. By that time, however, Bucky had already inclined his head to the boys and was walking away, Clara thrown over his shoulder.
Screeching , she hit his back and attempted to kick him in the stomach,
"James Buchanan Barnes, you put me down this instant!" His only response was to bounce her a couple of times, knocking the air out of her lungs. She huffed, but resigned to prop herself up on his back using her elbows.
After an uncomfortable minute of being stared at by everyone around her, Bucky stopped walking and greeted someone
"Who's that?" The person asked.
Bucky turned around and she came face to face with a mildly disgruntled Steve Rogers. "Hello, Steve," Clara sighed.
To her friend's credit, he barely blinked. Instead, he greeted Clara with a wide smile. Bucky turned back around and she was left staring grumpily at a wooden pole.
"Would you put me down now? I'd rather Steve not have a conversation with you while my rear end is in his face," finally, she was set down. Steve's face had gone a bit red, but Clara didn't tease him for it- she was too busy glaring at Bucky.
"That wasn't necessary."
"Trust me doll, it was." He laughed and leaned up against the pole, "Us three have some reunitin' to do. Besides, Steve challenged me to see who could win the most prizes and we need someone to referee."
"Why don't you have Jane Keen do it- I saw you neckin' with her two weeks ago. I'm sure she's desperate for some more attention," Clara mocked and prepared to march away.
"I could say the same thing about you and Daniel Peters," Clara stopped and clenched her fists. It was true, she had agreed to go out with him-once. But it didn't take long for her to realize that he was a bit too aggressive and vain for her taste. Clara had spent the last week taking back alleys to avoid him.
"In fact, I think I see him right over there!" She whirled around, and sure enough, there he stood by a caramel apple stand, "Hey, Pet—"
She jumped into action and shoved her hand over Bucky's mouth, "Alright! I'll come with you," she glanced nervously back at Daniel, "just—shush." Clara put her finger against his lips and pushed Bucky behind a food cart with her other hand.