Excerpt from The Tightrope Walkers by David Almond, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

It seemed so finished, so perfect, so modern, once the earth was closed, once the roads were laid, once the heaps of waste had disap-peared, once all the men had gone away and we were left alone, to be ourselves, to grow together in our bright new world.This is where these things happened, to me, to Holly Stroud, to Vincent McAlinden, in a time and place that seem so long ago but are not so long ago, in a time and place that lay halfway between the river and the sky.

Pebbledash
Chapter 1

McAlinden made his first mark when I was five years old. It was a bright spring day and I was with Holly Stroud. She lived across the narrow street, in a house that was a reflection of our own. We were walking on the garden walls. Her dad, Bill Stroud, was at our side, ready to catch us if we fell.

Holly high-stepped, danced and spread her arms like wings. I followed her, less certain.

At the two-foot gap between the gateposts, Bill lifted her up and carried her high in a perfect arc and put her down again.

She bowed to him, to the estate and to the sky.

Two kids trundled by on homemade stilts. A bunch of girls played hospitals, their orange boxes arranged against a garden wall.

"Now your turn, Dom," said

Holly.Bill helped me onto the gatepost. Invisible boys were yelling, playing football up on the high fields.

"Back straight," said Holly. "Pointed toes, head held high."

Bill held his palm against my back to help me understand.

"Like you're dancing, Dom!" cried Holly. "Yes, nearly right!"

She turned to the half-open first-floor window of the house. Dark curtains wafted on the breeze there.

"Mam!" she called. "I'm with Dominic Hall, Mam!"

"Wonderful!" replied her mother's voice.

"He's doing great, Mam!"

"Marvellous!"

Mrs. Stroud began to sing: "'O for the wings, for the wings of a dove . . .'

"Bill lifted me and swung me, and held me high and steady in the air. A bunch of boys ran past, screaming that they were off to bomb Berlin. A pony whinnied and a cockerel called. I stretched my arms and tried to lose myself in weightlessness.

The stone came spinning through the air and hit my brow. I flopped. Bill laid me down. He dabbed the blood with his handkerchief.

"What's your name?" he said.

"Vincent McAlinden!" yelled Holly.

"Dominic," I murmured to Bill Stroud.

"What on earth d'you think you're doing?" yelled Holly.

Vincent stood further down the street. He'd moved here just a few days ago. Squat, black-haired and filthy. He had his hands turned upward in regret.

"I didn't mean it!" he shouted. "I aimed to miss!"

"Get back home," snapped Bill.

He held Holly back from running to him.

"Leave him," he said. "He's just a daft tinker."

His white handkerchief reddened with my blood. He spread his hand before my face.

"How many fingers?"

"Three."

"What month is it?"

"March."

"Good lad. Lie still."

Kids were gathering. He's bust his skull. Is his eye out? He could've had his bliddy eye out.Then Mam was here, reaching down to me.

"We'll have the bliddy polis on you!" someone called.

"Bugger off out of this estate, ye little sod!"

"How many fingers now?" said Bill.

" Two."

Mam held me and I sobbed.

"He needs a cuddle," said Bill. "And an Elastoplast, and a nice sweet cup of tea."

He stroked my brow.

"You'll be all right, son. You'll survive."

Then here was Dad in his black work clothes, with his knap-sack hanging from his back.

"It was the new kid, Mr. Hall," said some child.

The Tightrope Walkers Copyright © 2014 by David Almond. Reproduced by permission of the publisher, Candlewick Press, Somerville, MA.