The chartered bus stopped at the corner of Fourteenth and Squire. Jerry smiled nervously, turned and waved to his mother, who stood weeping a few feet away, and boarded the bus.

He returned the driver's silent nod and settled himself in the only remaining seat—near the front—next to a poorly dressed middle-aged woman.

Jerry tingled with excitement. He glanced around, eager for conversation, but the other passengers were strangely silent. This puzzled Jerry, for he was looking forward with great anticipation to the carnival.

Indeed, he felt fortunate in having won the drawing at school which allowed him to attend the carnival free, as a special guest of the government. In an effort to encourage patronage among young people, the government agency – Populace Control—sponsored the drawings and contests for students.

The man and the woman seated behind Jerry began talking about carnivals of years gone by—how they used to be very popular with kids, but weren't nearly as exciting as those of today. From the way they spoke, Jerry guessed they had attended many carnivals. He turned round and saw they were about the age of his parents.

How much more interesting than his parents they were, Jerry thought. His parents wouldn't dream of taking in the carnival, and Jerry sometimes wondered what they had to live for.

The couple noticed Jerry staring at them, and he coughed and faced the front. He squirmed in his seat.

The woman next to Jerry nudged him. "You don't look old enough," she said, looking straight ahead.

"I'm sixteen," Jerry responded sharply.

The woman turned toward him. "They never had these when I was sixteen. I wish they had."

"Why?"

The woman ignored him. "I hope today's my day," she sighed, "Oh, let it be today." She blew her nose into a crumpled handkerchief and stared out the mud-splattered window.

The bus rolled past gray neighborhoods. Silent people on the streets, wearing distant, vacant faces, did not look up as the bus went by.

The bus joggled along with its silent passengers until it came to a stop in a part of town unfamiliar to Jerry.

The driver stood and faced the passengers. "All right, folks," he said. "This is it. Get your I.D. cards read. The P.C. officer will be boarding in a minute. Those with government passes step to the front." Jerry got up.

"You got a pass?" the woman next to him asked.

"Yes," Jerry said. "I won it at school."

The woman turned away again, and Jerry went to the front of the bus where the Populace Control officer was standing.

"Just a second, boy," he said, as Jerry held out his identification and pass. "I have an announcement to make." The passengers listlessly raised their heads.

"As you know," he began, "some of you may not be making the return trip on this bus."

Jerry wished the officer would hurry. Didn't he know there was a carnival out there? Couldn't he tell that nobody wanted to hear him drone on and on? Well, hurry up, Jerry wanted to shout. Hurry up!

The man completed his memorized presentation and looked at Jerry, who was chewing his knuckles in impatience. "Take it easy, son," the officer said. "there's plenty of time—plenty of opportunity for everyone."

"Yes, sir," Jerry said.

He leaped from the bus as soon as the officer had punched his pass, and ran to join the clamoring throng at the carnival's main gate.

It was just the way he had pictured it. The bright lights, the scuffling noises of the mass of moving people, the laughter and the shrieks of those who had dared board the death-defying rides.

Jerry's heartbeat quickened as he walked along the midway.

"First time, sonny?" an ancient carny called to him. "Chance your life on this little spin, why don't you?"

Jerry gazed at the whirling machine high above his head. "I might late," he said.

"If you're lucky," the carny replied.

Jerry found himself being swept along with the crowd. Ahead of him a police officer was leading a young woman by the arm. She was sobbing and telling the officer she didn't want to leave her husband.

Jerry hardly noticed. He had more important things on his mind. HE was attending his first carnival, and he had to make the most of it. He inhaled deeply, then reached into his pocket and clutched his pass.

The crush of the crowd took Jerry several hundred yards south of the main get. Hundreds of attractions awaited the customers. Jerry sat down on a bench to study a map of the carnival grounds and decided which amusements he wanted to chance.

No sooner had her removed the map from his pocket than two burly men, struggling with something in a large plastic bag, passed him. They half-dragged their load to a huge pit and tossed it in.

Jerry wandered over to the edge of the pit. It was enormous—a hundred yards square and not telling how deep.

"The odds are one in eight you'll make it kid," one of the men said with a crooked smile. "One in eight today." Both men laughed and walked away.

Jerry peered into the pit. There seemed to be a mountain of black plastic bags rising from the floor of the abyss. Jerry shuddered briefly, then turned away.

He didn't look back, but sought cheerier sights instead—the flashing neon lights all about him. The spectacle was breathtaking. Jerry had never in his life been so excited. But then he would never known such cause for excitement, either.

He felt in his pocket for his pass and stopped for a drink from a water fountain, then continued along the midway.

The sky was darkening slightly, but Jerry didn't expect rain. The forecast had said no rain, and the Weather Control Center was never wrong.

Jerry got into the line of people who wanted to ride on the Thunder Clapper. In front of him stood a young man with glasses. He was sweating profusely; although the temperature was on the cool side.

The young man glanced over his shoulder, "First time?" he asked, nervously rubbing his hands together.

"Yes," Jerry answered.

"Good luck," the man said. "This one's a real killer."

Jerry saw the contraption resting fifty feet ahead. "You ever been on it before?"

The man cleared his throat. "Nope. But I've gone on a lot of the other ones."

"This is my first ride," Jerry said.

The young man laughed. "You sure picked a good one for a starter."

"I hope so," Jerry said.

The riders grew funereally silent as they came up to the boarding ramp. Jerry took a deep breath. He could feel the pulse in his throat. He stepped on to the ramp and selected a seat next to the young man he had met in line.

An attendant came over and strapped them both in. The straps covered most of the body and were fastened very tightly. Jerry found breathing difficult.

"That'll hold you, Shorty," the attendant said, as he finished with Jerry. Jerry noticed that the attendant wore thick-soled boots and carried heavy gloves in his back pocket.

The announcement was made, stating that the ride would last only ninety seconds. It was everyone for himself. The announcer then wished the riders good luck, and the motor started.

It rumbled and coughed, then gained momentum as it lifted the apparatus and its occupants into the air. It picked up speed now, and the low rumble became a violent roar.

Jerry felt his stomach know beneath the straps holding him. He hoped he wasn't going to be sick.

The roar was deafening. Jerry screamed, but no sound seemed to come from his lips. Lightning cracked all around him, coming so close he thought he could feel its intense heat.

Then suddenly the roar subsided, and the huge metal wheel was gently eased onto its base. The attendant unstrapped Jerry and the young man next to him. The young man didn't move, and the two men came over to take him from the seat.

Jerry bounded quickly down the ramp. "I did it! I made it on my first try!" he shrieked, half-stumbling back onto the midway.

A uniformed statistician smiled at Jerry's exuberance, and continued with his work. In the "Departure" column on the paper in front of him, he added another check.

Jerry wanted to shout his success; he wanted to run, but there was no room on the crowded midway.

What's so tough about this anyway? Jerry thought. If you take a positive approach, you'll overcome it.

He had easily met the challenge of this first ride—the one everybody had said would be the roughest. Well, he had come through, almost without flinching.

The taste of this kind of success was something he had not known before. He felt so exhilarated that he giggled in spite of himself.

He would try his luck again after he had some food. He walked over to a refreshment stand and bought two hot dogs. "I've just been on the Thunder Clapper," he told the concessionaire.

"That's living pretty dangerously," the man said.

"Is there any other way?" Jerry asked lightly, paying for the food.

He ate rapidly, anxious to get back into action. Although he reveled in his achievement, he knew that he could really prove his mettle only by continuing to accept the challenge. As soon as he had swallowed the last bite, he joined a red-haired boy about his own age in the line for the Whirl-Away.

The other boy smiled and told Jerry that this was to be his first ride.

"This is nothing," Jerry told him, "I've just come off the Thunder-Clapper."

The red haired boy's eyes widened with admiration. "I think this will be just as tough," he said, without conviction.

"I doubt it," Jerry scoffed. "But it'll probably help build your confidence."

The thrill seekers were led to their places by the Whirl-Away attendance, and strapped into the spokes of the machine in upright standing positions.

Again, there was an announcement over the public address system. It was the usual drivel that Jerry hardly heard.

Jerry was relaxed: a calm smile played over his lips. He settled back, ready to enjoy this new experience to the fullest.

The Whirl-Away began to vibrate, its engines whooshing like a great wind storm. The structure throbbed and gained speed until the passengers near the rim were moving at about two hundred miles.

Jerry was thinking of the stories he'd tell his classmates at school tomorrow. How he took on the Thunder Clapper and the Whirl-Away, straight off. "You take the meanest ones first," he would tell them.

The Whirl-Away, spinning at an ever-increasing, rose three hundred feet off the ground.

Jerry became aware of a dizzy sensation. The then sense of motion ceased, and suddenly he was free of movement and sound. He was in the air, hurtling headlong downward. "It isn't fair!" he tried to shout. "They said one in eight—one in eight!"

Men from the pit moved into position with their black plastic bags. But Jerry did not see them; nor was he conscious when he ceased to be—approaching the earth, meeting it face to face at almost the speed of sound.