Eager Star (13 page)

“Hey, Sal!” I couldn't think of a single thing to say to her.

“Lizzy said Summer hasn't shown yet, but that I could check out here.” Sal scratched her arm as if something had bitten her.

“Summer is not here yet,” Hawk said.

“Who else is coming?” Sal asked.

Hawk answered for me. “Just you and Summer. Let's go back to the house.”

Sal tiptoed out. “What's with the stuff in the yard?”

“Pizza!” Lizzy yelled from the house.

Sal picked up the pace. “I'm starved!”

Inside, I looked around our living room through Sal's eyes. Pale green walls badly in need of paint, no pictures, a gold shag carpet worn flat by the door and the television, Dad's reading chair covered with newspapers, and a couch that never should have left Goodwill. But the musty smell was disguised by the scent of fresh-baked bread and mozzarella cheese.

“Where should I put my pack?” Sal asked. She didn't seem to trust any place she'd seen so far.

I led her to the bedroom, snatching up clothes off my half of the room. Lizzy's half looked perfect. “Throw your stuff over there.”

Sal plopped her pack on Lizzy's bed and herself next to it. “Small room, but at least you've got the extra bed for company.”

“Lizzy's company. That's her bed, but she and Hawk will sleep on the floor with me tonight. You and Summer can have the beds.”

“You share a room?” Sal glanced at the walls. My half was covered with horse pictures torn from magazines.

I showed Sal where to wash up, explaining that the hot faucet is really the cold. “And the door doesn't lock. You can hang a washcloth over the outside knob so people know somebody's in there.”

The phone rang.

“Maybe it's Summer!” Sal almost knocked me down on her way out of the room.

Lizzy answered, then put her hand over the mouthpiece. “Winnie! For you!”

“Is it Summer?” Sal asked.

I dried my hands and picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Winnie?” It
was
Summer. “I'm not going to be able to spend the night at your house.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Why not what?” Sal asked, crowding in to hear.

“Mother doesn't feel comfortable having me stay there without another mother to chaperone,” Summer answered. “You understand.”

I understood. Like it was my fault my mother was dead? I rubbed the scar on my elbow. The one I'd gotten in the car accident that had killed my mother. I didn't think there were any new ways left for me to miss my mother, but Summer had found one.

Sal kept trying to press her ear to the receiver.

Summer was still talking. “Dad doesn't really know Odd-Job Willis that well. You know how it is.”

I knew how it was.

“Summer?” Sal shouted toward the receiver.

I handed Sal the phone and walked over to Lizzy and Hawk, who looked at me as if I were an old mare just assigned to the glue factory.

“Why didn't you call me?” Sal whined into the receiver. “I know!” She turned her back to us, listened silently for a full minute, then whispered, “Okay!” and hung up.

“Let's eat!” Lizzy produced the most beautiful pizza, oozing with cheese and pepperoni and sausage. We sat at the table and held out our plates.

Dad strolled in, still wearing the one-piece work suit that makes me think of astronauts. “Smells great, Lizzy!”

I introduced him to Sal. “Dad, aren't you going to that business luncheon tomorrow?” I glanced at Sal, but she just bit into her pizza.

Lizzy looked like she wanted to stop her and bless the pizza first. Quickly she said, “Thanks for this food, God! Amen!”

Sal gave Lizzy a sideways glance as if my sister had just spoken to little green men.

Uncrumpling a list from his pocket, Dad dialed the phone. “Just pretend I'm not here,” he told us. He stiffened when he said into the receiver, “Hello there! How are you?” Silence. “Well, I hope it's a fine dinner! The reason I'm calling is that you've been selected to receive—” he frowned at the phone—“hello?”

Lizzy served seconds as Dad dialed another number. “Hello there! How are you? Could I have just three minutes of your time that could change the rest of your life?” Silence.

“I know that voice!” Sal whispered. “Cell phones! He called
our
house at dinner!”

“Oh, dinner won't cool in three short—” Dad hung up and sighed.

Lizzy's pizza stuck in my throat. “Dad, could you hold off until we finish eating?”

“What?” Dad narrowed his eyes at me, then glanced at Sal. “Oh . . . sure. No problem.”

I sighed and finished my pizza. Lizzy did most of the talking, with Hawk chiming in now and then.

The minute Sal finished her fourth piece of pizza, she stood up. “Delicious, Lizzy! My brother was right about you.” She smiled at me. “I had a nice time, Winnie. Thanks for asking me.”

“Had?” I asked, feeling tears swell in the back of my head and press against my eyeballs.

“I'm sorry.” Sal wiped her mouth with the thin napkin. “I have to leave. I've . . . had a change of plans.”

“You can't!” Lizzy cried. “I made brownies!”

“They smell great! Can I take one with? Two?”

I knew the second one was for Summer. If I could have slipped a dozen laxatives into those brownies, I would have.

Sal scooped the brownies into her napkin. Then she dashed into my room as if rescuing her backpack from a blazing fire.

“Victoria,” she called, backing toward the front door. Did she think we'd jump her the minute her back was turned? “See you at school? You too, Winnie?” Sal stumbled, reached behind her for the screen door, and got away.

I was an idiot to think I could be part of their herd!
Hawk's head was bowed so I couldn't see her face. “You have a change of plans too, Hawk?”

Hawk lifted her chin. Peter zoomed to the fridge.
“Squawk! Change of plans! Change of plans!”

Lizzy chuckled. Hawk grinned. It was just what we needed to break the tension. The fight went out of me.

The rest of the night we just hung out. We visited the horses. Hawk taught Lizzy and me about the markings Native American warriors used to paint on their warhorses.

I fell asleep on the floor next to Lizzy's whistling snore, with the sound of a whippoorwill so close it could have been in the room with us.

In my dream, someone was knocking. I woke up to the
tat, tat, tat
of woodpeckers and Peter perched on the windowsill. I was in mid-yawn when I came to my senses.
Saturday! The barrel race is today!

I wanted to ride, needed to ride. It took two minutes for me to wake Hawk, get dressed, and tiptoe out.

We rode into the sunrise, with Hawk naming every bird by its song: “Flutest wren, oriole, purple martin.”

Towaco behaved perfectly for Hawk. All my hard work was paying off.

We'd turned around on a country road and skirted back through the sleeping town when I heard my name called.

“Winnie!” Mr. Baines drove up beside me. “I've been looking all over for you! Lizzy said you were riding.”

I flashed back to the day I'd lost Towaco. “Is something wrong?”

“Something's
right!
” He looked like he'd already won the race. “I want
you
to race Grant's horse!”

“You do?”

“Spidell admitted the race determines which of us got the better horse—nothing to do with the rider. Besides, I could tell he thinks I'm making a big mistake putting you in.” He chuckled. “We'll show him!”

I'm riding Eager Star in the barrel race!

Hawk rode Towaco closer. “Winnie, this is what you wanted! I'll ride Towaco home and bring him back in time to watch you race!”

“Thanks, Hawk!” Catman would be there. And Barker and Lizzy. I'd have my own cheering section. “What's Grant say?” I asked Mr. Baines.

He revved his engine. Nickers reared a couple of inches. “Who knows? He left the house before I got up. I haven't seen him. Don't worry about Grant. What he wants is a win—any way he can get it. And you're it!”

I hoped he was right. I couldn't imagine not wanting to ride my own horse. But his dad knew Grant better than I did.

On the ride home I pictured myself on Star, crossing the finishing line, flashbulbs popping, people cheering . . . Summer whining.

I turned Nickers out and was running to the house to tell Lizzy the good news when I stopped cold. Grant Baines was sitting on the steps eating Lizzy's cold pizza.

I sat beside him. “Grant, I'm sorry.”

“Don't be!” he snapped. “I suppose you've told everybody how I got bucked off yesterday.” He wouldn't look at me.

“I wouldn't do that.”

He got to his feet. “Can we just practice?”

He strode ahead of me to the barn.
Grant's dad doesn't know him as well he thinks he does.
On the other hand, Grant couldn't be too upset or he wouldn't have come over to help me with Star.

That thought made me feel better, even though Grant stormed through the barn, banging the lid on the tack box as he pulled out Star's saddle and bridle.

I felt bad for the way our only practice had gone. I'd been too tough on him. I thought back to how many things I'd criticized:
Don't talk loud, don't pat, don't tighten the reins, don't . . .
It may not have been punishment, but it sure hadn't been praise.

Think of people as horses.
At church Ralph had said, “All God's creatures need praise.” Watching Grant slam the saddle down, I wondered if I'd ever seen anybody who needed praise more than he did. I wished I could have that practice back.

Eager Star walked in, and that's when I got an idea. I didn't need to practice on Grant's horse. Maybe we'd have time for a do-over after all. “Grant, why don't you start working out with your horse? I'd like to try something.”

“You're the boss.” He didn't sound too happy about that.

I led Star to the pasture, then handed the rope to Grant. “Drop the leadrope and walk away.”

He did, and his horse stayed while he brought out the tack.

“Well, praise him! He stood still for you.”

“I don't know how to praise him!” He said it like I'd asked him to slow dance with me.

“Good boy, Star!” I nodded for Grant to say it.

“Good boy, Star,” he said, with one-tenth my enthusiasm.

“That wasn't so bad!”

I made him praise Star five times as we tacked up. By the fifth time, he sounded like he meant it. “He's not a bad-looking horse, is he?” He reached up to pet the bay, but Star jerked his head back, remembering the slap.

“Tell
him
,” I urged.

Grant almost grinned. “You're kind of handsome.” This time the bay stood still and let himself be scratched.

“You're good with him,” I said. “Star likes you.”

“You think?” He scratched Star's withers. “You like that, don't you?” I had a feeling he'd never talked to a horse before, except to scold him.

Grant's mount didn't go much better than the night before, but he kept his cool and didn't raise his voice.

“You two are doing fine!” I called as he settled in the saddle. Star had the jitters, and I thought about taking over. I had the race to worry about. But instead, I taught Grant a calm-down cue that had worked for me with the bay. “When Star tenses up like that, lift one rein. Pull back, but not too much. Good job, Grant!”

As soon as I said it, Grant seemed to relax too.

“Now, when Star drops his head to get out of the pressure, relax your rein.”

Almost on command, Star dropped his head. Grant released the rein at exactly the right moment. Star calmed down instantly.

“Way to go, Grant! Praise Star, and do it again whenever you feel him tense.”

“If you say so.” Grant didn't sound convinced, but he repeated the cue a dozen times in the next hour until Star stopped fighting him. “Good boy, Star!” He reached down and scratched his horse's neck.

Lizzy brought out granola bars, which we scarfed down so we could get back to Star.

We worked our way over to the barrels. Still mounted, Grant walked Star through the pattern, then trotted, making wide loops. It was hard to believe that this horse and rider were the same ones who'd struggled against each other less than 24 hours ago. Grant praised Star at every turn, and Star obeyed every cue. They took the pattern in a canter. Then Grant galloped Star through the whole thing.

“You two are great!” I screamed as they crossed the finish line, Star not even sweating.

Grant leaned forward to stroke his horse. “Good boy, Eager Star!” It was the first time he'd called his horse that.