Eager Star (3 page)

Once in the street, I hopped on the bike, which looks normal. It goes forward, but only when you pedal backwards, which is what I did as fast as I could.

“Towaco!” For two blocks I called, but no sign of him. I sniffed. The sweet smell of manure let me know I was on the right track.

In front of Pat's Pets, I slammed on the brakes—first backward, making me go faster, then frontward. Pat Haven had given me a job working the computer pet help line. That was where I got to know Barker and Catman. Pat hired them for the help line too. She'd help me find Towaco.

The door opened, and down the steps came Catman Coolidge, walking like he was made of rubber. Catman's a year older than I am, but he looks a lot older. With his long, wavy blond hair, fringed flairs, and tie-dyed shirt, he looked like a hippie from the 60s and 70s.

“Catman!” I shouted.

He squinted his amazing Siamese-blue, cat-shaped eyes from behind gold, wire-rimmed glasses and held up a two-fingered
V,
the peace sign. Usually he wears sandals, but today he was barefoot.

“Catman, I lost Hawk's horse!”

“Far out,” he said, no hint of a grin.

I walked the bike to him. “If I don't find that horse fast, Hawk might take him back to Stable-Mart. And Towaco—”

Catman raised one finger to shush me. “Found him.”

“What—?” But I stopped.

A car honked, then another, long and angry. The honking was coming from Claremont and Main, the busiest intersection in Ashland.

“Barker!” Catman whistled through his fingers.

Around the corner came Eddy Barker, led by three dogs that looked like a canine version of The Three Bears—big, middle-sized, and wee. Barker wore a Cleveland Indians baseball cap backwards and shades. His skin was the color of the big, chocolate Lab straining at the leash. “Winnie! Horse! Downtown!”

I dropped my bike and took off running, praying Towaco would be okay. Barker's dogs barked at my heels. Catman passed me. Horns blared.

We rounded the corner. There in the exact center of the intersection stood Towaco, statue still, as if he couldn't hear the horns.

But I knew he heard them.

Crowds gathered on the sidewalk, some shouting, some laughing. I wanted to cry for Towaco.

“Careful, Winnie!” Barker called.

I was still weaving among cars when I saw Catman ahead, circling the air with his peace sign. Miraculously one car pulled out of line, circled back, and drove off. The next car did the same, and the next, clearing out a whole lane.

Meanwhile Barker and his dogs moved back and forth, calming traffic like a crossing guard.

I inched toward Towaco. “You're a brave horse!”

Towaco's glassy eyes stared past me. He didn't flinch when I took hold of his halter.

“You're a good horse for standing still.” Mom taught me you can always find something to praise a horse for.

Ninety-nine percent of the horses I meet will follow me, but Towaco's legs seemed glued to the street. One problem Hawk wanted me to work her horse through was balking.

So is this my chance, God?

Someone yelled out a car window. I glanced up in time to see Catman raise his thumb and pinkie, the Hawaiian sign for “hang loose.”

“Think about something else, Towaco.” Gently I tucked the tip of his ear under the top of his halter. It wouldn't hurt, but it could make him wonder.

After a few seconds, Towaco's eyes came back into focus. He shook his head. The ear flicked up. I had my chance, and I took it, tugging him sideways. He followed me, switching flies with his tail as if nothing else mattered.

“Thanks!” I yelled to Barker and Catman as they handled the last of the traffic.

And thanks, God!

I led Towaco past Pat's Pets to my street. Winnie the Horse Gentler was back in business!

Or not.

There in our yard was my dad, arms folded. Next to him stood Summer, hands on hips. Hawk was wiping away tears. And Hawk's mother glared at me as if I were a horse thief. Looming at the curb was the trailer, tailgate down and ready, waiting to take Towaco away.

Hawk hugged her horse while Mrs. Hawkins checked the gelding for injuries.

Lizzy did most of the talking for my side, while Dad made little disapproving noises that made my stomach ache.

When she'd finished her inspection, Hawk's mom turned to Hawk. “Your horse seems to be in one piece, Victoria. Shall we load him?”

My grip tightened on Towaco's halter. “Please, Hawk.” My voice cracked, and I swallowed. “I'm so sorry! It won't happen again.”

Summer made a
harrrumph
.

Mrs. Hawkins, who looks more like a brown-haired Summer than she does Hawk, glanced at the pasture, then back to her daughter. “I think we should move the horse back to Stable-Mart, but I'll leave the decision to you.”

“Hawk, I can help Towaco. I know I can! Please give me another chance.” Inside I was making the same plea to God.

“You won't be sorry!” Lizzy promised. “You know Winnie rocks with horses!”

Hawk stroked Towaco under his mane. He'd relaxed so much his eyelids almost shut when she scratched him. She kept silent a full minute before she spoke. “Towaco can stay—but only if Wild Thing stops frightening him!”

I fought the urge to remind her that my horse's name is Nickers, not Wild Thing. But Hawk was saving my skin. “Thanks, Hawk!”

Mrs. Hawkins left with Hawk, Summer, and an empty trailer. I was getting a second chance, and I better not blow it. I needed another client, another horse to gentle. I sure couldn't afford to lose the one I already had.

Lizzy ran inside to get dinner.

Dad still hadn't said anything to me, if you don't count sighs. He followed me to the pasture and opened the gate. I knew it was costing him not to bawl me out. He didn't need to. I felt lousy enough. Lizzy says our dad is handsome for an old person, but I don't know. He's tall, thin, with curly black hair that gets pretty scraggly before he thinks about a haircut.

“Winnie . . .” Dad opened his mouth, then shut it. “Don't be long.”

I watched Dad shuffle away.

As soon as I turned Towaco loose, Nickers protested, snorting and squealing. Poor Towaco tried being friendly, backing off, squealing back—everything. But in Nickers' eyes, the Appaloosa could do nothing right.

I knew just how Towaco felt.

“I can't wait for school tomorrow!” Lizzy exclaimed as Dad and I munched quietly on the tuna patties she'd molded into turtles. “Remember that green shirt I haven't worn in a year? I stitched the collar down and hemmed it short. It rocks with my khakis! How about you, Winnie? What are you wearing your first day of seventh grade?”

“Haven't thought about it,” I answered truthfully.

“Winnie!” Lizzy cried. “How could you not have thought about it?”

I set down my fork and glanced at Dad. “Guess I was worried about other stuff.”

“What other stuff?” Lizzy demanded.

“Like . . . getting a reputation as a great horse gentler.”
One who doesn't lose horses anyway.

“Sweet!” Lizzy squeezed my arm. “A new school is like the perfect place for getting a reputation! You can be anybody you want! It's a do-over!”

A picture flashed into my mind of the only time I'd seen Mom thrown from a horse. She'd bought an abused buckskin off some horse trader. Lizzy toddled out to the training pen. Mom turned to see her, and that was all the excuse the buckskin needed. The mare bucked a series of hard, twisted kicks, and Mom flew to the dirt. She sat in the dust for several minutes. Then she got up, walked straight to that horse, looked her in the eyes, said “Do-over,” and got back on. The buckskin ended up being her favorite mount. It was the first horse Dad sold after Mom died.

“A do-over,” I repeated. In a way I'd been bucked off most of the schools we'd attended in the
I
states. Well, not really. I just never seemed to fit in. Making new friends had been so hard, it was just easier to do things alone.

Dad looked up. “Listen to Lizzy, honey.”

I knew what Dad was saying:
Be more like Lizzy this time—adored by teachers and students
. Dad had never gotten a call from one of Lizzy's teachers, asking him to come in and discuss
her
. Not that Dad didn't love me as much as Lizzy. I knew he did. Lizzy's just easier. Mom told me once that Dad had been so sure I'd be a boy, my name had almost been William. So I guess I'd disappointed him from day one.

“Bet lots of kids around here have horses,” Dad said, talking to Lizzy instead of me. “Some of them must have problems—the horses, I mean.” Dad turned to me. “But schoolwork comes first. Maybe taking on another horse would be too much.”

“No way! I've been working with Towaco, even while he was still at Stable-Mart. He's easy.” Anyway, Mom and I had gentled a dozen at once.

Dad sighed and scooted his chair back. “Well, I think I'll see if I can get my cat horn working, a little invention Catman and I are working on. Did you know that Einstein invented the cat door? Catman told me. Maybe I should give him a call and see if he wants to help.”

“Dad?” Lizzy scraped leftover tuna turtle into a plastic bag while I cleared the table.

“Maybe I should work on my automatic table-clearing machine,” Dad mumbled. “Did you know the dishwasher was invented by the wife of an Illinois politician, and not because she hated doing dishes? Her servants kept breaking her china and—”

Lizzy interrupted. “Dad, shouldn't you make calls first?”

Dad had just taken an extra job until one of his inventions caught on, or until he got more odd-job work like the projects already sitting in our yard. Mr. Spidell had turned him down on stocking the back bike at A-Mart. So my dad, who hadn't used a cellular phone since he quit his insurance job in Wyoming, had to call strangers and convince them life was not complete without a cell phone.

Dad's face sagged as if the muscles had snapped. “You're right.”

I wanted to make him feel better. “And you're right about school, Dad!” I forced a smile. “I'll make those teachers and kids crazy about me! Some of them are bound to hire me to gentle their horses! You'll see.”

But my mind shot photos to my brain of the kids at the last school, where everybody but me knew the secret codes.
This is in, that's not. That's cool, that's dumb.

“Too bad it's not a school for horses though,” I muttered when I thought Dad was out of hearing. “Horses are so much easier to understand than humans.”

Dad bounded back into the kitchen. “Eureka, Winnie! All you have to do is think of those students as horses! Teachers too, only I wouldn't let them know. Treat them like you do your horses, and they'll stampede to your barn!”