Eager Star (7 page)

“Lizzy?” came the voice at the other end. “Didn't it rock today when—?”

“This isn't Lizzy,” I interrupted.

“Ohhh,” said the disappointed caller.

“I'll get her.”

The phone rang all evening, each call for Lizzy. I stopped answering after the third call. I couldn't stand disappointing anyone else.

The next day, Thursday, I woke up determined to give school another chance. I arrived on Lizzy-time and took a seat in Ms. Brumby's classroom.

Summer made her entrance, flanked by three girls who laughed at everything she said.

Hawk trailed them silently, with barely a glance at me.

“Honestly,” Summer was saying to her adoring crowd, “if anyone ever saw me without makeup, I swear I'd transfer right out of this school!”

Note to self: Do
everything within your power to see Summer Spidell without makeup.

Ms. Brumby led a discussion on the purpose of nursery rhymes as groundwork to our study of Shakespeare and the world's great poets. I was determined to make a comment. Twice I raised my hand, but she called on Grant. And he gave an answer that sounded 10 times as smart as mine would have.

We moved through the cat and the fiddle, the mouse up the clock, and the spider beside her.

Come on, Winnie. You have to say something. Time's running out.

“At last . . .” Ms. Brumby checked her gold watch that matched everything else she had on. “We come to ‘Humpty Dumpty.'”

Kids picked up notebooks and backpacks, waiting for the buzzer.

“Now, class, don't disappoint me,” coaxed Ms. Brumby. “‘Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.' Anyone . . . ?”

Grant slipped on his backpack.

Now was my chance. I might not get another one. I raised my hand.

“Winifred?” Ms. Brumby's head moved slightly side to side, as if warming up for being shaken no.

I
had
to say something. “I think he was pushed!” I blurted.

A couple of kids laughed out loud.

Why did I say that?
But now that I had, I had to back it up. “Yeah. Humpty Dumpty . . . he didn't fall. He was pushed! By all the king's men. And that part about the horses putting him back together? That's a cover-up, because how would horses do that?”

Summer giggled. Someone groaned.

Barker leaned over and whispered, “I thought that was good.”

Ms. Brumby's face looked like she'd eaten a rotten hedge apple. “These rhymes have survived throughout the ages, class. We shouldn't waste valuable time making fun of them.”

The buzzer rang, and I got out of there as fast as I could.

Pat's class was the only decent hour in the whole day. She brought up eternity again and got everybody trying to define
life
. Then she gave us an assignment to write a paper defining success in life.

Our math teacher gave out assignments like he thought his was our only class. After math, red-haired Sal introduced me to none other than Grant . . . again. And again he showed no sign of recognizing me.

After school I watched Catman answer e-mails, typing twice as fast as I can. And he only used his thumbs and pinkies.

Dear Catman,

My cat fell off the back of my chair and broke her hip! I thought cats always landed on their feet. Is my cat stupid?

—Feline2

Catman's answer came fast, with no mistakes:

Peace, Feline2,

No, man! Cats can't handle short falls. They dig long falls—more time to pull up the head, flip over, flatten, and use that tail for balance. Be careful with your feline, Cat!

—The Catman

His last e-mail read:

Hey, Catman!

My kitty thinks she's an alarm clock! She pounces on me at five every
A
.
M
. And she won't stop yowling until I get up and feed her. You gotta help! I fell asleep in school today!

—Kittykid

Far out, Kittykid!

You got yourself one smart kitty! She's trained you to feed her on command. Better stop feeding her at five. Praise her later when you do feed her. Tell your kitty to let sleeping cats lie!

—The Catman

I answered three quick questions about bridling a fussy horse, horse dieting, and giving a horse bath to a water-hating Tennessee Walker.

Pat read the screen. “Lands, I'd never come up with that in a month of Sundays! God was looking out for me the day you walked into this pet shop, Winnie!”

I bit the inside of my cheek. It felt good to have somebody think I did something right.

The bell announced a customer. Pat squinted toward the door, then strode to the front. “Well, will you lookie here what the cat dragged in, no offense! How's life treating you, Chubs?”

The tall, parent-aged man in gray slacks and a white shirt didn't look chubby. He grinned down at Pat. “Nobody's called me Chubs for a long time, Pat.” They fell into easy conversation, and I went back to e-mails.

I'd almost finished when Pat put her hand on my shoulder. “This here's Winnie Willis! You're in luck, Chubs! Good horse gentlers are scarcer than hens' teeth, no offense!”

The man looked disappointed. “How old are you?”

“Twelve,” I admitted, my voice cracking.

He cleared his throat, then shook his head like Ms. Brumby did when she expected me to say something stupid.

“Now, Chubs!” Pat chided. “Don't go looking a gift horse in the mouth! No offense. Winnie, this is Chubby Baines, a school chum of mine back in the Stone Age.” Pat flicked a curl off her forehead. “He runs that store on Baney Road.”

“Chad
Baines,” he corrected.

“I've been telling Chubs all about you,” Pat explained.

“You have?” I glanced from one to the other.

“He's gotten himself into a real pickle, haven't you, Chubs?” Pat teased.

Chad Baines tugged his ear. “I bought a horse for my boy—good Quarter Horse gelding.”

“He bought him off old Mrs. Reed,” Pat interrupted. “Her husband and mine used to do business. Any-who, she had two horses. Chubs got one. Spider Spidell bought the other, a chestnut mare.”

I nodded. So far I wasn't getting this.

“Spider's horse is no better than mine!” Mr. Baines insisted like I'd just said it was. “Although to hear Spider tell it, he got the bargain and I got the lemon.”

“Can't I just hear the two of you going at it!” Pat exclaimed. “These boys competed over everything in school! Basketball, football, girls! And they haven't outgrown that nonsense, have you, Chubs?”

Mr. Baines's face flushed. “We got carried away. One thing led to another, and we ended up with a showdown. We gave ourselves one week to practice. Then his horse is going up against mine in a barrel race.”

I cleared my own throat. “But you got a good horse, right?”

“I did!” Baines insisted. “Only the fool horse has gone downhill since we brought it home. The more my son rides that gelding, the worse it gets. He can't even get his leads anymore. I hate to think I really did buy a lemon. A week from Saturday we go up against Spidell's little girl. If she wins, I'll never hear the end of it.”

Pat chuckled. “Chubs couldn't exactly take the horse to Stable-Mart for training! So he dropped in on his old classmate for help. And I told him he needs to hire you!”

My heart sped up like a trotting horse in a harness race.
Hire me? Thank you, God!

Mr. Baines handed me his business card. “I'll pay your monthly fee for just over a week's work if you can get this horse competition-ready.”

My throat went dry. A month's pay! “Yeah!” I sounded like a stupid kid instead of a businesswoman, but I didn't care. I had another client! Something good to tell Dad. I tried to focus on what Mr. Baines was saying.

“Then I'll bring him over to your place tonight, if that's all right.”

“Tonight?” My brain tried to rein in the information.

“Good.” He nodded, and Pat escorted him to the door.

Barker came over, holding three white puppies that reminded me of Lizzy's old battery toy dog that barked and turned back flips. “Way to go, Winnie! Are Quarter Horses hard to train?”

“Not usually. And they're naturally fast—fastest horse for the quarter mile. So the speed should be there for the barrel race.”

“Especially if the horse just races barrels.” Catman had sneaked up on us.

“Funny, Catman.” I gave him my crooked grin. “Haven't you guys seen horses race a cloverleaf pattern around three barrels? Best time wins.”

I wasn't crazy about barrel racing or any racing. God built horses to run all out only when they're frightened, the flee response. Making them compete forces horses to strain.

“So when's the dude delivering the horse?” Catman asked.

When
is
he delivering the horse?
I tried to replay what Mr. Baines said.
Tonight?

“Tonight!” I screamed, toppling the computer chair as I jerked up. “I have to get home! The stall, the barn. The yard! Dad's mess!”

Barker wanted to help, but his parents were picking him up to help move Great-granny Barker in with them. That meant Lizzy would be babysitting.

I yelled thanks to Pat and started home.

Catman followed me without a word. The sun hung low in the sky as we walked our bikes over the unmown grass through our littered yard.

“Found it!” Dad bounced up from a pile of metal. He held up a piece of coated wiring. “Catman! For the back-bike horn!”

“Cool!” Catman ogled the stupid wire.

I stepped over tires, small appliances, and machine guts to reach the rusted-out washing machine Dad called his worktable. “Dad, I got a new client!”

“That's great, Winnie!” Dad twisted the wire into a funnel that already had enough wires sticking out of it to light up Ashland.

“Try this.” Catman handed Dad a paper clip.

“A paying customer!” I continued.

“Good for you!” Dad dropped to all fours and felt in the grass. “Another horse?”

No, an elephant. Winnie the Elephant Gentler.

I paced the yard, kicking spokes, pipes, and all kickable junk out of my way. I dumped toasters, grills, and other “works-in-progress” behind the house.

“Got it!” Catman held up the funnel, now attached to a tiny black box. He pressed a button, and out came
meow! MEOW!

“Meow?” I imagined biking backwards while meowing.

“Churchill's voice,” Catman explained.

Dad looked as if he'd just invented the Internet. “But it could say
woof
or
neigh
or
oink
. . .”

Which are so much less embarrassing.

I gave up on the yard and headed for the barn. Nickers gave me a warm nicker. I nuzzled her long enough to calm down and shoot up a prayer.
Thanks for Nickers
.
And thanks for the new client. You know how much I want to impress Mr. Baines and his son. Could you show me how I should act around them?