Made That Way (13 page)

I go back to make a deal with Stephanie and Taylor. And, as it seems necessary, with Brooklyn.

Kansas is standing at the stall door. She's holding Bernadette in her arms and she's looking at Taylor and Brooklyn with total disbelief. “Who woulda thought?” she says. She cuddles Bernadette against her chest and the puppy reaches up and licks her chin. It's weird, but I feel a bit jealous. Kansas used to take care of me, and now she's all focused on a puppy.

Stephanie says, “Sylvia wants to share Brooklyn with Taylor.”

I say, “Not exactly—”

But Kansas says, “Fine with me. We talked about this in the hospital, about Taylor taking up riding instead of dancing.”

“We did?” says Taylor.

“You were stoned,” I tell her. And I know I would sound too selfish if I talked about how I wasn't sure I wanted to share Brooklyn, and that I wanted him all for myself. Instead I tell Kansas that I want to learn to jump, and I want to ride cross-country, because that has always been my dream.

Kansas puts Bernadette on the ground. The puppy does a staggering trot down the length of the alleyway, looking much like Brooklyn did when he was pretending to be lame. I expect Kansas to argue with me. I expect her to lecture me on how important flatwork is. Instead she says, “Electra can teach you to jump. After that we can see if Brooklyn here has any talent for it.”

And Brooklyn says, “Haw haw haw.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“Doing the right thing isn't always easy,” says the unicorn.

“I know that,” I tell him. “Maybe I'm just not good at sharing. Brooklyn was going to be mine. Now I see he likes my cousin best.”

“And you think you owe her.”

“Yeah.”

We're sitting under a tree in the shade. Well, I'm sitting. The unicorn is lying down beside me. His head is on my lap. I'm stroking the bit where his horn used to be. When he stops talking he makes a kind of purring sound.

He lifts his head and looks at me with one eye. “What if you didn't owe her? What if she'd cut off her toe some other way? What if you had nothing to do with any of her problems? How would things be different?”

I think about this carefully. Without Stephanie menacing me, would I have agreed to share Brooklyn with her? And I'm surprised to realize that yes, I probably would. I guess I love Taylor. I sigh.

“This isn't over,” says the unicorn.

“What?”

But before he can answer, I wake up, because the phone is ringing and ringing in the kitchen and no one else is getting up to answer it. For some reason the answering system doesn't kick in. It's on about the fiftieth ring when I pick it up.

“Oh Pipsqueak, is that you?”

“Oh hi Grandpa.”

“Did I get you up? Oh blast, I forgot the time change, it must be really early out there, I'm sorry, I'll call back later and talk to your mom.”

“It's okay, Grandpa. It's nice this time of day.” I check the clock on the microwave. It's 5:30. I haven't been up this early in my entire life.

“I wanted to talk to your mom about how things are going with . . . er . . . your horse,” says Grandpa.

“You can talk to me about that, Grandpa. I am fourteen,” I remind him, in case he's forgotten again.

“Oh dear,” says Grandpa. “It's just that I took Travis on a drive yesterday and we stopped by his farm. Travis is in long term care now, and he's not enjoying it very much. The food is terrible. His son is running the farm, that's his youngest son, his name escapes me right now, but it doesn't matter, it will come back to me. Not the oldest son, who's kind of a lazy-bones if you ask me, though of course Travis never says so much, but I can read between the lines. Not that I've ever really taken to the younger one either, the sneaky little bastard—”

“Grandpa?”

“Yes Pipsqueak?”

“What about Brooklyn?”

“That's what I was getting to,” says Grandpa. “So when we drove up to the farm, we stopped at the house, but then Travis didn't like that and of course he still can't walk very well, so he told me to drive around to the barn. When we got there he looked out into the paddock and said, ‘What's Brooklyn doing here, I thought you sent him to your granddaughter?'”

My heart is pounding so loud I'm sure even Grandpa can hear it down the end of the phone line.

“We sent you the wrong animal,” says Grandpa. “His son did it. I told him to send Brooklyn, the grey, but he sent the other grey. He said it was a misunderstanding, but we know he wanted to be rid of him. He'd been chasing the cows. Well, and the dogs, the cats, anything really. He sent you the hinny.”

“Grandpa, I know that Brooklyn's a hinny. My veterinarian told me. I don't mind. Really. Hybrids are the way of the future.”

“Are you sure, Pip? Because I'd pay to have him shipped back home to Saskatchewan.”

“Oh you can't do that, Grandpa. He and Taylor have bonded. Taylor's going to share him with me. It will be fine. There are more important things than my becoming an Olympic equestrian. And Kansas says I can take jumping lessons on Electra for a while.”

Grandpa is silent for a long time. Then he says, “Well, Sylvia, I admire you for that, but you want to be a rider and you want your own horse. I imagine Taylor wants a pet, and the hinny will do just fine for that.” He coughs, and tells me he has to put the phone down while he gets a glass of water. I'm pleased that when he comes back on the line, he remembers what we were talking about and picks up right where we left off. “I just remembered something. You and Taylor will have to be careful—Travis told me the hinny bites some people, but only if they've offended him.”

“Like the transport truck driver,” I remind him.

“He bit the driver?” says Grandpa. I guess he's forgotten, though this isn't the sort of thing I'd expect to slip someone's mind. Maybe he's repressed the memory—that's what Mom would say. She'd say he felt so guilty about sending me a horse that bit people, that he'd delete the memory, or at least move it to the trash bucket, like on the computer, she said, trying to make a metaphor that was understandable for me and going overboard as usual.

“Maybe I didn't tell you, Grandpa,” I say, so he doesn't feel stupid.

“I think I should talk to your mom, Pipsqueak,” says Grandpa. “You're a rider, I know you are. You don't want a pet.”

“We can't afford to board two horses, Grandpa. And Auntie Sally doesn't have any money.”

“No, she never does,” says Grandpa with a big sigh. “But Travis really wants you to have this horse of his. He says he's too good a horse to be wrecked by his son. And he wants Brooklyn to enjoy the benefits of belonging to a teenage girl at least once in his life.”

This confuses me for a few seconds, because I keep thinking that I already own Brooklyn, when in fact the horse named Brooklyn is still back in Saskatchewan. And then I find I can't bear to think about the possibility that my real horse, the one I was supposed to have, is still standing in field hundreds of miles away. A real horse, not a hybrid. It's too much. It makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time because I just can't see how it's possible.

“Put your mom on the phone, Pips,” says Grandpa.

“She's still sleeping, Grandpa. Could you phone back in four hours or so?”

“Four hours? Hell's bells, I really got it wrong this time didn't I? But sure, I can do that Pips. You go back to bed. Don't worry about anything.”

And then because I'm dying of curiosity, I ask him, “So, Grandpa, what's the hinny's real name?”

Grandpa groans. “Just a minute, it'll come to me,” he says. “Travis did tell me, he said, ‘Lord love a duck, they shipped . . . .' Oh it started with the letter S, I know that much, and it was a short name. Give me some time here.”

I can barely stand the tension, but I say, “It's okay, Grandpa. You can tell me another time. I think Taylor likes calling him Brooklyn.”

“But he knows his name, Pips, you can't go around changing names on an animal as smart as that one. It'll make him all depressed. Travis loved that hinny. He said he was like a boy on four hooves. He's a real character.”

“Yeah, we know that, Grandpa. He pretended to be lame.”

Grandpa barks out a laugh. “Oh Travis told me about that. He's got a few tricks up his sleeve, that one does.” He starts coughing again, and drops the phone on the counter. He's gone such a long time I worry that maybe I should be calling 911, though how I could do that with the line engaged I don't really know. But then Grandpa comes back, and his voice is all scratchy from coughing, and he says, “I got it, Pips. I remember his name. It's Spike.”

And I laugh, and tell him that's perfect, and I hang up the phone and go back to bed because there's someone I have to talk to about all of this before it's time to get up.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“Spike?” I say to the unicorn.

He nods his great head. “Wait until you meet the real Brooklyn,” he says. “He's magnificent. Well, for a hornless one.”

I look at him to see if he really hears what he said, because after all, he's hornless now too.

He notices. “It takes a lot more than a horn to make a unicorn,” he says. “I'm no less a unicorn because my horn came off than you are less a woman for not having ovaries.”

I consider this in silence for a while. I like the idea a lot. And then since we're being so friendly, I ask him. “Do you know how you really lost your horn?”

His head drops. “I told you already. I strayed. I sinned. I am paying the price.”

“My veterinarian said something about spirochetes and cross-species contamination.”

His head snaps up. “You mean it's possible I'm not being punished? I'm just infected?”

“That's what I figure.”

He trots an excited small circle around me. Then he bucks and breaks to a canter and the circle gets bigger. Then he's galloping and pretty soon he disappears over a hill and all I can hear is his silly bugling, the one that sounds like he's laughing.

And it occurs to me that I may never see him again. Even though he has annoyed me, intruded in my dreams, and made me mad, I feel a great wave of sadness.

I wake up. I feel sad until I rub the sore spot on my forehead and feel the lump is still there. My mom would say I've just distracted myself but I don't think so. I think I truly feel fine.

At breakfast I remind my mom again that she needs to make an appointment for me with the pediatrician so I can start on estrogen. The sooner I can get on real medication and stop drinking Electralytes, the better. Mom tells me she'll phone first thing Monday morning. Then I tell her that Grandpa phoned and that he said he would phone her back but given his short-term memory problems, maybe she should call him instead.

“What short-term memory problems?” says Mom, and after a few seconds I see that she's kidding. Having a new car has done wonders for her. Or maybe it was the guided visualization.

“They shipped me the wrong horse,” I tell her.

She looks over her shoulder to make sure Dad isn't coming down the hall, then sits down at the table with me. “They what?”

“Brooklyn's still back in Saskatchewan. They sent Spike by mistake.”

“Oh no,” says Mom.

“It's okay,” I tell her. “Spike is going to help Taylor adjust to not being able to dance. They've bonded.”

“But what about you, Sweetie? You want your own horse.”

I shrug. What else can I do?

“All those dreams you have,” says Mom. “About galloping and jumping.” She takes my hand. I never thought she paid attention to my dreams. I didn't think she listened. I find myself getting all choked up.

“Summer's over anyway,” I manage to say. “I'll be fine. And Taylor needs some help.”

Mom looks doubtful and proud at the same time. She leans over and kisses me on the forehead, barely missing the sore spot, then ruins it all by saying, “It takes a person with a very strong sense of self to make a sacrifice like this.”

I ride my bike to Kansas's place. Spike is in the big paddock with the other horses when I get there, though Hambone isn't letting him near the mares. He's off to the side, grazing all by himself. Kansas is giving Dr. Cleveland a riding lesson. Braveheart is pretty amazing, but I don't think he's easy to ride. When he canters, Dr. Cleveland's bum comes right out of the saddle and crashes back in again with each stride. Kansas tells her she's doing a good job though, and Braveheart doesn't seem to mind. I know if I did this on Electra she'd have a hissy fit, and who knows what Spike would do. Probably he'd reach around and rip my leg out with his teeth.

After a while I notice that Spike must have grown bored eating by himself, because he's trotting off towards the other horses. Before he can get close Hambone rounds up the girls who don't seem at all unhappy to be taken to another corner of the pasture. It's so much like how Amber and Topaz keep everyone away from me at school that I get a lump in my throat. I glare at Hambone. I want to yell at him. Then I notice that Hambone's tail is clamped tight against his bum. His ears are half-back, and I realize that he's actually afraid of Spike. There's no reason to be afraid, Spike's too small to be a threat. He's just different, that's all.

This insight puts a whole new spin on my social difficulties at school.

I wander across the yard, open the gate and slip into the paddock. For fun, I call out for Brooklyn and he doesn't even react. Then I shout, “Spike!” and he whips his head up and laughs at me. So I guess he does know his name. But he doesn't run for the gate, not like he would do if it was Taylor calling him.

I'm feeling kind of sad about everything, so I go back to the barn for a shot of Electralytes. The stuff hasn't improved with age, and Kansas finds me spitting into the sink with the bottle in my hand.

“Has that stuff gone off?” she asks grabbing the bottle from me. “You'd think they would've put enough sugar and preservatives in it to stop that.” She takes a deep sniff before I can stop her. “Holy crap,” she says, pouring it into the sink. I watch it swirl away down the drain, and I'd probably be feeling totally hopeless except I remember what the unicorn said about being no less a woman.

I tell Kansas what Grandpa told me about Spike, including the bit about him chasing dogs, which kind of worries me. But Kansas says this is fine. Bernadette will learn to stay out of Spike's paddock, and he can focus on keeping the place free of strays.

Dr. Cleveland comes in and puts her saddle on the rack in her locker. “That was fantastic, Kansas,” she says. “The best lesson ever.”

Kansas nods politely. “You're making great progress, Kelly, you'll be back in shape in no time.”

“Oh do you really think so?” says Dr. Cleveland.

“Oh yes,” say Kansas and I at the same time.

Kansas picks up a small white tub from the counter by the sink. “That vet dropped off this ointment for your pony's face.” I can tell she still hasn't forgiven Dr. Bashkir for knowing Declan. Adults are too weird.

“It's for horn loss,” I say.

“Oh, I don't think so,” says Kansas.

“Unless you mean the hoof capsule,” says Dr. Cleveland.

I decide not to correct them. Maybe I do have a strong sense of self.