Midnight Mystery: 4 (Winnie the Horse Gentler) (7 page)

Barker rode up as I was jiggling my bike into the rack. “Winnie!” Barker has the best smile, but even it couldn’t get me to smile back. “How’s Nickers? You’re going to love being a circus greeter!”

“Ramon’s helping me with the bow.” I waited for Barker while he did his bike lock. I didn’t have one. People don’t steal backward bikes.

“The Colonel said my brothers could be butchers in the Ashland Circus. That’s what they call people who sell junk at intermission. Maybe Lizzy would like to do it too.”

As usual, a group of the popular kids stood outside, blocking the middle school entrance. Students and their cliques aren’t that different from the Mustang herds Mom and I got to observe one summer. Horses in one herd stick together, almost never letting a strange horse in.

Summer Spidell reigned as queen of the popular “herd” at our school. I glanced at her, flanked by the two most popular boys in school, Grant and Brian. Summer wore designer jeans that looked as different from my jeans as a formal from a nightgown. Grant Baines was okay for a popular kid. I’d worked with his problem Quarter Horse.

Salena, a.k.a. Sal, waved at me with no-finger black gloves. Her red hair had a black streak in it, and I could see her fake lashes from yards away. She’s okay though.

Hawk—Victoria Hawkins to her popular friends—came down the steps to meet Barker and me. Before I helped her with her horse, Towaco, Hawk used to act like she didn’t know me at school. We have a funny relationship, but I think of her as a friend.

“I hear you are in the circus, Barker.” Hawk wore leather pants and a matching jacket, black like her long, straight hair. I’m not sure what percentage American Indian she is.

“You should sign on as a greeter, like Winnie did.” Barker turned to me.

I felt bad. I should have called Hawk about the circus. But I hate the phone. It’s hard enough to talk to people when you can see their reactions. “We’ll get Catman to ask the Colonel,” I said. “You and Towaco would be great! We could have fun, Hawk.”

She glanced over her shoulder at her friends. “Maybe not.”

We were quiet for a minute.

“Victoria!” Summer shouted from the steps. “You have to hear this!”

“See you,” Hawk said, trotting back to her herd.

I started up the steps, with Barker behind me.

“Why would he wear that ridiculous costume?” Summer was saying between giggles. “Besides, have you ever heard of an African-American clown? I didn’t think they liked to paint their faces.”

I shouldn’t have been surprised. Summer has rotten things to say to and about everybody. But this felt worse, maybe because of the race slam, or maybe because Barker never had a rotten thing to say about anybody, not even Summer. I hurried inside, hoping Barker would hurry too, and that he hadn’t heard what Summer had said. If Barker hadn’t been there, I might have gone straight over and gotten in Summer’s face.
Didn’t think
they
liked to paint their faces?
I felt like painting
her
face.

Barker went ahead to class, but I made a side trip to the bathroom. While I was in a stall, I heard Summer walk in with Sal. I could pick her voice out of a lineup of the world’s snottiest females.

“Tell me the truth, Sal,” Summer whined. “Do I look fat in these jeans?”

Summer Spidell couldn’t have looked fat if she’d wanted to.

“Those jeans are tight!” Sal exclaimed. “As in, they rock, Summer!”

They must have been standing by the mirrors, only a few feet away from my stall.

“I still can’t get over it!” Summer sniveled. “Is it even possible to gain three pounds in two weeks? Maybe there’s something wrong with me.”

Talk about the understatement of all time!

“Has anybody said anything to you?” Summer insisted. “It’s my stupid grandmother’s fault. She baked cakes and cookies.”

Sal laughed. “You can’t even notice, Summer!”

I heard the bathroom door open and Summer mutter as they left, “I hope you’re right.”

I hustled to English and slid in next to Barker. If our teacher, Ms. Brumby, said anything noteworthy during class, I didn’t note it. All I could think about was Dad. I imagined him in the car on the way to the airport, at the ticket counter, at the gate. In my next two classes I pictured Dad flying through gray clouds on his way to Chicago.

My last class before lunch was life science. Pat Haven had been our substitute teacher since the first day of class. I hoped the regular teacher never came back from wherever he went to “find himself,” as our principal had told us.

Pat leaned on her desk. She looked like a cowgirl in her denim skirt and red-checked shirt. “Guess what! I’m about to give you the best assignment you ever got!”

Groans broke out at the word
assignment.

Pat grinned. “You’re going to the circus!”

Summer objected. “No way!”

“You’ll each write a report on a circus animal,” Pat continued. “Colonel Coolidge’s circus is one of the few that treat animals with respect. Why, he rescued most of those critters from other circuses or zoos. Plus, he’s graciously giving us promo tickets! So you get in free Thursday or Friday, when the show moves to Ashland!”

“Cool!” exclaimed Kaylee, a pretty girl who looked like she’d been born in China, but spoke better English than I did.

“Sounds good to me,” Grant said.

“No it doesn’t!” Summer griped. “Not if it’s the same Podunk circus I saw in Loudonville.”

Catman’s great-grandfather’s circus was
not
Podunk. I glanced over at Barker. He was staring at his desk, and I
knew
he’d heard Summer on the steps. I couldn’t stand that she’d gotten to him. Eddy Barker is about the nicest person I’ve ever met.

I should have said something. I should have stood up for Barker, for Catman, for the circus. I opened my mouth and could feel my throat close off, daring me to try to get words out. So I didn’t even try.

At lunch, Barker didn’t talk much more than Catman. M joined us. I don’t know what
M
stands for. He’s in my English class, always wears black, and rarely speaks, except for the time he blew everybody away in a class debate we had on abortion. Most of the time he makes Catman look talkative.

“Barker?” I asked while he and I ate our sandwiches and Catman and M gobbled cafeteria macaroni with barbeque on day-old buns. “What do you think of Jimmy Green Dinglehopper?”

“He’s something,” Barker admitted. “He’s thrown me a couple of curves from the bleachers. I told him I wasn’t sure Chico was ready for the jumping trick. But it worked out.”

I gave Catman an I-told-you-so look.

“Hey, Barker!” Summer Spidell leaned back from her table right behind ours. “Are you going to be a clown in the Ashland circus?” She sounded like she might break into laughter any second.

Barker wadded up his lunch bag. Then he got his smile back. “Yeah, I am, Summer.”

“A real circus clown—right here in our own cafeteria!” Summer exclaimed, grinning at Brian next to her. “Winnie, are you joining the circus too?”

I’d have bet money she already knew the answer. I scooted closer to her and said as sweetly as if I’d been Lizzy and meant it, “Yes I am. Thanks for asking! Oh, and Summer, the circus asked me to talk to you. They’d like you to think about joining up.”

In spite of herself, a smug, self-satisfied look crossed Summer’s face. “The circus wants
me?”

“Yep,
you!
Colonel Coolidge says what the Ashland circus really, really needs is—” I leaned in closer, so only Summer could hear—“a fat lady!”

The last sound I heard as I exited the cafeteria was Summer’s shrill gasp. It felt good to see Summer Spidell finally swallow a dose of her own medicine . . . even if I knew I’d feel a little guilty later.

Hawk was already at Pat’s Pets when I got there after school. Her Indonesian parrot, a red chattering lory with bright green-and-yellow wings, actually left her shoulder and flew to me.

“Hey, Peter!” I cooed. Hawk had named him Peter Lory after an actor she liked to watch in old scary movies.

“Hey!”
Peter squawked.
“Peter good bird!”
He deserted me for Hawk when she walked up.

“Winnie, I believe it is wonderful that you and Nickers will perform in Ashland’s circus.” Hawk could teach English to the English. She pronounces each word razor sharp.

“Do you, Hawk?” I wish she’d said so in class or the cafeteria today.

She nodded. “Come, Peter! Good-bye, Winnie.”

Hawk left, and I read over Barker’s shoulder as he answered the dog e-mails on the Pet Help Line. He was on his last question:

Dear Barker,

I love my German shepherd, Togo, but he plays too rough! He knocks me down if I don’t open the door or set down his food dish fast enough. He’s too bossy! What can I do?

—Dave the dog lover

Barker bit his bottom lip, then typed:

Dear dog lover,

You need to think like a dog! Declare yourself leader of the pack. Sounds like Togo has the role now. Don’t be bossy though. Just take control. Refuse to give him everything he wants when he wants it. Make him sit before you let him outside. When he does, pet him and let him out. Same with the food. He’ll be happier, and so will you!

—Barker

Barker swiveled around and grinned at me. “Want to see Catman’s latest advice?”

“You bet!” I loved reading what Catman wrote to people about their cats.

Oh, Catman!

My cat, Priscilla, loves everybody . . . except my boyfriend, Tray. Tray really tries, too. He calls my kitty, picks her up, everything. I thought maybe Priscilla knew something I didn’t, so I broke up with Tray. Now he won’t even speak to me. Help!

—Miss Kitty

Catman had written:

Like, chill, Miss Kitty!

Your boyfriend blew it by trying too hard with Pris. If he played hard-to-get, ignoring your kitty, Pris would come right to him. If you want Tray back, follow Pris’s lead. Ignore him. On the other paw, Pris may be hip to something we don’t know about Tray. I’d stick with Pris. Cats don’t borrow money from you or drive too fast.

—Catman

Before I tackled the horse e-mails, I ran a computer search on Jimmy Green Dinglehopper. I tried all possible names, from Jimmy Green to James Dinglehopper. I used five search engines and came up with the same answer: no such person.

That clown was not who or what he claimed to be. I raced through my e-mails, saving the most interesting for last:

Dear Winnie the Horse Gentler,