“So how was your day?” Dad asked.
“Good,” I said. “But I can’t wait to get this rock off my leg.”
“Mom said you put off your doctor’s appointment by a few days so you could help Josie tomorrow afternoon,” said Dad. “Is that right?”
My foot suddenly itched, and I wanted to rake my fingernails under my cast. “Yeah,” I said, still wondering if I’d made the right decision. Toulane’s words at the gym had shaken me.
“You’re a good friend,” Dad said.
“Thanks. But that’s not what Toulane would say,” I added.
“Why?” asked Dad, pausing for a moment to let Cooper sniff a bush. “What’s Toulane saying?”
“That I’ve lost my focus,” I said. “That I’m spending too much time on other things.”
Dad stopped and put his hand on my shoulder. He looked at my cast and then cracked up laughing. “You? Unfocused?” said Dad. “That’s pretty funny. You never miss practice, not even when you have a cast on.”
I didn’t laugh, but I liked the way Dad helped me feel better about myself.
“Don’t worry, McKenna,” he said. “You’ll get your strength back and be amazing again at the gym before you know it. And when you do, Toulane will probably complain that you’re getting too far ahead. You think?”
“Sounds about right,” I said.
Dad squeezed my hand, and we set off again.
When we passed the neatly trimmed hedges in front of my classmate Elizabeth Onishi’s house, I waved, just in case she was looking out the window. We passed other dogs and their owners and several bicyclists, and Dad said “hi” to everyone. We walked up to the neighborhood park and down again, past the warm lights of old two-story houses.
When we returned home, I hung up my scarf and jacket and then tried to walk quietly through the living room toward my bedroom. Mom was on the couch, sound asleep. No wonder she was tired. She’s at the coffee shop by four-thirty every morning!
I wanted to get a jump on the next chapter in my science textbook. I still wasn’t the strongest reader in fourth grade, but I’d made progress. Mr. Wu, my teacher, wasn’t worried anymore that I was falling behind in class, but I still knew that the harder the subject, the longer it took me to read it.
In my bedroom, I settled into the chair at my desk, tucked under my loft bed like a cozy cave. On the shelf beside my desk, Polka Dot, my brown and white hamster, scampered around and around on her wheel. Near my feet, Cooper settled onto his bed with a huge sigh.
“Was your day pretty hard?” I teased.
He wagged his tail.
“Napping, eating, chewing rawhide, taking a walk—it’s a tough life, isn’t it?” I asked.
Cooper closed his eyes, looking perfectly content.
I turned to Chapter Nine in my science book and read aloud to myself, one paragraph at a time. I paid extra attention to the first and last sentences, which often make the main points.
I had learned from Josie to pause after each paragraph and to visualize, or picture in my head, what I’d just read. That kept me from daydreaming about something else. Visualizing my reading wasn’t that much different, really, from going over my gymnastics routines in my head. Josie had helped me see that I had a strong imagination, and I could use it to help my reading just as I used it to help me with gymnastics.
I sniffed the air and wrinkled my nose. Something smelled terrible! “Is that why you’re running, Polka Dot?” I asked. “I’d try to escape that cage, too, when it stinks that bad!”
A knock sounded on my door. Before I could say anything, Mara and Maisey bolted in. “Will you help us with our handstands?” Maisey pleaded.
“Will you spot us?” Mara chimed in.
First the cage, now my sisters. “I’m trying to do my homework,” I huffed in irritation.
“Ple-e-e-ase?” the girls begged in unison. Sometimes I wonder if they practice that word together. When they join forces, it’s hard to go against them.
I decided I could turn this to my advantage. “Tell you what,” I said. “I’ll spot you if you help me clean Polka Dot’s cage, but not yet. I’ll take a study break in twenty minutes. Deal?”
“Deal!” my sisters agreed, and then they bounded back out the door.
Exactly twenty minutes later, the timer buzzed in the kitchen. Feet pattered back to my room. This time, Mara and Maisey were in their matching pink dinosaur pajamas.
“Mara, you watch Polka Dot, okay?” I said.
She nodded.
“Keep her from going behind my dresser,” I reminded her.
“I know, McKenna,” said Mara impatiently. “I’m watching her.”
Maisey and I emptied the old bedding from the cage into the garbage can. Then we took the cage to the laundry room tub and washed and dried it completely. From a large bag, we scooped fresh cedar chips into Polka Dot’s cage, lining the floor.
“I love this smell,” Maisey said.
I agreed. “So much better!”
Then we returned to my bedroom and set the cage back up with its wheel and food bowl in place.
Mara started giggling. “Polka Dot is tickling me!” she said. “She’s up my sleeve!”
“Polka Dot,” I announced, “your palace is ready!”
Mara leaned over the cage and shook out her pajama sleeve. I watched a bulge move down her arm, until Polka Dot slid out into the fresh chips below. She wandered around her cage, as if exploring a brand-new world.
“Okay, now I’ll help you two,” I said to my sisters. “Maisey, you first.”
As my sisters took turns doing handstands, I spotted them, supporting them with my hands along their backs or up at their ankles. “You two are getting better and better, you know that?” I said.
It felt good to help my sisters. And my room smelled much better now, too.
When I turned back to my science chapter, my brain felt more awake. I’d learned that sometimes it’s good to take a break from something difficult and return to it fresh. I put my visualization “powers” to work and pictured what I was reading. If I put my mind to it, I knew I could do it.
I hope that’s true for gymnastics, too, I thought as I wiggled my toes outside my cast. I hope, I hope, I hope…
Under a steady rain, Josie’s mom picked us up from school on Friday. I climbed into the backseat, where one bucket seat had been removed for Josie’s wheelchair. Josie wore braces on her legs, and her arms were crossed tightly.
“Are you cold?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“Still scared?” I asked.
“Yup,” she said. “But that’s why you’re coming along!” she added with a laugh.
I squeezed Josie’s hand. I hoped I could offer her a little coaching in courage, but the truth was, I didn’t know what to expect at the riding center either.
Mrs. Myers handed us a canvas bag filled with snacks and juice drinks. About 25 minutes out of Seattle—and after some serious munching on apples, cheese sticks, and chocolate-covered nuts—we turned onto a gravel drive under a log arch. The sign read: HEARTS and HORSES. Riders of all abilities welcome!
I noticed Josie reading the sign, too, and I elbowed her lightly. “All abilities, Josie,” I said. “That means those who have never been on a horse, too.”
Josie scrunched her shoulders up to her ears. She looked terrified.
Mrs. Myers found a parking space among a few dozen vehicles. As the van door slid open, I whispered, “Josie, breathe.”
“Right,” she said.
With the help of a hydraulic lift, Josie and her wheelchair swung out of the van and lowered slowly to the ground. I hopped out after her, my crutches under my arms.
The outdoor riding arena was empty, but it was raining, as usual, so I wasn’t surprised. In the distance, trees and hills framed a few fenced pastures and a cluster of large buildings.
We hustled through the double doors of the nearest building. From a red popcorn machine in the corner of the
lobby came the smell and sound of corn kernels popping. Beside it stood a water dispenser.
“Well, hello!” a white-haired woman greeted us from behind an office window. “I’m Irene. Everyone signs in here first.” Then she turned her gaze to Josie. “And you must be our newest rider, Josie Myers?”
Josie whispered to me, “Gulp.” But then in her usual confident voice she said, “That’s me!”
I felt extra close to Josie at that moment, knowing that she was allowing me to see her fears—the scared part of herself that she didn’t show everyone. It felt good to know that she trusted me.
“Here are a few forms to sign,” said Irene, passing clipboards to Josie and Mrs. Myers. “And visitors,” Irene said, waving me over to a thick book, “sign in here.”
When we completed our paperwork, Irene led us around the center. She showed us bathrooms, all handicap-accessible, and a huge, modern kitchen, which Irene said was designed for lots of cooks and potluck gatherings. Next, she walked us toward a wall of colorful riding helmets tucked into cubicles. “Let’s find a helmet that fits, Josie,” Irene said kindly.
With Irene’s help, Josie tried on several helmets and finally settled on a metallic purple one. “How do I look?” she asked me, grinning.
“Ready for anything,” I told her. “Purple’s your color.”
Then Irene pointed us toward a set of swinging doors. “That’s the arena,” she said. “Shannon, our director, is waiting for you in there. Have fun!”
The riding arena was a blur of activity. As I stepped inside, I instantly felt jittery, even though I wasn’t going to be riding. The sand-floored arena was filled with half a dozen horses and riders of all ages.
Most of the riders had lots of help. One person led each horse with a rope, and two people walked on either side of each rider. That meant Josie wasn’t going to be sent off alone on a galloping horse. Phew!
When I took a closer look at some of the riders, I sucked in my breath. One little girl’s arm ended at her elbow. Another rider’s back was curved like the letter C.
A part of me wanted to run back out the door. Then I remembered the day I’d first met Josie. I’d felt nervous and not sure what to say or do—until I got to know Josie better. Now, too, I just needed time to get used to what I was seeing and get to know the riders. I took a deep breath and kept walking.
Just inside the fence surrounding the arena, a teenage girl in jeans and red cowboy boots walked a small rust-colored horse with a flaxen mane and tail. It carried a blue-and-black-striped blanket and a silver-studded saddle, cinched around its wide belly.
As the horse neared us, Josie stopped her wheelchair beside the fence. “Oh, your horse is so cute!” she said to the teenage girl.
“She’s a sweetheart,” the girl agreed. She pulled a brown biscuit out of her pocket and handed it to Josie. “You can give her a treat, if you’d like—on the flat of your hand, though, so she doesn’t mistake your fingers for the treat.”
Josie looked at the biscuit in her hand. So did the horse. With a soft nicker and sweet eyes, she stretched her head toward Josie.
“Like this?” Josie asked, extending her hand slowly.
With velvety lips, the horse found the treat, and it quickly disappeared.
“She loves treats,” the teenager said. “You wouldn’t know it now, but when we first took this horse in, she was rib-bone thin.”
“That’s sad,” Josie said, stroking the horse’s forehead. “But you’re getting enough to eat now, aren’t you, girl?”
Standing behind Josie’s chair with Mrs. Myers, I giggled. “More than enough,” I joked.
“Myers?” came a big voice.
“Right here,” Mrs. Myers said with a wave.
Josie and I glanced up. From a wide platform, a woman with spiky blonde hair called, “Come on up!”
As Josie wheeled up the ramp with her mom’s help, I headed toward the bleachers, where other people were watching the riders. “McKenna, where are you going?” Josie called after me. “I need you!”
I grinned and carefully climbed the ramp with my crutches. Above the ramp, I noticed a huge board. It charted names of riders, horses, side-walkers, and leaders, plus days of the week and riding times. And there was Josie’s name, right next to “Pumpkin.”
I wished Josie could ride the horse she’d just met. What if this other horse wasn’t as nice?
When I reached the top of the platform, the blonde woman reached out her hand to me. “Welcome!” she said. “I’m Shannon, and I’m helping Josie get started here today.”
She turned back to Josie and said, “You’ll ride for an hour, and with each ride you’ll learn something new. Riding’s fun, but it’s much more than that. For our riders, it’s a sense of motion. With each step the horse takes, you’ll be flexing and strengthening your muscles, too. But first things first. Ready to meet your horse?”
“Okay,” Josie said hesitantly.
Shannon glanced toward an open sliding door. Beyond it I spotted several horses and ponies in stalls. They were haltered and saddled, ready to go. But Josie’s horse came from the other direction.
“Halley! Bring Pumpkin over!” Shannon called across the arena.
“Sure thing, Shannon,” said the teenager who was leading the rust-colored horse—the same horse that Josie had already met and fallen in love with! Josie and I exchanged an excited glance.
Holding the lead rope, Halley led the horse into the chute beside the mounting platform.
“Josie,” Shannon said, “meet Pumpkin.”
“Oh, we’ve already met!” Josie said happily.
“Great!” said Shannon. “And this is Halley, who’ll be leading your horse today.”
Halley smiled up at Josie. “This lead rope is attached to Pumpkin’s halter,” she said, “so you can just hang on to the saddle horn. You don’t need to use the reins yet—unless you want to.”
“And here are your side-walkers,” Shannon said, nodding toward a couple as they approached.
The man looked as if he had just come off a cattle drive. “Howdy!” he said, smiling and tipping his worn cowboy hat. “They call me Cowboy Bob.”
“And I’m his better half—his wife, Britta,” the round-faced woman said. “We’ll be at your side, with a hand on each leg.”
“Thanks,” Josie said. “But I don’t know if I’m ready…”
Cowboy Bob gave her a reassuring wink. “You’re going to do just fine,” he said. “We’ll be with you every step of the way.”
His wife added, “The hardest part is deciding to get in the saddle. After that, it’s easy as pie.”
Josie’s lower lip twitched. I knew the feeling. Sometimes trying a new element at the gym made me nervous, too. Then I remembered something Josie had told me when she first started tutoring me.
I leaned toward her ear and whispered, “Remember, one step at a time?”
Josie smiled and nodded.
“Well, you’ve already taken a few steps,” I said. “You gave Pumpkin a treat and petted her, right?”
Josie nodded. “I guess so,” she agreed.
“And the biggest step of all was deciding to come here,” I went on. “I think that’s really brave.”
Shannon patted Josie’s shoulder. “You’ll enjoy riding Pumpkin,” she added reassuringly.
Just then a teenage boy rode by on an Appaloosa with only a leader—no side-walkers.
“Hey, Logan!” Shannon called to him.
“Hi, Shannon!” the teenager replied, keeping his eyes on the arena ahead. Dressed in black from his cowboy boots to his helmet, the boy appeared completely at ease with his horse. He didn’t grasp the saddle horn at all, but held the reins in one hand.
Shannon turned to us. “Bright guy,” she said, “and a natural on horseback.”
“What’s his…?” I started to ask.
“His disability?” Shannon said, reading my mind. “He’s blind.”
Josie shot me a look of amazement.
>
I closed my eyes for a moment, imagining what it would be like to ride a horse without being able to see. I didn’t like using crutches, but at least my injury would heal. I felt a twinge of guilt, opening my eyes to gaze out at the riders whose disabilities may never get better. Then I noticed something. Beneath the many colored helmets, nearly every rider was smiling.
That gave me another idea. If Josie could only visualize herself…“Hey, Josie,” I said. “Picture yourself riding Pumpkin with a big smile on your face.”
Josie closed her eyes for a few seconds, and I saw the smile spread slowly across her face.
When Josie opened her eyes, Shannon asked, “What do you think? Ready to try?”
Josie drew a deep breath and smiled at me. Then she gave Shannon a nod.
Josie’s mom and Shannon supported Josie as she stood up from her wheelchair. They each took an arm and helped Josie ease one leg over the saddle.
The moment she was seated upright on Pumpkin’s back, Josie’s shoulders began to rise.
”Hey, Josie,” I said lightly, “your shoulders aren’t meant to be worn as earrings.” It’s something Coach Isabelle often says.
Josie grinned and let her shoulders relax. “Thanks,” she said, sounding more confident now.
Then she set off, with Halley leading Pumpkin, and Cowboy Bob and Britta on either side. Beneath her purple helmet, Josie was beaming. I watched until she made a full circle around the arena.
As another family arrived with their son, I headed to the bleachers, where Mrs. Myers was already sitting down to watch.
“Hey, McKenna!” a familiar voice called out from the upper bleachers.
I searched for the source of the voice and found, to my surprise, that it belonged to my classmate and neighbor Elizabeth Onishi. Her black hair fell to the shoulders of her green sweater, and her bangs skimmed her bright eyes.
McKenna, Ready to Fly Page 2