Linda and the others are out of sight. They’ve already started down the other side of the hill.
“We don’t need her. You just have a stubborn horse. It’s a perfect match, if you ask me.”
“Oh, ha,” Brenna says with a scowl.
“You don’t like this, do you?” I ask.
Brenna looks back down the hill to the show horses and barns.
“Are you afraid?” I ask.
“Yeah, kind of,” she admits. “Don’t you dare tell anyone.”
“Cross my heart and hope to die,” I say, crisscrossing my fingers over my shirt. “Your secret is safe with me. But there is nothing to be afraid of. You’re doing fine. You just have to relax.”
“Easy for you to say!”
“Come on, you’re the nature queen. Be natural. Blitzen is acting weird because she doesn’t know what you want her to do. Hold the reins loosely, look straight ahead, tell her to walk, and give her a little kick. Be confident.”
Brenna takes a deep breath and picks up the reins. “I can do this, right?”
“Tell her what to do.”
Brenna looks determined. “Blitzen, giddyup,” she says with authority, squeezing her heels.
Blitzen takes a step forward, hesitates, then takes another step. And another.
“See? You did it all on your own!” I say, walking next to them.
Trickster looks up at us to see what’s going on, then goes back to his snack.
Brenna grins. “Yeah, I did, didn’t I?”
Maybe I could give lessons this summer. Teaching isn’t that hard.
“Good job, Blitzen,” I say, giving the horse a smack on the rump.
Big mistake.
Blitzen hunches her back and takes off like a shot for the woods, with Brenna bouncing in the saddle. It’s like I set off a firecracker.
“Help, help!” Brenna cries. “DAVID!”
“Brenna!” I scream. “Pull back on the reins!”
“I cant!” she shouts. “DAVID!”
Blitzen is heading for the woods.
I spin around. Linda can’t see us. We’re alone. Trickster lifts his head, whinnies, and—
“NO!”
Trickster breaks into a gallop and takes off in hot pursuit of Blitzen. He looks like a turbo-charged horse, running like wildfire, his legs a blur. He thinks this is a race.
“HELP!” Brenna screams. One of her boots has slipped out of the stirrup and she has dropped the reins. Blitzen suddenly turns away from the woods. Trickster follows.
“Hang on!” I holler.
Brenna clutches onto the saddle horn with both hands. She is not balanced at all. If she falls she could break her neck! What do I do? I can’t catch either horse. I can’t leave to get help. Oh, no, this is all my fault!
“Help!” I scream loudly. “HELP!”
Blitzen swerves back the other way and heads for the wooded trail again. Trickster quickly changes directions and stumbles. His leg! He’s hurt it again. He keeps running, but not as fast as before.
“Pick up the reins!” I shout as Brenna vanishes into the woods. Trickster follows. No one is coming to help. I sprint toward the woods, trying to make my feet fly, ignoring the pain in my side. At least I’ll be able to help Brenna if she falls. No, don’t think that. She’s not going to fall. She’s not going to fall.
The trail turns sharply to the left as it enters the woods. Keep running. Keep running.
There they are!
Trickster is right behind Blitzen, chasing her down the trail. Brenna is still clinging to the saddle, but both of her feet are out of the stirrups now.
Suddenly, I hear hooves thundering behind me. I jump out of the way just in time for Mr. Quinn to rocket by on Starfire.
Chapter Seven
The black horse and rider whiz by me as they speed toward Brenna and Blitzen. Mr. Quinn leans close over Starfire’s neck, urging him on. Starfire passes Trickster in a flash and pulls up alongside Blitzen.
Mr. Quinn leans over and grabs Blitzen’s dangling reins, and Starfire hits the brakes and slows down. Blitzen strains for a second and then calms down. Both horses trot, then walk. Finally, they stop.
Brenna is safe! She gives Mr. Quinn a wobbly smile as he slips off Starfire’s back. He holds Blitzen’s head so Brenna can dismount.
Trickster has stopped running, too. Now that the race is over, he’s ready to eat again. He has wandered off to sniff a patch of ferns, trying to decide if they would be tasty.
“Oh no, you don’t,” I say. “You’re already in trouble. You don’t want to get a stomachache on top of everything else.”
I pick up the lead rope and start to walk him to Mr. Quinn, but he flinches and lifts his right hind leg.
“He’s hurt it again, hasn’t he?” Mr. Quinn demands harshly from the trail. “Strained the hock, maybe fractured something.”
I don’t know what to say.
“Stay where you are, David,” Mr. Quinn orders. “Brenna, go on back to the other trail. I’m sure Linda is looking for you by now. Tell her today’s lesson is over. I want the horses back in the barn, now.”
“Um, sure,” she says. “Thanks for helping me.”
Brenna looks a little shook-up, but Mr. Quinn looks positively awful. His face looks like someone drained all the color out of it. All the friendliness, too. His jaws are moving like he’s grinding his teeth, and his eyebrows are pulled down into a frown. I’ve seen that look before—when I got in trouble last year.
“Go on, Brenna,” Mr. Quinn repeats. “I need to talk to David.”
I don’t like the way that sounds.
Brenna shoots me a look like she wishes she could help but can’t, then she leaves. It only takes a minute until she’s out of sight.
“I don’t know what spooked Blitzen,” I explain to Mr. Quinn, as he leads Starfire over. “Brenna got her walking and she just took off.”
Mr. Quinn doesn’t answer.
“Maybe she got stung by a bee or something.”
Still nothing. Starfire shakes his head to shoo away a pesky fly. Trickster lifts his sore leg to take the pressure off.
Mr. Quinn hands me both Starfire and Blitzen’s reins. “Hold on to these—tightly.” Then he checks Trickster over, running his hands down the length of the leg. Mr. Quinn’s so quiet it’s making me nervous.
“How is he?” I ask. “Is he going to be OK?”
Mr. Quinn pats Trickster’s back.
“I was stupid,” he says.
“Excuse me?”
“I was stupid,” he repeats, unbuckling his riding helmet. “I thought you were ready, that you had done some growing up.” He runs his right hand over his short black hair. “Dr. Mac said you were reliable, and Trickster definitely took a shine to you. Horses have a good judgment. Usually.”
He sets his helmet on the ground and tucks up the stirrups that hang from Starfire’s saddle. “But I was stupid. You’re not ready to be responsible around horses.”
“Uh-oh. The R word—responsibility.
“You went barreling into the exercise ring hollering so loud I could hear you clear down at the end of the barn.” I hold my tongue about that. “What if your carelessness had caused a horse to dump somebody?”
“But that didn’t happen!”
He ties the riding helmet to Starfire’s saddle. “No, but you slapped Blitzen’s rear end. That did happen. I saw it. I was watching all of you head up the trail, thinking how good you were with Trickster. Then you let him graze without tying him to anything—”
“There was nothing to tie him to!” I interrupt.
“—and you spooked Blitzen. By the time I was back on Starfire, those two animals were tearing toward the woods, and Brenna was in danger.”
“But you make it sound like I did it on purpose. I was just patting Blitzen. I didn’t mean to scare her. I had just shown Brenna how to make her walk. Blitzen’s my friend. I would never do anything to hurt her.”
“You were careless. You smac
ked Blitzen because you weren’t thinking. You didn’t tie Trickster properly. Why? Did it seem like too much work? Because you figured no one would find out?” He takes off his gloves and smacks them angrily on his jeans.
I feel like I just got kicked in the stomach.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I never thought …”
“That’s it—you didn’t think,” Mr. Quinn says. Blitzen’s ears twitch at the sound of his angry voice. “And people who don’t think have no business being around horses. Now run to the barn and get Dr. Mac. I don’t want to move Trickster until we wrap his leg.”
I know I should do exactly what he says, without arguing, debating, or anything. But I have to ask.
“Mr. Quinn, what about our deal?” I ask. “Can I still ride him when he’s all better?”
Mr. Quinn’s eyes narrow, and he looks right through me.
“The deal is off.”
Chapter Eight
I really blew it this time. Major, big time, blew it. Mr. Quinn will never let me ride. He’ll tell all the other stable owners. He’ll tell everyone in the whole state not to let me near their horses. He’ll run ads on the Internet. I’ll never ride again.
I’m sunk.
Even though I’d like to run all the way home, I head for the barn. Dr. Mac is examining the hoof of a nervous filly in the barn.
“Back so soon?” she asks. “How was Trickster?”
“Not so good. Mr. Quinn needs your help. He’s with Trickster, up in the woods.”
She puts down the filly’s hoof. “What happened? What’s wrong?”
“He got away from me and ran. Hard. He hurt his leg again.”
I can’t say any more, but it doesn’t matter. Dr. Mac grabs an equipment box and blows past me to see her patient.
“There you are,” Zoe calls, her voice echoing down the barn. “Are you OK?”
The last thing I want to do is explain all this to the others. They’re my friends and all, but it’s going to make me look really stupid. I turn to walk out of the barn.
“David!” Zoe calls louder. She runs up to me and grabs my arm. “Brenna told us everything.”
“I’m going to call and see if my mom’s home,” I say. “Maybe she can pick me up. I have to go.”
“You can’t go,” Zoe says.
“I can’t stay. Mr. Quinn won’t let me ride. I’m a danger to horses. I mess up everything.”
Zoe smiles gently. “You don’t mess up everything. You just mess up … a lot. We’ll work on it, don’t worry. Now come on. We need your help grooming the horses.”
Gertie, Claiborne, and Gus are waiting in the stalls, cross-tied and ready for grooming. Each horse stands between two wooden posts, with a rope attached to each side of its halter and a post. This will hold them steady so they can’t walk away.
“Hey,” I say quietly to the girls.
“Hey, yourself,” Brenna says. “How are you? Did Mr. Quinn yell? He looked really angry.”
“Brenna told us what happened,” Sunita explains. “It was brave of you to try and help her.”
“That’s not how Mr. Quinn saw it,” I say.
“He just needs to cool off a bit,” Maggie says confidently. “It’s like that time I fell out of the tree in my backyard. Gran was angry and worried all at the same time. Once she cooled down, she told me she was impressed that I climbed so high. Of course, I was still grounded for a week.”
“That’s not a helpful example,” Zoe tells her cousin.
“Is so,” Maggie replies.
“Let’s not argue,” Sunita suggests. “We’re supposed to be grooming.” She turns to me. “That’s why we need your help. Linda started to show us what to do, but then she had to go help Jared.”
“Something about some hay being delivered,” Maggie says. “She told us to get started. It seemed easy enough watching her, but now we’re not sure what to do.”
“Zoe’s been around horses before,” I say. “At her summer camp.”
“Well … it was a different kind of camp,” Zoe explains. “Parents sent kids to ride, not to clean stables or give them baths.”
“This isn’t a bath, this is grooming,” I correct.
“Whatever,” Zoe says. “I can braid manes, though. My camp counselor showed me how to do that.”
Zoe’s horse, Claiborne, lifts his head. I’m sure he would love a braided mane, but I suspect he’d like all that trail dust off of him first. I might as well help them. That way I’ll have done something right today.
“OK, well, I guess I’m giving a grooming lesson,” I say as I pick up the body brushes on the shelf. “This is a body brush. You use it to brush the dirt off your horse. Start up on the neck and move the brush in the direction the hair grows,” I say, demonstrating on Gertie.
“Then what?” Sunita asks.
“You do that down the whole body, first on the left side, then on the right.”
The girls approach the horses and start brushing. “Use some muscle,” I tell them. “If your arms don’t get tired, then you aren’t brushing hard enough.”
“We have to brush the entire animal?” Zoe asks.
I nod my head. “The whole thing.” It feels kind of cool to be the one giving directions. It’s very nice not being yelled at.
When all four horses have clean, shiny coats, I show the girls how to use a facecloth to gently wipe around the horse’s eyes, ears, and muzzle.
“Aren’t we going to braid their manes?” Zoe asks.
“You don’t really have to do that,” I say.
“Of course we do,” Zoe says firmly. “Claiborne is an elegant horse. He needs to look his best.”
“I like braids,” Maggie says.
I give up. “All right. We’ll braid. Are you sure you know how to do this?” I ask Zoe.
She is scouting the equipment on the shelf. “We’ve got brushes, combs, and rubber bands here. We’re all set. Hey—there’s Trickster.”
Everyone stops to watch as Mr. Quinn and Dr. Mac walk Trickster past us. His hooves clop on the cement floor in an uneven rhythm. He is limping badly, trying not to put his weight on his sore leg.
My chest tightens. Here I’ve been feeling so rotten, so sorry for myself about getting yelled at and not being able to ride, that I didn’t even think about Trickster. Mr. Quinn is right—I don’t think.
“You guys stay here,” I tell my friends. “I have to see how he’s doing.”
I swallow hard and follow Trickster down to his stall. It feels like I’m walking to the principal’s office.
Once Trickster hobbles inside, Dr. Mac and Mr. Quinn notice me standing behind them. Mr. Quinn stares at me for a minute. “I’ll be at the office,” he tells Dr. Mac. He walks off without another word.
“He hates me,” I say when Mr. Quinn is out of sight.
“Don’t worry about Lucas,” she says. “He has a lot of things on his mind right now.”
She’s just saying that to make me feel better. Like anything could right now. “What’s going to happen to Trickster?”
Dr. Mac kneels to check the wrap on Trickster’s leg. It has to be tight enough to support the joint, but not too tight or his blood won’t flow properly.
“I gave him an injection for the pain. That should kick in soon. He’ll be sleepy for the rest of the day, but the leg won’t hurt as much.”
“Is it broken?”
She shakes her head. He may have strained some tendons, though. We’ll take the cold pack off in twenty minutes. He has to rest—total rest—for a few days. If the swelling doesn’t go down, we’ll take him to an equine clinic for an ultrasound exam. There’s a chance he has torn the tendon. That would mean surgery.”
“Will he have to be put down?” I ask quietly.
“Relax, David. It’s not that bad. But it will be a while until we know if he’s going to run again. Now, I have to get back to that sore hoof before we leave. Tell the girls to meet me at the va
n in half an hour.”
I wait until she walks away before I look at Trickster. He nickers softly, but he doesn’t bob his head or toss his forelock around.
“I’m sorry, buddy,” I say.
Chapter Nine
David Alexander Hutchinson!” my mother shouts.
I freeze, halfway out of Dr. Mac’s van.
“She doesn’t sound too happy,” Maggie says. “You’d better go home. We’ll save you some pizza.”
“Don’t bother,” I tell her. “I’m not very hungry.”
“Man, you really are bummed,” Brenna says.
I slip out of the van before anyone has a chance to answer, and meet my mother in the middle of the road. She doesn’t say a word until we’re in the garage. Then she lets fly.
“Do you know happened today?” she asks.
Mom is still wearing her suit and high heels from work. Her mouth is tight, like she just sucked on a lemon, and her eyes look like they could spit fire. I guess this is a bad time for a smart-mouth answer.
“No,” I reply quietly as I open the door to the laundry room. We pass through piles of laundry—it’s beginning to look like a mountain range—and step into the kitchen.
“You weren’t here when I needed you,” she says.
My five-year-old sister, Ashley, is eating a McDonald’s feast at the kitchen table. My older brother, Brian, is nowhere in sight. He must be at work.
“When did you need me?” I ask, taking a french fry out of Ashley’s cardboard container.
“Mom, he’s stealing,” Ashley tattles.
Mom slaps her hand on a piece of paper on the counter. “Here! Right here. Didn’t you read this note? I put it where you would see it when you came down to breakfast.”
She hands the note to me. It says I was supposed to be home by two o’clock so I could watch Ashley while Mom went into the office. I was also supposed to take out the trash and start the laundry.
“I never saw it,” I say, telling the absolute truth. “I woke up late, really late. My stupid alarm clock didn’t go off. I just grabbed a soda and a handful of pretzels and ran over to Dr. Mac’s. She was pulling out of the driveway. I barely made it.” I peer into the McDonald’s bag on the kitchen table. “Did you get me any fries?”
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