Eager Star

by Dandi Daley Mackall

  “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?

  Catman came in, four cats at his heels. “They’re here. I’m off.” He flashed me the hang loose sign.

  I raced to the yard in time to see a cream- colored trailer ease to a stop. Dad was gone. Mr. Baines climbed out of the cab. “My son here yet? He was supposed to meet me here after football practice.”

  “I haven’t seen anybody,” I said.

  The trailer rocked. The horse was restless, eager to get out. He kicked the sides. Bang! Bang!

  “That animal! I thought we’d never get him in there.” Mr. Baines backhanded sweat from his forehead. “Can’t say I’m looking forward to getting him out.” He squinted down our road. “Where is that boy? I told him I needed him here!”

  “Can I unload your horse?” I moved toward the tailgate.

  “Be my guest.” He let down the tail ramp and stood back.

  “Easy, fella.” I stepped into a nice, two-horse trailer and moved up the empty side. “Good horse.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen him load,” Mr. Baines muttered.

  My eyes adjusted to the darkness of the trailer, and I saw by the horse’s rump that he was a deep bay with great conformation. His coal black tail, coarser than Nickers’, looked healthy.

  Inching my way toward his head, I touched his back. His skin twitched, setting off his legs in shifts, like running in place.

  “You can’t wait to get out, can you, big guy?” Something about the horse looked or smelled familiar. I moved up the withers to his neck and his close-cropped, black mane.

  I heard a car drive up. Someone got out and slammed the door too hard. The car drove off.

  “You’re okay,” I told the gelding. By the time I reached his neck, I knew I’d seen this horse before.

  He craned his head around to see me. In the middle of his forehead was a white star.

  “You! Star?” That was the name I’d given the horse that awful morning in the field, seconds before my backward ride. Eager Star! “But you can’t be!” I whispered. “’Cause if you’re Eager Star, then that means—”

  Footsteps sounded behind the trailer. “Sorry I’m late, Dad.”

  That golden-toned voice, that perf
ect pronunciation . . . Grant!

  I wanted to stay inside the trailer with Eager Star. Grant! Head-of-the-herd Grant! I’d signed on to gentle Grant’s horse? He’d never let it happen. He’d seen me riding backwards! What would his dad say when he found out that little piece of information? Besides, Grant would never agree to let the mousy new girl train his horse.

  Star strained at his leadrope.

  “Easy.” I untied him. Outside the trailer, Grant and his dad were arguing. I tuned them out. “Remember me, Star?” Gently I blew into his nostrils, an old Navajo practice my mom taught me. Greet a horse the way they greet one another. If they blow back, you’ve got a friend.

  Eager Star nodded, then snorted back. At least I had one Baines on my side.

  Naming a horse had been a big deal to Mom and me in Wyoming. Neither of us liked to give a horse an actual name unless we knew we’d be keeping it. Too hard to let go. But since I’d needed to call the horse something that day I met him, I’d made up a temporary name. And Eager Star had come by his name before I’d ever dreamed of working with him.

  “Time to face the humans,” I whispered. “Back.”

  The bay responded to my voice command and stepped backward, too fast, but steady all the way down the ramp.

  Outside, the sunset left enough light for me to glimpse Grant and his dad still arguing. Keeping the horse between me and them, I hollered, “I’ll just take him to the barn!”

  Mr. Baines stopped shouting. I braced myself. He strode to my side of the horse and yelled, “Grant, get over here!”

  My stomach knotted, and my ears buzzed. I stared at my boots and tried to predict whether Grant would act disgusted or laugh outright the minute he saw me. I wanted this job. We needed this job.

  “Grant,” his father barked, “this is the girl who’s going to try to fix whatever you did to this horse.”

  Biting my lip, I glanced up, ready for the worst.

  “Glad to meet you,” Grant mumbled. I thought I saw a flicker of recognition, but it went out quickly. He looked through me, just like at school.

  Unbelievable! He really doesn’t recognize me.

  “Dad, you want me to take Bad Boy now?” Grant sounded strained, anxious, not like school Grant. “I could settle him down before we go.”

  Mr. Baines made a sound that would have been a snort in a horse. “Yeah, right. You can’t settle him down. Remember? That’s why we’re here.” He waved his hand as if he were shooing flies. “Stay, go. I don’t care.” He stormed toward the trailer.

  Eager Star danced sideways, anxious to get going. I willed Grant to leave with his dad. But he followed me to the barn. “So what are my chances of winning?”

  I shrugged. “I won’t know ’til I work with your horse.” The bay edged ahead of me, and I circled him.

  Grant scurried out of the way. “If Bad Boy doesn’t win, I—”

  “Bad Boy?” I interrupted.

  “Baines’s Bad Boy. That’s his name.”

  We entered the barn.

  “It’s a lousy name.”

  Grant shrugged. “I haven’t thought about it.”

  Star’s nostrils flared as he took in the barn smell of horses and hay. That’s when I noticed the tiny scrapes at his muzzle. Anger surged through me like electricity. “Did you load this horse into the trailer?”

  “What?” Grant seemed distracted. “Uh, no. I had practice.”

  I scratched the bay’s neck, and he stretched it out, shoving his nose in my face. The scrapes had come from a twitch, a device some horsemen use to make a horse go where it doesn’t want to go. A rope noose loops around the upper lip. The loop is attached to what looks like a bat, and the bat is twisted, tightening the noose around the horse’s muzzle until he gives in. Mr. Baines had done that to Grant’s horse.

  I was so close to telling Grant off, the words burned in my throat. The Baineses obviously believed in punishment training. Mom had taught me there were two kinds of horse trainers—punishers and gentlers. Lots of horse trainers believe the only way to teach a horse is to punish him when he steps out of line. Mom believed in praising a horse for the things he does right.

  I stroked the star on the gelding’s forehead, pure white against his dark brown face. “I’ll be calling this horse Eager Star.”

  Grant moved in beside me and stroked the star too. He towered over me, a full head taller. “Eager Star. I like it.”

  Nickers came in from the pasture.

  “Company, Nickers!” I led Star over to Nickers. “Meet Eager Star.”

  Nickers nodded, her silky mane stirring like angel wings.

  “Is that your—?” Grant stopped and stared at Nickers. “Wait a minute! That’s what I’ve been trying to think of!” He wheeled around to face me. “I’ve seen that white horse before—in the field!”

  Great! Nickers, he remembers. Me? I might as well have been a blade of grass.

  “And you . . . you’re her! You’re the girl who rides backward!”

  Okay. I’d rather be grass.

  My mind shot me a photo of Grant tearing out after the other rider. “Well, I wouldn’t have been riding backward if you and Brian hadn’t taken off in some stupid race!”

  Grant slapped his forehead. “You’re Pat’s Pet! And the Humpty Dumpty detective! ‘He was pushed!’” He burst out laughing.

  My breath came in ragged spurts as I led Star to his stall. My heart pounded in my ears. “Nice to know I’m not totally invisible!” I stormed to the grain bin, afraid of what else I might say. Okay, God, I prayed as I dipped up a scoopful of oats. I could bite like a Mustang. Don’t let me go off on Grant.

  By the time I finished graining the horses, I’d at least given up the notion of biting.

  Grant had stopped laughing. “Sorry. Really. That day in the field, I should have come back to see if you were okay. It’s just—I didn’t want to lose to Brian and—”

  “No, you wouldn’t want to lose.” Lizzy would have hated the edge in my voice. Mom too.

  “I’m sorry, okay? And that Humpty Dumpty stuff was great—the only laugh we’ve had in Brumby’s boring class.”

  I would have guessed he loved Brumby and English. “It is pretty boring, isn’t it?” I risked a glance at him, and he grinned.

  “Which reminds me, I have homework! I missed one on Haven’s quiz. I should have memorized her notes.” He walked toward the barn door.

  I followed him. “You mean that stuff about life goals and how long you expect to live and stuff?” Smooth, Winnie! Can you say stuff one more time? “I don’t think she’s going to grade that stuff.” Great! You can say stuff one more time.

  “Never know.” We stepped outside. We’d been in the barn long enough that the night had grown black except for a handful of stars. “Besides,” Grant continued, “it’s her first impression of us. Life science is a big class for me. I might want to become a surgeon. I should have studied more.”

  I shook my head. Grant Baines was about as opposite from Catman Coolidge as you can get. Dr. Baines, the surgeon, and Catman Coolidge, the telegraph operator.

  I walked him through the yard, and he kept going. Then he turned back. In the dark, he looked like a shadow. “Bye, Winnie. See you tomorrow!”

  See invisible me tomorrow? Wouldn’t that be something!

  Friday morning I left home later than planned. I’d ridden Nickers at dawn, fed Towaco and Eager Star, and mucked the barn before getting dressed for school. But what slowed me down was writing in my private journal after breakfast:

  Herd behavior in kids at AMS makes it almost impossible for a new person to break in. Still, individual members of the popular herd may act different when they’re away from the pack. Take Grant, the head stallion of the popular group. Last night he almost acted like a regular guy. If Summer or Brian had been here, I doubt if Grant would have wasted his time on a straggling scrub like me.

  I wheeled my bike into the rack, then spotted Summer and Grant’s herd on the steps, blocking traffic
so kids had to squeeze around them to get inside.

  Great! I’d have to walk right by the herd. What if Grant had already told everybody about my backward ride on Nickers? Summer would love that!

  Laughter erupted from their group, no doubt at my expense.

  I climbed the steps, pretending not to see or hear them. See no evil. Hear no ev—

  “Winnie!” Grant shouted.

  I glanced behind me, as if there might be another Winnie on the steps.

  “Come here!” Grant motioned me into the herd.

  Swallowing what felt like sandpaper, I joined them, wishing I’d spent more than two seconds on my hair. I wore jeans; they wore shorts. I needed a new top so I wouldn’t have to repeat in the same week. Summer probably didn’t repeat her clothes the whole year.

  “How’s Towaco?” Hawk moved over so I could stand next to her.

  “He’s good.” Loosen up, Winnie girl! Just a herd of horses. You like horses.

  Hawk’s shorts matched her peacock shirt. “Grant told us you are training his horse.”

  I looked at Grant, amazed. He’d told them that? He hadn’t told them about the backward ride? “Uh-huh.” Great conversation, Winnie. You really belong in this herd.

  Summer laughed. She looked to the other members of the herd, the real members. “Grant and I have to race in a barrel race our dads dreamed up. Not like I want to! I don’t even like riding Western. Daddy’s making me practice, practice, practice! He’s driving me crazy!”

  That’s a short putt.

  Grant cracked his knuckles.

  “So, Summer . . .” Sal reached back to redo her red ponytail. “How’s it coming with the sleepover plans?”

  “My mother ordered in so much food! We’ll gain 10 pounds!” Summer tugged at the tiny black belt at her waist.

  “Bet you wish you were coming tonight, Grant!” cooed a girl with pixie short, blonde hair. I didn’t recognize her from any of my classes. I knew she didn’t recognize me.

  “I’ll pass.” Grant still flashed his perfect smile, but it looked forced—all lips, no eyes.

  Hawk secretly elbowed me. “Summer, have you invited Winnie yet?”

  I elbowed Hawk back. I was kind of surprised she’d say it, because Summer Spidell would sooner invite the plague or pimples than me.