Hot Little Hands

by Abigail Ulman

  “Do you mind if we take our brownies to the cabin?” Elise asked.

  “We’re really tired,” Jenni explained.

  “Of course,” Bridget said. “Just make sure you put the lid on the bin after you throw the wrappers away. The possums like to scrounge around at night.”

  —

  Before bedtime, when the younger girls were brushing their teeth, Elise and Jenni took their backpacks and left the cabin. They walked out to the car park and sat on a droopy chain fence, facing the road. No cars came past. Elise rolled a joint and lit it. Jenni opened a Cruiser and took a sip.

  “Dude,” Jenni said, “I can’t believe the dress Sara-Jane was wearing at Zach’s.”

  “As soon as I saw it I knew you were thinking that.”

  “I can’t take those clear plastic straps. Everyone can see them. They’re plastic, not invisible.”

  “Zach obviously didn’t mind,” said Elise.

  “Zach was just settling for his second choice.”

  “Aw, don’t be hard on yourself. Maybe you were his second choice.”

  “Pap smear.” Jenni reached over and pinched Elise’s arm.

  “Ow.” Elise pinched her back.

  “I was trying to make you feel better.”

  Elise took a pull on her joint, and exhaled slowly. “Oh yeah, you were.” She leaned over and rubbed Jenni’s arm. “Sorry, bitch.”

  Jenni laughed. She leaned her head back and looked at the sky. “Check it out. The Southern Cross.”

  Elise leaned back, too. “That’s the saucepan.” She pointed at the sky. “That’s the Southern Cross there.”

  “No it’s not. The bottom one’s moving. That’s not a star, it’s a plane.”

  “Oh yeah.” They watched it for a minute. “That seems too slow for a plane. It’s probably a satellite.” They stared at the moving dot until they lost track of it among the stars.

  “Do you believe in aliens?” Elise asked.

  “No. I mean, I think there’s life on other planets. But I picture them more just like us.”

  “You mean like maybe there are two girls out there right now, up on some other planet, at horse camp?”

  “Yeah! They’re probably staring at earth, getting wasted, and talking about whether or not there are girls down here, getting wasted at horse camp.”

  “Bitching about the alien version of Sara-Jane.”

  “Which probably looks exactly like the real Sara-Jane.” Jenni finished off her drink and burped. They laughed.

  “Hey, how many horses do you think there are altogether?”

  “I don’t know, fifty?”

  “No, not here. In the world. How many horses do you think there are on the entire earth?”

  “Hmm. Maybe a million?”

  “Wow, yeah, you’re probably right. It’s probably a million horses.”

  —

  The girls were buzzed and giggly on the walk back. They passed a few other cabins. The lights were out in all of them. The only way to tell which ones were inhabited was by the riding boots strewn about on the porch.

  In their cabin, the main lights were off but the bathroom light had been left on. The younger girls were in bed. “Shit.” Jenni walked straight into a bag and almost fell over. “I can’t see shit.”

  Elise laughed. “Hey, girls—”

  “Shh,” Jenni said.

  “Mmm.” Dylan turned over in her sleep.

  “Girls, cover your eyes.” Elise flicked the switch and the overhead fluorescents came on. Naomi and Indira lifted their heads and squinted down from their bunks.

  “Sorry,” Jenni whispered. “It’ll just be for a sec.”

  They changed into their pajamas with their backs to the younger girls. The bathroom counter was splashed wet and littered with hair elastics and Silly Bandz.

  “Yuck,” said Elise.

  Someone had left a tube of toothpaste open and it had oozed onto the bar of soap.

  “Gross,” Jenni whispered. “It’s on my elbow.”

  They brushed their teeth, turned off the lights, and climbed into their beds. One of the younger girls was breathing heavily. Jenni leaned over the edge of the bunk and looked down at Elise. Elise could see the outline of her head and her hair waterfalling down. “Hey,” Jenni whispered, “can I have Torco?”

  “I didn’t bring him.”

  “Boo.” Jenni lifted her head up.

  A minute later she was leaning over again. “How did you get the bottom bunk, again?”

  Elise held up her hand in the shape of a pair of scissors. “Oh yeah,” Jenni whispered. “Good night, Leesy.”

  “G-N.”

  —

  After breakfast the next morning, the five girls sat in a semicircle on their horses and listened to Bridget talk about trotting. They practiced around home paddock, digging their heels into the horses’ sides until they went faster, and sitting up and down in accordance with the animals’ movement. Then it was out onto a trail, alternating between walking and trotting. It was a cold morning but the sun was up and bright on their faces. Every time her horse started to trot, Elise laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” Bridget asked her.

  “Nothing. I dunno. I just haven’t been horse riding in yonks.”

  —

  At lunchtime, the girls sat with their cabin mates and talked about their horses.

  “I think Rocket and Snowflake like each other,” Jenni said.

  “Yeah!” said Indira. “They’re always trying to walk together.”

  “None of the other horses like Glen,” Elise said.

  “He’s just slow,” said Naomi.

  “He’s also the fattest,” said Dylan. All the girls laughed.

  “He’s not that fat!” Elise said.

  But when they came out of the dining room, Glen was the only horse leaning over the feed trough. When he lifted his head, he was still chewing and he had bits of hay stuck to his face. The girls cracked up laughing again.

  —

  In the afternoon, Bridget led the group out onto the road. They rode on the left shoulder, and the couple of cars that came up behind them gave them a wide berth. Farther along, a logging truck passed by going in the other direction, its tray weighed down by thick tree trunks. The driver honked his horn and waved down at them. The five girls waved back but Bridget didn’t.

  Eventually, she led them across a field and into bushland. Most of the trees here had blackened trunks or were just pointy stumps sticking out of the ground. “This all got burned on Black Saturday,” Bridget said.

  Elise and Jenni remembered that weekend well. It had been unbearably hot in the city. They had both gone over to Bec’s house and shut themselves in her bedroom in front of the fan, leaving every now and then to go to the kitchen and take bottles of hard cider out of the fridge, in plain view of Bec’s parents and some of their friends, who were crowded around the TV in shock and didn’t notice.

  “Were the horses okay, on Black Saturday?” Elise asked.

  “Yeah,” Bridget said, “luckily the fire didn’t jump the road. But it was hot and smoky. I’m sure they got spooked. We had to leave them and evacuate into town.”

  “Oh no,” said Jenni.

  “Poor horses,” said Elise.

  When the path widened up, Bridget asked the girls if they wanted to trot. They all did. They knocked their heels into the horses’ sides, and the animals took off running. “Okay,” she called over her shoulder, “if you girls are ready, this is a good spot for cantering. Just hang on to your reins, keep your backs nice and straight, and stay with the horses’ rhythm.”

  Bridget’s horse took off, and the others followed. Indira came up beside Jenni and their horses ran together. “Aww,” Jenni said, “they’re totally in horse love.”

  Bridget glanced back. “Those two are brother and sister,” she called out.

  “Really?” Jenni and Indira grinned at each other. “That is so cute!”

  —

  Bridget c
ut the ride short because she said she could smell a storm coming. The girls left their horses in front of the stables and walked back to the cabin.

  “What does that even mean?” Jenni asked Elise. “She thinks she’s, like, Pocahontas.” But there was something in the air. A damp woody smell that made it seem like the ground and trees were getting ready for rain.

  When the five cabin mates were walking to dinner, they saw a flash of lightning on the horizon. “If you count the seconds between the lightning and the thunder, it tells you how far away the lightning is,” Dylan said.

  “How does that work?” asked Elise. “Like six seconds equals six kilometers?”

  “Um, I don’t really know.” Dylan shrugged.

  There was another flash of light and the girls counted aloud together. “One two three four five six seven…” They stopped at twenty-five because the thunder never came.

  Heavy drops of rain started to fall as they were eating dinner. They were scraping their leftover burgers and thick-cut fries into the bin when hail started hitting the roof.

  “Did you hear that?” Elise asked.

  “What?”

  “I think I heard a neigh. The horses are probably scared.”

  “Oh no. We should go check on them.”

  “Definitely.”

  They told the younger girls they’d see them back at the cabin. Then they stuffed the pockets of their parkas with sugar cubes from the bowl next to the tea bags and water urn, because Elise had read in her book that horses like sugar as a treat. They waited at the door till the hail subsided, then they pulled their hoods over their heads and made a run for it, squinting through the rain.

  —

  The big wooden door was unlocked, and the girls yanked it open and closed it behind them. It was dim inside. There was only one light burning, at the other end of the stable. The roof was made of tin and the rain was tapping against it. A few horses were looking out over the doors of their stalls. They had their ears pricked up and were eyeing the girls.

  “It’s so mean,” said Elise, pushing the hood off her head. “They just leave them on their own all night.”

  “I know,” said Jenni. “I wish we could sleep in here with them.”

  The girls walked down the central aisle, patting the horses, who jerked their heads away from their wet hands. “It’s okay,” they said. “It’s just a little storm. Don’t be freaked out.” They saw Indira’s horse, Rocket, Dylan’s horse, Honey, and Bridget’s horse, Ovaltine.

  Glen was standing at the back of his stall when Elise found him. His eyes were half closed, and one of his back hooves was balanced up on tiptoe. He seemed to be dozing, but he woke when she said his name, and immediately started at the sound of the rain. “It’s okay,” Elise said, “come here.” She took a sugar cube from her pocket and held it out. He approached. “Good boy.” He ground the sugar between his teeth and swallowed. She offered him another one. His tongue tickled on the palm of her hand.

  Snowflake had her head craned over her door, and she nuzzled into Jenni’s face and hair when she approached. There were still some oats in her food bucket, but she gobbled up the sugar as fast as Jenni could feed it to her, until all Jenni had left in her pocket were a couple of sachets of Splenda. She tore one open.

  “You can’t give her that,” Elise said.

  “Why not? It’s just as sweet.”

  “It’s all chemicals. It’ll, like, make her stomach explode.”

  “No, it won’t.”

  “Seriously, it will.”

  Jenni dropped the sachet back into her pocket and blew the powder off her fingers. “I’m sorry, girl,” she said. “Mean Elise won’t let me.”

  When the rain eased off, the girls kissed their horses on the forehead and whispered their good nights. They were on their way out when Elise glanced into one of the stalls. “Whoa,” she whispered, “check out this pony.”

  Jenni came over. On the floor of the stall, in a pile of sawdust, a light brown pony was lying on its side in the dark. It was moving its back legs and making little nuzzling noises.

  “What’s wrong with it?” Jenni whispered.

  “Nothing. It’s sleeping.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “I think it’s dreaming.”

  “Whoa, you’re right.”

  “I think it’s dreaming about running.”

  They watched the animal rotating its tiny legs. It was panting. They wondered if it was dreaming about running along the trails they rode along all day. Or maybe it hadn’t even been on those paths yet; maybe it was dreaming about being in home paddock, running around its mother’s legs. Or maybe it was running in some imaginary made-up dream place that it had never been, that didn’t even exist; that it wouldn’t remember in the morning, but wouldn’t quite be able to forget.

  “Let’s go,” Jenni whispered. Elise stayed where she was, watching the pony move through its dream. “Lise, let’s go.”

  “Yep, coming,” said Elise. She turned toward the door and they left.

  —

  The younger girls were still awake when they got back to the cabin. Naomi and Indira were sitting up on their top bunks. Dylan was perched on the edge of Elise’s bed. Elise was about to tell her to get off when she realized the girl was crying. The other two girls looked upset, too; Indira’s eyes were red, and Naomi had a wad of balled-up tissues in her hand.

  “What’s wrong?” Elise asked.

  The girls didn’t answer.

  “What happened?” Jenni asked.

  “Nothing.” Naomi started to cry.

  “Whoa. What’s going on?”

  “We were playing a game,” said Indira. “It was fine and then it turned into a fight.”

  “What game?” Jenni asked. The younger girls didn’t say anything. “What game was it?”

  “It’s just a game,” Indira said. “It was Dylan’s idea. You pick someone’s name out and write something about her. You have to be totally honest. Then you get your note and read it to yourself, so you know what the others think about you, but you don’t know who.”

  “Secret Swaps,” Elise said.

  “What do you mean you don’t know who?” asked Jenni. “There are three of you.”

  “You’re s’posed to change your handwriting. Like, write with your left hand or something.”

  “This was a bad idea, girls.” Elise sat down next to Dylan. “Secret Swaps is a game for a big group of girls to play.”

  “It was Dylan’s idea,” Naomi said.

  “And I’m glad we played,” Dylan said loudly. She was crying hard now. “Because now I know what you think of me, and you’re not a good friend.”

  “Neither are you, Dylan,” Indira said.

  “You can’t talk,” Naomi shouted.

  Jenni went into the middle of the room, held a hand up, and yelled, “Girls!” Something about that worked. They all stopped talking and looked at her. “That was a dumb game to play. You should just apologize to each other and go to bed.”

  “No way,” said Naomi. “I’m not apologizing.”

  “Someone should apologize to me,” said Dylan.

  “What did your note say?” Jenni asked.

  “Don’t tell her,” Indira said.

  “Shut up, Indira,” Naomi said. “This is none of your business.”

  “It’s all of our business, Naomi,” Dylan said.

  “Girls,” Jenni said again. “I don’t want to get involved. But you’re gonna ruin your whole horse camp if you keep fighting, and you’re gonna be tired tomorrow. And you’re annoying me and Elise.” Elise laughed. “Why don’t you just tell us what the comments are? They’re probably not as bad as you think.”

  “I wanna go home!” Dylan pulled her feet up onto Elise’s bed, put her arms on her knees, and leaned her head on her arms. “I just wanna go!”

  Elise looked up at Jenni. “What should we do?”

  “Let’s go get Bridget.”

  “She’s just gonna give them some
touchy-feely girl empowerment talk.”

  “Maybe that’s what they need.”

  “I think we should find Margot.”

  “Margot’s gonna call her parents.”

  “So what? They can come and pick her up. Castlemaine’s not that far.”

  “Yeah, but think about when we used to have fights at slumber parties. Was it ever really better when your mum showed up at midnight and took you home?”

  Elise shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Dylan?” said Naomi. “Don’t go home.”

  Dylan lifted her head. Her face was wet with snot and tears.

  “Let’s just work it out so you can stay. Here.” Naomi held out her slip of paper to Jenni. “I don’t care if you read mine.”

  “Okay.” Jenni went over and took it. “Dylan,” she said, “do you want us to go get Margot?”

  Dylan shook her head. “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Dylan nodded.

  “All right. I’m gonna read this out loud. But nobody has to say whether or not they wrote it. Let’s just keep it ‘anonymous.’ ” Jenni curled her fingers around the word. She unfolded the piece of paper. It said: You think you’re a good dancer and you’re not that good of a dancer.

  “I know that was you, Indira,” Naomi spat out. “You think you’re so much better than me.”

  “No, I don’t,” Indira said. “And why do you think it was me?”

  “Naomi,” Jenni said, “Naomi! Are you taking dance classes?”

  “Yes,” Naomi said. “I take jazz-funk and hip-hop.”

  “Okay, good,” Jenni said. “She’s taking dance classes. So whoever wrote this, just know that she’s working on her dancing and she’ll probably get better.”

  “I’m not saying it was me that wrote the note,” Indira said, “but she always acts like she’s the best. Whenever we make up dances together, she bosses us around and won’t listen to our ideas.”

  “Okay, first of all,” Jenni said, “you girls aren’t gonna be making up dances together for much longer. So in, like, a year this won’t be an issue. Second, Naomi, if you act like you’re the best at something, you’re not gonna have any friends. So even if you think you’re the best, just keep it to yourself and don’t act like it.”