Saige

by Jessie Haas

  Oh yes, it could! It was Mimi, wearing her big hat and her big white smile, a smile I hadn’t seen in a very long time. I wanted to ride straight to her and fall off into her arms. Picasso swiveled his ears toward Mimi. He wanted to go to her, too.

  “Not yet,” I whispered to him. “First, let’s make Mimi proud.” I sat tall and waved at Mimi. She waved back.

  Picasso and I continued our circuit through the neighborhood. The streets were lined with cheering people all along the way. After turning one corner and then another, we finally arrived back at the little park where the parade ended and the fiesta began.

  As I dismounted and led Picasso toward the trailer, I saw Dad’s balloon-ticket booth, the PTA bake-sale table, the barbecue pit already starting to smoke, and all the artists’ booths. Everyone working at the tables and booths clapped for us, too. It made a good grand finale.

  In the far corner of the park, Luis waited near the trailer. “You did it, Saige,” he said as he helped me unsaddle Picasso. “You made your grandma very proud and happy.”

  Hearing Luis’s words, all I wanted to do was go find Mimi, but there was still so much more to do!

  Gabi was waiting for me inside the horse trailer, where we changed into our Lovely Assistant costumes—long black skirts with royal blue T-shirts that matched Picasso’s Thinking Cap. We had dyed the cap and painted glittery spirals and stars onto the ears. It looked awesome!

  We could hear the other acts getting started. The acrobats had the stage first, and then Tessa’s singing group. I could hear their first song from inside the trailer, and I was impressed. They were really good.

  Then someone started a solo. Her voice was so strong and pure that I had to step outside the trailer to see who it was. Tessa.

  I’d never heard Tessa sound quite like this. Was the inside of her mouth like a cathedral? Were her jaw hinges made of rubber? I had no idea. I just heard her voice, big and full and beautiful. I wanted to run onstage and announce, “That’s my best friend singing!”

  And suddenly, I understood—Tessa had to do this. She had to sing, and sing well, and sing as often as she could.

  “Amazing!” I heard Gabi say from over my shoulder. “You and Tessa are both so talented. It’s no wonder that you’re friends.”

  Gabi was right. My friendship with Tessa made sense somehow. For just a moment, I imagined us as grown-ups, Tessa coming to my gallery openings and me going to her concerts. We’d have other friends, but we’d always understand each other in a special way…wouldn’t we? Watching her sing, I felt a flutter of sadness over all we’d been through in the last few weeks, but it was mingled with something else—hope, maybe.

  I clapped extra hard when Tessa took her bow, and then Gabi nudged me. It was our turn.

  Gabi and I adjusted Picasso’s Thinking Cap on his ears and then led him onstage. I glanced out at the crowd—and did a double take when I saw Mom pushing Mimi into the front row. Mimi winked at me, and I grinned back. I couldn’t believe this moment was finally here!

  Celeste handed Gabi the portable microphone. For a second, Gabi looked pale and scared. She flicked on the microphone and said, “Testing, testing.”

  I knew how nervous Gabi felt. I had felt the same way just minutes ago at the start of the parade. She needed my help, so I did the only thing I could think of: when she looked my way, I imitated Picasso’s “duh” face. That made her smile, and the color came back to her cheeks.

  Gabi cleared her throat and said, “I’d like to introduce Professor Picasso. Professor, will you take a bow, please?”

  We’d taught Picasso to stretch down like a dog, reaching his front legs forward and lowering his chest toward the ground. We curtseyed at the same time. Everyone cheered, and under the cover of the sound, I clicked and gave Picasso a treat.

  “Professor Picasso will do a painting first,” Gabi explained. “And then he will take questions from the audience. Professor, are you ready?”

  I pointed my index finger at Picasso’s chest. His ears snapped forward, and he nodded sharply. Everyone gasped, and Gabi grinned at me. We had our audience in the palms of our hands.

  I set up his table and pad, and Picasso, working with his back to the audience, applied his traditional three colors. He produced a handsome abstract piece, mostly blue. The audience applauded. When I saw the huge grin on Mimi’s face, I felt my chest nearly burst with pride and happiness. But the act wasn’t over yet. I forced myself to stay focused on Picasso.

  I shortened the lead rope to stop Picasso from kissing his painting, something he still liked to do. Gabi carefully tore the painting off the pad and handed it to Celeste.

  “Be sure to bid on Picasso’s latest masterpiece over at the silent auction,” Gabi told the audience. “Now Professor Picasso will answer some questions.”

  I turned him to face the crowd. The audience went very still.

  “First, Picasso,” Gabi said, “are you enjoying the fiesta today?”

  I pointed my finger at Picasso’s shoulder, and he nodded. Yes.

  “Are you a supporter of arts in school?”

  Yes.

  “Do you think kids can get a good education without arts?”

  Picasso shook his head no and stuck his lip up jeeringly. Gabi said, “That means ‘Duh!’ ” We got a huge laugh out of that one.

  “Should the community work to get art and music in every school, every year?” Gabi asked.

  I pointed my finger at Picasso’s shoulder. He nodded Yes. I pointed again and again. Yes, yes, yes!

  Then Gabi said, “All right, would someone in the audience like to ask a question? It should be something that can be answered with a yes or no.”

  Hands shot up in the crowd, and Gabi pointed at people one by one, taking their questions.

  “Did you have fun leading the parade?”

  Yes.

  “Will Oakland win the World Series?”

  I went for Duh on that one.

  A little girl stood up, took her thumb out of her mouth, and asked Picasso, “Can you talk?”

  She really believed in Picasso, and I knew I had to be careful. I gave Picasso the Yes signal and then said to the girl, “Every horse can talk. Horses may not talk the way we do, but we can learn to hear them.” The little girl’s eyes widened, and I could tell she was listening hard.

  Now Mimi raised her left hand. “Picasso, are you glad to see me?” she asked.

  Picasso’s ears leaped forward at the familiar sound of her voice. He was done with the show now. Quietly, calmly, he towed me over to Mimi and bent his head to sniff her face. Nobody clapped, but a sound went up from the audience, a long “oooh.” It was the perfect finale. Gabi took her bows and came to join us.

  Mimi stroked Picasso’s long white nose with her left hand and kissed him. His blue, starry ears pointed peacefully out to the sides. I could tell he’d been wondering for the past two weeks, Where is Mimi? Is she ever coming back? They both looked so happy that I didn’t want to interrupt.

  Too soon, though, Gabi and I had to lead Picasso away with a gentle tug on the halter rope. I helped Luis load Picasso onto the trailer, and then I went back to talk to Mimi.

  When she saw me, Mimi squeezed my hand with her good one. “That was wonderful!” she said. “I’m so proud of all three of you.”

  I was so happy that I felt as if I were floating. “I still have a drawing lesson to teach,” I told Mimi. “Gabi’s going to teach kids how to draw dogs, and I’m going to teach them how to draw horses—just like you taught me.” I could still remember Mimi holding my hand in hers, guiding my pencil as I drew.

  Mimi smiled and squeezed my hand again. “That reminds me,” she said. “I have a present for you.” She pulled a sheet of paper out of the bag in her lap.

  It was a drawing of Picasso—a wobbly, wavering, all-over-the-place ink drawing that perfectly captured his gentlemanly yet fiery spirit. Even the dribbles and blots fell in all the right places. It was different from anything Mimi had eve
r done.

  I sucked in my breath. “Mimi, it’s amazing!” I finally said.

  “Isn’t it?” she said. “I did it with my left hand, thanks to your idea—and the felt-tipped brush-pen. I’ve never done anything this loose and free. It’s exactly the style I’ve been looking for. It…it makes me want to kick up my heels like a filly!”

  Mimi flashed a smile—her real smile—and I felt my throat tighten with emotion. Mimi still looked pale and small in her wheelchair, but when I saw that smile, I knew that she was going to be okay.

  The drawing lesson flew by, and then the fiesta was suddenly, amazingly, over. After all that preparation, it seemed so short—fun and wonderful, but short. It looked as if it had been successful, too. No cookies were left, and Mom said Gabi’s idea about donations had worked well. “Some people paid ten dollars for two biscochitos,” she said, “or twenty-five dollars for a peach pie!”

  The works of art in the silent auction had long lists of bids. My painting had several bids, which made me proud. Picasso’s painting had the most, though. He commanded a higher price even than Mimi’s saddle painting. “It’s hard to compete with a Picasso, Mimi!” I told her.

  Dad’s Stetson hat was full of raffle-ticket stubs, and the cash box was full of money. We didn’t even know how much yet.

  “You did a great job today, Saige,” Mom said as we packed the balloon booth into the pickup truck. “You kids really earned your art class, and I think you showed the community how much art matters—to all of us.”

  “Even to horses!” I said. Then I yawned hugely. I’d never felt so tired.

  Monday morning, Dad drove Gabi and me to school at the crack of dawn. We carried in the stack of drawings from the fiesta. A few janitors were walking around, along with Mrs. Applegate, who had agreed to meet us. She helped us find step stools and masking tape, and we hung the drawings—dog pictures on one side of the hall and horses on the other. Above each group we put a sign that read “Created at the Fiesta to Support Arts Education.”

  When we were done, Gabi and I stood back to look. “I can’t wait to see how people like our drawings,” she said excitedly.

  “Me, neither,” I murmured, taking it all in.

  My mind flashed back to the first day of school, which seemed so long ago now. I remembered walking down that long beige hall, not knowing yet that there would be no art class this year. Not knowing that things had changed between Tessa and me. Not knowing Gabi at all.

  We still didn’t have an art class at school, and I didn’t know if my friendship with Tessa would ever be the same again. But I had Gabi. And those blank, beige walls were suddenly alive with art. Some horses were shaped like dachshunds and some dogs were shaped like horses. There were a few really realistic-looking dogs and horses, too. The pictures did what pictures always do—they made me want to draw.

  As Gabi and I walked into our empty classroom, I pulled out a single piece of blank white paper from my backpack. I smoothed it out on the table in front of me and sat down. Then I got out my felt-tipped brush-pen, balanced it in my hand—my left hand—thought about Picasso, and began to draw.

  Jessie Haas grew up loving horses, drawing horses, riding horses, and reading every horse book she could find—so it’s no wonder that when she began writing, most of her 36 books turned out to be about horses. She’s written picture books, easy readers, historical novels, poetry, and nonfiction. Many of her books have won awards, including Horse Crazy, Chase, and Jigsaw Pony.

  Jessie has always trained her own horses, a job made easier and more fun when she discovered clicker training. She also loves to knit, cook, and read.

  Jessie lives in a solar-powered cabin next door to the Vermont farm she grew up on. She shares her home with her husband, Michael J. Daley (also a children’s book author), two cats, a dog, and an adventurous hen. Her brave and opinionated Morgan horse, Robin, lives on the family farm, along with a small herd of Irish Dexters, a rare breed of cattle.

  Special thanks to Beth Larsen, Executive Director of Art in the School, Albuquerque, NM; Randy Cohen, Vice President of Research and Policy, Americans for the Arts; Amy Robinson, Master Dog Trainer and Director of Country View Canines, Oregon, WI; and Karla Dean at Country View Veterinary Service, Oregon, WI.

  Letter from American Girl

  Dear Readers,

  After Mimi is injured, Saige has to rely on her imagination and creative “workarounds” to keep the arts fund-raiser on track. She trains Mimi’s beloved old horse Picasso how to do new tricks and learns that she, Picasso, and her friend Gabi make a great team.

  Here’s the story of a real girl who loves horses just as much as Saige does. She teaches her pony Toby how to do tricks—and even how to give hugs! Like Saige, this determined girl doesn’t let life’s challenges stand in the way of pursuing her passion. We hope her story will inspire you.

  Your friends at American Girl

  Real Girl

  Lizzy’s Ride

  I’ve been around horses my whole life. My parents breed and train show horses, and we live on a farm in Pennsylvania with green fields, white fences, and miles of riding trails. My parents put me on horseback before I could even walk. You might be surprised to learn that I wasn’t always horse crazy. Until I was about seven, I was more interested in soccer and art.

  Around that time, something changed. As I got to know each of our horses, I got more attached to them. Horses are like people. They have so much personality. And just as some people click with each other, the same thing happens with people and horses. For me and my pony Toby, that’s definitely true. We’re similar because we both know what it’s like to be underestimated.

  See, I was born with only one hand. That might seem like a big deal, but it’s really not. I’ve been this way my whole life. Everyone faces challenges, and this one is mine. But I have never let it get in my way. I know that if I work hard, I can do everything that people think I can’t do.

  Just as some people think less of a 12-year-old girl with one hand, they think an unwanted pony isn’t worth much, either. My mom bought Toby at a horse auction. Who knows where he might have ended up if she hadn’t found him. He was for sale with a bunch of other scared, homeless horses. From inside a stall, he kicked over a bucket and stepped up on it, like he was doing whatever he could to say to my mom, “Pick me! Pick me!”

  My parents brought him home the next day, and he became my first show pony. A lot of people thought of Toby as just a common auction pony, but I knew he could be great. Together, we make a great team.

  Toby has taught me a lot about horsemanship and riding. He’s also taught me about compassion and solving problems. He was the first pony I ever cantered or jumped, but he was also the first to dump me in the dirt. If he were a person, he’d be that funny kid at school who always seems to get away with breaking rules—but everyone loves him anyway.

  Working with Toby, I’ve figured out that if I’m cranky with a horse, he’ll be cranky right back. I’ve learned that when I treat a horse the way I want him to treat me, we seem to understand each other better—like what happens with friends. Because of Toby, I am softer and kinder in almost everything I do.

  A few years ago, a well-known stunt rider invited me and some of our horses to join his show. Since then, I have taught Toby and my other pony, Puddles, cues for tricks such as “bow,” “lie down,” “stand on a box,” and even “jump through fire.” Sometimes as part of a performance, we jump a course of small obstacles without using a saddle or a bridle—I guide the pony with just a thin neck loop decorated with flowers. When we finish, the ponies get lots of praise, kisses, treats, and applause. I’ve also been working on a new trick that I call “the hug.” In this trick, Toby wraps his front hoof around my foot and then bends his neck around to hug me. For our tricks to work, we have to trust each other. And we do.

  Twice a month during the school year and more often during the summer, my family and I pack up the horses and hit the road, driving to the horse
shows and events where we perform. Last fall, I performed every day for more than two weeks at a horse event in Kentucky.

  My grandma came along to tutor me and make sure I didn’t get behind on schoolwork. The best part about performing is sharing what my horses and I have worked on so hard.

  I’ll keep working hard. I’m competing in horse shows, and I exercise four to six horses a day. I’m also busy with barn chores such as cleaning stalls and picking up rocks in the field. And one day, I hope to join an American equestrian team and compete internationally.

  I have a belief about life: dream big, and don’t ever let anything get in the way of making your dreams come true. Even small dreams can mean a lot—like wishing that one of my performances will bring a smile to someone’s face or just hoping that my once-homeless pony will run over to me when he sees me at the gate. It’s a little thing, but I can’t even describe how great it feels.

  Saige keeps the loneliness away by riding her grandma’s horse, Georgia, while her grandma recovers from the accident. Saige starts to cheer up when she organizes the “Day of Beige” to promote art at her school, but will her grandma’s decision to sell Georgia ruin everything?

  Keep reading for a preview of Saige’s second book!

  “So, how’d it go? Did everyone like the pictures you put up?” asked Mom as I hopped into the car beside her.

  It was Monday afternoon, and we were heading over to the rehab center to see my grandma Mimi, who’d broken her leg and wrist a few weeks earlier.

  Just this morning, my friend Gabi and I had gone to school early to decorate the hallways with drawings that kids had made during our fund-raising fiesta for the arts. We were trying to raise money for an after-school arts program, since my school couldn’t afford to offer art this year.