Sliding On The Edge

by C. Lee McKenzie

  “Sorry she’s worried. I’ll try to leave the moods outside class. Everything’s fine with me, really. I guess I just have to get used to a new school and a new way of doing things.”

  Does he buy that? Yes. He looks like bricks fell off his head. He’s smiling at me, and that tight muscle near his right eye isn’t twitching now. I’d finally said something to get him off my case.

  “Thank you for being so open with me. Just remember you can always come in and talk whenever you need someone to listen. I’m a good listener, Shawna.” Mr. Green stands.

  I crush Monster’s face between my hands. He slinks away.

  Chapter 21

  Kay

  Kay tightened her clenched hands around the steering wheel of the old truck, waiting for Shawna to walk out the front door of the school. Had Robby asked the questions they’d agreed on? How had Shawna answered them?

  Kay leaned back in the seat and tried to imagine the meeting in the principal’s office. How Shawna’s dark eyes would shift away before every response. How her voice would sound when she’d answer her usual, “It’s okay.” How she’d shrug her shoulders and, for that matter, her whole being. The girl didn’t care about anything. And how could someone only sixteen years old not care about something? Her whole life lay in front of her!

  When Robby asked how she felt about living here, Kay could hear Shawna’s mind churning: I hate that ranch. I might as well be on Mars. I hate living with an old man and an old woman, cleaning up after horses everyday except Sunday. And let me tell you how fun Sundays are around that place.

  The next question made Kay’s knuckles ache, she gripped the wheel so hard.

  “And are you happy, living with your grandmother?”

  Shawna might shrug again or say yes, but she’d think: My grandmother’s a cranky old witch who’s on my case from sun up ’till I hit the sack. What’s to be happy about?

  That’s what Shawna’s shrug—what her yes really meant. And she wasn’t too far wrong. Kay knew she was cranky, but she didn’t know any other way to be. She’d grown into who she was over the years, and now, when she looked back to find how she’d gotten to this place in her life, she’d forgotten most of the journey, and she couldn’t remember how she used to be. She could only remember the beginning. The day Peter stood in the doorway, suitcase in hand, face set in that expression he wore when he wanted to cry but refused. He was hurting and she was dying, but neither of them had the energy or the desire to reach out to the other.

  He was leaving.

  She was staying.

  Their son was dead and their marriage had died along with him. End of one story. Beginning of another: her journey to cranky old witch.

  Where did Shawna live all day, all night? Robby Green knew from only two conversations with her that she often was someplace other than the present. And Shawna was never surprised by anything. Angry, yes. In fact, while Kay thought about the exchange that was going on that very moment between Shawna and Robby, she realized the only emotion Shawna had ever expressed in front of her was anger. At least that was something, she thought. At least one ball she hit came back. Shawna never shrugged when she was angry.

  How would Shawna handle the issue of her dark moods? She’d come up with some reasonable explanation for them. She was good at lying, but Kay was good at hearing lies and seeing through them for what they were. Too many years around Kenny Fargo and horses had done that for her, she guessed. There was no time or patience for lies as far as any of those wonderful creatures were concerned.

  Robby Green hadn’t had the privilege of attending the Kenny Fargo School of Life, so Shawna would be able to lead him right where she wanted him.

  At least Robby had given Kay some options. He could refer her to others who were more qualified to deal with Shawna’s problems than he was. The district had a psychologist he could bring in. There were several psychologists and therapists in Sacramento he could recommend. There was a teen crisis hotline, and he would give Kay that number. But she’d have to make the final decision about which way to go.

  He’d insisted she leave the room while he talked to Shawna, but she’d refused. “I don’t care about good counseling techniques, Robby,” she’d said, “I’m staying right here. You do your job. I’ll do mine.”

  “Kay, you have to trust me on this one. I promise to share anything I think you need to know to help your granddaughter, but she won’t talk freely in front of both of us.”

  She’d let him talk her into leaving. Another mistake?

  At the sound of the truck door opening, Kay sat up. Shawna, her jaw clenched, climbed into the passenger seat and slammed the door.

  “How did it go with the principal?”

  “It didn’t.”

  “What do you mean?” Maybe she hadn’t talked to him. Why not? Robby said he’d see her right after her English period. “You didn’t talk to him?”

  Shawna looked out the passenger window as if Kay hadn’t spoken to her.

  For heaven sakes at least answer me. “You’re upset. Can I help?”

  “No.” Shawna’s voice was as empty as the expression she turned on Kay.

  Please open up to me. Please let me in. Kay wanted to say it, but instead she turned the key in the ignition and shifted into low.

  Chapter 22

  Shawna

  After Robby Green’s pathetic counseling session I feel like a dishrag someone’s wrung out. I climb into Kay’s truck, and when I look at my reflection in her rearview mirror, I’m surprised I’m not in a twist.

  “How did it go with the principal?”

  Well how in the hell does she think it went? Mr. Mush Mouth yammered at me. I smiled and tried to give him the answers he wanted. Monster showed up to lend a hand. Thank you very much. “It didn’t.”

  “You didn’t talk to him?”

  I talked at him. He talked at me. I wish she’d stop interrogating me. I’ve had it with people nosing into my life.

  “You’re upset. Can I help?”

  Help me with what, Grandma? Just what is it you think you can help me with? “No.”

  Kay looks away, then back with her seat-belt stare. She starts the truck and pulls out of the parking lot without another word. Interrogation over.

  After she passes the turnoff to the ranch she says, “I have an errand before we go home. I didn’t get to Max’s Rural Supply today.”

  Her icebreakers would not stand up at parties. I shrug and guess she sees me out of the corner of her eye because her knuckles whiten on the steering wheel.

  Rural Supply is the ranchers’ supermarket. There’s hay, and oats, and horse blankets in all sizes and colors. While Kay puts together her order, I roam the aisles and read the labels. Something to do, at least, while I’m stuck here. When I get to the vitamin section, it occurs to me that Drunk Floyd’s black horse might benefit from a vitamin boost. Kenny gives Kay’s horses vitamins all the time, so I search the shelves for a bottle that looks familiar, like what Kenny keeps in his leather bag.

  And there it is. Very big and... and almost my week’s allowance. There’s no way I’m spending that kind of money to buy horse vitamins.

  I walk away.

  Still there’s that black horse... I see him next to Floyd’s ratty barn, head high, not like the others that have already given up and stare at the ground, waiting to die. He’s got hope somewhere inside him.

  He’s a horse, Shawna. Too stupid to know there is no hope.

  Kay’s still talking with the guy at the counter, so I go back to the vitamins. It’s been a while since I lifted something. I feel that old tingle when I wrap my fingers around the plastic bottle and take it down from the shelf. Remember what Mom showed you, okay?

  Read the label.

  Put the bottle back.

  Take another one down.

  Read.

  Put this one back, but at the same time shove the first one up your sleeve. Even the surveillance cameras have a hard time seeing that maneuver.
/>   Now stroll.

  Take your time.

  Look at other stuff.

  Never rush.

  Start for the door.

  Turn back and look at something else.

  Mom’s voice: “Think, I’ve got all the time in the world.”

  “Shawna?” It’s Kay.

  “Coming.” I’m so obedient.

  Chapter 23

  Shawna

  I name the black horse Magic. I once read a novel about a kid named Magic. He made it out of the slums and into big-league baseball, even after beatings left him with a gimpy leg. The kid had real guts to go from being crippled to being one of the best runners on the team. It was just a story, but I liked it.

  Magic doesn’t exactly run to meet me when I climb over the fence and onto Drunk Floyd’s property, but at least he doesn’t keep his distance like he used to. He sidles up slowly and noses my pockets for the apples I have tucked inside. The other two still hang back, but I know they’ll come around as soon as they get a taste of what Magic’s enjoying.

  I wait until Drunk Floyd’s car disappears down the road, then climb the fence and drop down into enemy territory. It’s another dynamic Sunday on the ranch, and Floyd always goes into town Sunday, so that’s the day I have Magic to myself for a few hours.

  Today I’m armed with the vitamins I lifted last week when Kay hauled me to Rural Supply. I’ve seen Kenny dose Kay’s horses with these giant pills, and her horses are buffed critters, so I figure this bony old guy needs a power boost and these pills might help.

  From Kay’s barn I grab a pan and some of the gray’s special grain. In the bottom of the pan, I mash the pills like I’ve seen Kenny do, and then stir the powder in water; next I pour in the grain. Magic scarfs it all down and noses the apple chunks out of my hand. I reach up and touch the white patch on his forehead. He jerks his head back and snorts, like he’s saying, “Hands off!”

  I wait until he comes up close again for more apple, and then I stroke the same spot. He shakes his head, but he doesn’t back away this time.

  “You’ll get used to me. Just like I’m getting used to you and all your cousins around this place.”

  I’m concentrating so hard on getting close to Magic that I don’t hear the car coming. When the door slams, it’s too late to hide. Drunk Floyd is stomping across the pasture toward me. Magic and the other horses vanish around the side of the barn.

  “I’m calling the sheriff unless you get off my property and stay off!” he shouts.

  “I just wanted—”

  “You deaf?”

  “You sober?” I yell back.

  I figure he probably is sober for a change, so now I don’t have the advantage I usually do. But I’m faster than he is, so instead of trying to reason with the old crab, I sprint to the fence and hurtle over it to the other side.

  “And you stay the hell over there, you hear?” He waves his fist in my direction, and I consider flipping him off, but change my mind. I’ll get him sometime when he’s staggering all over the place.

  “That was some scene.” Sunday Boy is leaning on the rake and smiling at me from the barn.

  “Yeah. He’s a piece of work, that guy.”

  “What are you doing over there, anyway?”

  I almost come back with, “What’s it to you?” But I change my mind. “The horses. I sneak over once in a while and give them something.”

  He nods. “Well, I got work to do. See you around.”

  “Wait!” That comes out before I think. Now that he’s looking at me, I have to come up with something to say. “I don’t know your name.”

  “Nope. You don’t.” He goes inside the barn.

  I scuff my way inside after him. “What is it?”

  “Casey.”

  “I’m only asking because I can’t call you Sunday Boy all the time.”

  “Oh, yeah? I didn’t know you called me anything at all.”

  Why do I care about his name? Why am I even bothering to talk to him?

  He hooks the lead to the gray and brings her outside, where he ties her off. I stand back as he paints some smelly ointment all over her feet and then soaps her front to back with warm suds. He hoses her down and scrapes the water off her front, sides and rear. Then he dries her legs with a towel. So many steps, and he’s careful with each one, like what he’s doing is the most important job in the world. He works on horses a lot like Kenny does, and the gray stands easy under his hands. She trusts him, knows she’s safe. I watch while he pulls a mask over her face and sprays her with some stuff that Kenny says helps keep the flies away. When he finishes, he turns her out to pasture, to have her Sunday the way she wants it.

  Another question bubbles to the surface before I can stop it. “Have you always worked with horses?”

  “Since I could walk. We still have a couple, but my dad had to sell some off. Too expensive.” He looks down at me. “How about you?”

  “Never. Well, not until I came here.”

  “You’re lucky you’re here. Kay’s got a nice place and her boarders take good care of their horses. Not like over there.” He nods toward Drunk Floyd’s. “Nobody does anything for those guys. I expect they’ll end up in Texas one of these days.”

  “Not my favorite state.” I remember that week in Houston and the motel from hell with armor-plated cockroaches scuttling in the dark corners. After Mom turned the lights off, their beetle legs clicked across the linoleum, coming to get me under the sheets. I stole a flashlight the first chance I got, and every night I shined it down the side of my bed. It still grosses me out to think about them creeping across my toes on my way to pee.

  “It won’t be those horses’ favorite state either.”

  It’s the way he says it that sounds creepy and makes me want to know what he means. I chew on the inside of my mouth before I ask, “Why won’t they like Texas? I didn’t think horses cared where they lived.”

  “Oh, they won’t live there long. A few days maybe. A while back they’d have ended up in a can for Buster’s dinner. Now I think they ship the meat to Canada or Europe.”

  Horse in a can! I’m glad he’s walking into the tack room and hasn’t stopped to look at me. It’s like I’ve suddenly shown up naked in public and have nowhere to hide. If I’d been in front of Tuan’s mirror, I’d have seen the face Monster always sees, fear scribbled all over it.

  I have to put my head down between my knees or I know I’m going to topple over. My stomach’s a washer going into an out-of-kilter spin, my head has a rope cinched tight around it and it throbs. When I stand up again, I look across at Drunk Floyd’s.

  Magic pokes his head through the rails, looking at me, waiting for me to come to him.

  I take a few steps toward him. No. Stop.

  “I can’t waste my time on you anymore,” I yell. “You’re horse meat on the hoof.”

  My voice must sound different to him, because he ducks out from between the rails and shambles away.

  “Magic. I... Forget it. You’re history, so why waste my time?” I start toward the house.

  “Do you say mean things to everyone and everything?” Casey calls after me.

  “What’s it to you?” I look over my shoulder.

  He shakes his head and goes back into the barn.

  I see more of his back than anything else. Jerk.

  Chapter 24

  Shawna

  One cool thing about Sweet River High is the wide grassy spot with the big trees and picnic tables. Everybody calls it The Park. As long as the weather stays good, lots of kids eat lunch or hide behind the tree trunks, sucking on each others’ faces. Mr. Green gets his exercise every noon, pulling lips apart.

  I spot him heading my way and bury my nose in my English Lit book.

  “Afternoon, Shawna,” Mr. Green calls.

  I nod, hunching over my book.

  “I see you’re enjoying the last of our sunny days.” Mr. Green never takes hints. He’s the kind of guy Mom says you have to hit up th
e side of the head.

  “Yeah.” I give him my go-away-you-jerk look.

  “I talked to your grandmother again yesterday. She says you’re going to a therapist in Sacramento next week.”

  I shrug. “I guess.”

  “I’m pleased to hear that. I’ll check back with you to see how things go, all right?”

  “Whatever.”

  The shrink is Kay’s idea, not mine. And I’m not going along with the program. She can make all the appointments she wants, but making me talk is totally not happening. I have Monster under control. I can manage anything, so take your shrink and stuff him.

  I lean back against the tree and flip to Chapter Four, The Romantic Movement. On the first page is a picture of a guy on a black horse, galloping after another guy who is freaked out because the guy chasing him is headless! This is romantic?

  “What are you doing?” Casey sits down on the grass next to me.

  “What does it look like?”

  “You never let up, do you?”

  I close the book. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that you are the hardest egg I’ve ever met.”

  I laugh. “I’ve never been called an egg before.”

  “You outta laugh more.” He stands to leave. “You look nice when you do, Shawna.”

  Nice. Me? That’s interesting. Shawna and nice in the same sentence from the guy who—damn it—has the greatest butt I’ve ever seen. Let it go, girlfriend. You have enough on your plate without this... this perfectly handsome guy who has just turned his back and is walking away. “How come you’re always walking off in the middle of a conversation?”

  “This is a conversation?” He smiles over his shoulder. “I thought it was just another chance for you to show me how tough you are. I’ll see you later about what I came to say.”

  “Whatever!” I slam my book on the ground.

  “See? Shawna, the hardest egg around.” He waves and walks over to join a group of students sitting at one of the picnic tables.

  He doesn’t know tough. I’ll show him tough one of these days. I pick up my book and find my place, but Mrs. Heady’s assignment doesn’t seem as interesting as it did a minute ago. I hold the book so I look like I’m reading, but I watch over the top. Who’s he talking to? Two girls I don’t know sitting on top of the table. One is arched back, her boobs pushed to the sky. And on the bench is... Oh, my gawd. It’s The Troll! He’s talking to old ferret-face.