“Pat, what did she say about Amigo?”
“She was just saying how Sal and that Mini didn’t take to each other.”
Someone answered the phone. Dad. “Hello?”
I hung up. “And? What else did Mrs. Cracker say?”
Finally Pat looked at me. Her smile faded. “I’m sorry, Winnie. I didn’t think I was telling you anything you didn’t already know. Mrs. Cracker said she’s tying a big RETURN TO SENDER sign around that Mini’s neck and shipping him back on the first boat to Argentina.”
I stood there, clutching the disconnected phone. Back to Argentina?
I couldn’t let that happen. That poor little horse had been through enough. “I’ve got to go,” I said, getting up.
“Winnie? What about Hawk? My twit?” Pat’s worried voice brought me back.
“I’m sorry. I forgot. Give me a minute. I’ll call home.”
Dad answered on the first ring. “Hello?”
“Hi, Dad. It’s me.”
“Oh. Winnie.” He sounded like I was the last person he wanted to speak to.
“Um . . . I need to get Hawk’s number in Florida. It’s on the—”
“I’ll get Lizzy.” The phone clunked.
Then it clunked again. “Winnie?”
“Hi, Lizzy. What’s wrong with Dad? Golf-buddy problems?”
“More like invention-buddy problems. Madeline said she’d be here a couple of hours ago.”
In the background I heard Dad shout, “Tell her to get off the phone! Madeline may be trying to call again.”
“The phone rang, and somebody hung up on Dad,” Lizzy explained. “Dad thinks it was Madeline.”
“That was me. Sorry.”
“Poor Dad.” Lizzy sighed through the phone line. “Have to admit . . . I thought it might be Geri.”
“You still haven’t heard from her?” I felt myself getting mad at Geri all over again.
“No. I kind of thought she’d show up this morning.”
Pat paced by, reminding me why I’d called home. Lizzy gave me Hawk’s number, and I made her promise to hold on to Sal if she showed up before I got there.
Pat dialed Florida, then handed the phone back to me.
“She might not even be there,” I said while the phone rang. “She’s been showing Towaco in Florida horse shows, so—”
“Hello?” It was Hawk’s dad.
“Uh . . .”
“Hello?” he said louder. “Who is this?”
“It’s me, Mr. Hawkins. Winnie Willis. Can I talk to Hawk? Please?” My telephone voice is even worse than my regular voice. I hate it.
Hawk got on and started right in about her New Year’s Eve party. I would have loved to listen to how great it was going to be, but Pat was waiting.
I explained about the help line e-mails, then read them to Hawk over the phone.
The first one was from a kid whose big brother kept telling him that he had too many birds. Big Brother said it was bad for the birds and bad for Little Brother.
“Tell the bird owner there is no such thing as too many birds. And that he’d be better off with loads of feathered friends,” Hawk said. “Tell him that Thomas Alva Edison had over 5,000 birds, and he was our greatest inventor.”
I wrote down everything in longhand.
The other question was from someone named Paula, who was worried about her parrot. Chiquita had started doing crazy things, like standing in her water dish and doing weird dances and making odd noises.
Hawk said, “That poor parrot is bored! Boredom can lead to madness in parrots. Birds need affection and interaction. If they spend too much time alone in a cage, they can lose their minds. There are even mental institutions for parrots. Tell her she should get Chiquita a friend.”
“Thanks, Hawk.”
There was a pause. Then Hawk asked, “Winnie, is anything wrong?”
I wanted to shout into the receiver, “Yes! Everything’s wrong! I can’t get close to Friendly Foal. Sal and her grandmother want to send Amigo back to Argentina. And what I really need is for you to leave the fun and sun and get back here and help me!”
But I couldn’t say that.
“I’m okay, Hawk. Here. Let me pass you to Pat. She wants to ask you about her twit.”
Pat took the phone. “Thanks, Winnie. You get on home. I’ll type the bird e-mails.”
As I left the shop I heard Pat exclaim, “That’s all? And that twit will be as happy as a clam? No offense.”
As soon as I got outside, the worries inside me started swirling around and bumping into each other, piling up like snowflakes in a blizzard. I breathed in air so cold it froze my nose hairs.
Then without even thinking about it, I shot up a prayer: God, don’t let them send that little horse to Argentina! Please! Amigo needs a friend. Let me be it. Okay? Help me be a faithful friend to that horse.
It surprised me that I’d prayed like that. On-the-spot prayer was something Lizzy might do. Or Mom. Until the last couple of months, God and I had barely been on speaking terms. But little by little I’d figured out that God wasn’t going to give up on me. Mom’s dying wasn’t God’s fault, or even my fault. And God cared about me too much to let me get away with giving him the silent treatment.
I could feel my stomach stop swirling. I would be the best friend Amigo and Friendly ever had. No matter how they acted. Even if they didn’t think of me as a friend, that’s what I’d be.
Maybe that’s the way it had been with God and me. I’d sure done everything I could to wrestle further away from him after Mom died. But he’d waited patiently for me.
I’d wait patiently for the horses. I wouldn’t give up on them.
I was halfway home and feeling a lot better, in spite of the icy wind numbing my face, when who should I see coming up Claremont but Geri and Nathan.
“Hi, Winnie!” Nathan waved and sprinted toward me. He was wearing a gray coat and gray mittens, so ordinary that his sister wouldn’t have been caught dead in them.
Geri lagged back and seemed to be studying a snowdrift.
Nathan is about Lizzy’s height, maybe two inches taller than me. He doesn’t look much like Sal. She’s slim as a racehorse. Nathan’s more like a small Clydesdale. Sal used to say her brother lived for the days Lizzy brought in treats to their class. Maybe he’d eaten a few too many lizard cookies.
“Is Lizzy with you?” Nathan asked, peering around me.
I shook my head.
He seemed disappointed. “Tell her hi for me when you see her.” The way he said it wasn’t like he was lovesick or anything, not like Geri must have been for him. My guess was that Nate liked Lizzy for a friend. Everybody does.
I stared at Geri. She finally met my gaze, then stared down again.
“That’s some horse Gram Cracker gave my sister, huh?” Nathan said.
“Look, Nathan. You guys can’t send Amigo back to Argentina. I need time to work with him. He’s a good horse. He’ll make a great pet.” For all I knew, Nathan felt just like Sal did about horses. But it was worth a shot.
“I wish Gram Cracker had given that little horse to me,” Nathan said.
I was trying not to like this kid, but he was making it tough. “So talk to them, Nathan. Make them give me a chance with Amigo. Okay?”
“Okay,” he promised. “But nobody ever listens to me.”
“I have to get to the barn. Sal’s coming over. Come by sometime, Nathan,” I said, leaving out Geri on purpose.
Geri looked up. “Is Lizzy mad?”
Nathan frowned back at her like he had no idea what she meant. “Lizzy? She’s never mad at anybody.”
“Why don’t you call her and ask her, Geri?” I said.
I ran the rest of the way home and got there exactly two minutes after 11. First I checked the barn. Sal wasn’t there.
Then I ran inside. “Lizzy! Is Sal here?”
Lizzy met me in the hall. Larry the Lizard was curled up on her shoulder. “No.” Then she added, “Neither is Madeli
ne.”
I thought about telling Lizzy about seeing Nathan and Geri, but I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. My sister has been the most popular girl in every class she’s been in, including all the schools in the I states—Illinois, Indiana, and Iowa—where we didn’t stay long. She’s not popular in the same way Summer Spidell is. Most girls in middle school want to be like Summer. But I’m not sure how many of them actually like her. Lizzy, on the other hand, everybody likes.
Still, even though there were a couple dozen girls Lizzy could have invited over, it had to hurt that her best friend had tossed her aside for a boy.
I raced back to the barn. The wind blew snow from the trees and moved white swirls of it from the ground, making it look like a snowstorm. Catman calls it a “recycled blizzard.”
I said hi to Nickers and Friendly and eased into Amigo’s stall.
The little Falabella shuffled deeper into the corner.
I kept my distance and watched him. Mom taught me that horses need their space. She had pretended there was a large circle around every horse, space that belonged to him. “Wait for the horse to let you in,” she’d said. “Inviting us in is a leap of faith.”
Staying out of Amigo’s space, I tried to imagine what he was feeling. I didn’t know if he’d traveled from Argentina by boat or by plane. I just knew he’d come a long way without any friends. And so far he hadn’t found any here.
“I’m here when you’re ready, Amigo,” I said, wishing I’d paid attention in Iowa when we had six weeks of Spanish. But I knew Amigo wouldn’t care what language I spoke. He wouldn’t even care that my voice sounds like I have laryngitis.
Amigo’s head drooped lower.
“You know, Amigo, Sal’s not such a bad person once you get to know her. Not that I really know her. She has a lot of friends in middle school. You wouldn’t like it there. It’s hard to break into those herds. They stampede through the halls, and any newcomer who tries to join a herd gets kicked out.”
I watched Amigo for signs of softening. One ear twitched, and I took it as an invitation to take one step inside his circle.
“I know you’ve had it tough, boy. No wonder you’re scared.”
Both ears twitched.
I kept talking—about the foal, about Nickers, even about Lizzy and Geri.
Finally I got a clear go-ahead. Amigo craned his neck around to see me. His ears pointed toward me, then flicked side to side.
“Don’t mind if I do,” I said, walking slowly until I reached him. It was weird to reach down, instead of up, to pet him.
His back twitched.
I kept scratching him on the withers, where most horses love it. Amigo didn’t seem to, though.
I searched for his secret spot, the part of him that yearned to be scratched. I hoped it wasn’t his hind leg, like the horse in the e-mail. I didn’t quite trust Amigo not to kick me yet.
Not until I moved in front of him did I find it. When I scratched a spot above his chest, he stretched out his head and begged for more.
“You like that, don’t you, Amigo? See? You can trust me.”
Someone clomped into the barn. I hadn’t heard a car drive up, but I heard one take off—fast. Probably Gram Cracker’s van.
I started to yell for Sal but thought better of it. I didn’t want to scare Amigo just when he was getting used to me.
“Well, where is she?” Instead of Sal, Summer Spidell thundered down the stallway.
Just what I needed.
“Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you too, Summer,” I called in a fake, cheery voice, as I kept scratching Amigo. His brown eyes closed to half-mast.
“I’m not kidding!” she shouted, frowning into the stall at us. “Where is Sal?”
Summer was wearing a long palomino-colored coat with a matching fuzzy hat and scarf. Her long blonde hair curled below her shoulders. “I’m in a hurry, Winifred.”
Summer Spidell is about the only person who calls me that, and she only does it to make me mad. It works every time, but I try not to show it.
“So? Where is she?” she repeated louder, in case all of Ashland hadn’t heard her. “Sal told me she was coming over here.”
“Well, I’m not hiding her, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
I heard a car and hoped it was someone coming for Summer. The car stopped outside the barn, and a door slammed.
“Sal!” Summer screamed, running from the barn as if it were on fire.
I heard both of them squeal the way popular girls do when they see each other in school on Monday mornings or after a break.
“Humans,” I whispered to Amigo, not letting up on his scratching. His eyes closed all the way. I wondered if he could shut out the world like Mason Edison. And which one could teach me that.
Sal and Summer kind of flowed back into the barn together, ignoring me. So what else was new? At school they’re in the same popular group. So they sit together in classes, at lunch, everywhere. But Summer had been even more clingy to Sal than usual, since Hawk had been gone.
Summer and Sal kept talking so loudly that Amigo and I couldn’t help overhearing.
“Grant said Brian was going to call you and apologize. Did he?” Summer asked, like the whole world depended on the answer.
“He called,” Sal answered. “I’m still hacked off at him for standing me up, though. That’s the third time this month. I mean, if somebody says they’ll come over or call, they should do it.”
I nearly choked, then cleared my throat to cover it. From Sal’s mouth to Sal’s ears!
“He’s just a guy,” Summer observed. “So you’re all made up, though, right? The four of us can go to Hawk’s party together?”
Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe Hawk would hang out with me more on New Year’s Eve if Sal and Summer were with guys. I had to admit that the more I thought about Hawk’s New Year’s Eve party, the more I looked forward to it. It wouldn’t just be the first New Year’s Eve party for me. It would be the first party. I’d been to birthday parties when we lived in Wyoming and to family-and-friend stuff. But never a real party like this.
“Are those new jeans?” Summer asked, sounding as if she didn’t approve.
“Nope. These are old jeans, with new fat in them. What I don’t get is how a one-pound box of candy can make me gain five pounds.”
Seriously, Sal’s almost as skinny as Madeline. It was hard to believe she worried about gaining weight. Summer was psycho about weight gain. Maybe it had rubbed off on Sal. I wondered if Sal liked the extra attention she was getting from Summer, or if she was as eager to get Hawk home as I was.
“I’ll help you lose that extra weight,” Summer offered. “What are friends for? We’ll get it off before school starts. In the meantime don’t wear those jeans when you’re with Brian.”
I thought about interrupting them before I puked, but the feeling passed.
“I can’t wait to buy that gold sweater I told you about,” Summer cooed. “It will look so great on me!”
“I thought Grant was getting it for you for Christmas,” Sal said.
“He didn’t get the hint. He got me a scarf.” Summer made it sound like he’d gotten her earthworms. “My grandmother got me a scarf. Richard got me a scarf. Aunt Lisa got me a scarf. If I get one more cashmere scarf, I’m going to strangle myself with it!”
Note to self: Save up for a cashmere scarf for Summer.
I couldn’t take it anymore. “Amigo and I are ready for you, Sal!”
“Yeah. In a minute, Winnie,” Sal called back.
“Your horse is already calmer,” I said, leaving the stall to join Summer and Sal. “I’ll show you how to imprint him. I don’t think he’s going to be much of a problem.”
“Sal!” Summer squealed. “You promised we could go to the mall together. I have to get that sweater I’m in love with! They only had two left in my size!”
“We just need about two hours, Sal,” I said, hoping Summer wouldn’t want to wait in the barn. �
�Maybe you could meet Summer there when we’re done.”
“I didn’t know this would take so long,” Sal said. She glanced at Amigo, who had gone back to stand in the corner of the stall. “Are you sure you need me, Winnie?”
Summer took Sal’s arm. “You don’t need her, do you, Winnie?”
“Her horse needs her!” I answered, fighting the urge to grab Sal’s other arm and have a tug-of-war with Summer. I would have won.
Outside a horn honked and wheels spun on ice as a black Mustang came tearing down our street.
“Richard’s here,” Summer announced.
Richard Spidell is Summer’s brother. He’s a junior in high school, and just about every girl except me thinks he’s the most handsome guy in school.
“Richard?” Sal said, her hand going to the stair-step gold earrings that climbed both of her ears. Obviously Sal shared the majority opinion about Summer’s brother.
“He’s driving us to the mall,” Summer said, making ma-all sound like two syllables that should be set to music.
“That’s so tight!” Sal squealed.
“But your horse!” I protested, knowing Amigo and I didn’t stand a chance against Richard and the ma-all.
Sal shrugged and let herself be led away by Summer. “Don’t worry about the midget, Winnie!” she called back. “Gram says we’re probably sending it back anyway.”
“No!” I shouted. “Sal, come back tomorrow! After church! You’ll see how sweet Amigo is!”
“Okay!” she hollered back.
“I mean it, Sal!”
I trudged from the barn to the house. The sun had given up, turning the outside world dark gray.
The second I opened the front door, I was struck with the aroma of fresh-baked cookies. “Lizzy, what did you bake?” I shouted, pulling off my boots. It was pretty amazing how Lizzy’s kitchen concoctions could sweep in and push out at least some of the rottenness left by Summer.
Lizzy called out from the kitchen, “I didn’t bake anything. Catman did it!”
I hurried to the kitchen to find Catman in Dad’s white barbeque apron. Striped bellbottoms and a tie-dyed T-shirt showed through. Lizzy’s flowered oven mittens covered his hands as he pulled a sheet of cookies from the oven. He set it on top of the stove and looked like he’d just won a horse show.
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