Nothing But Horses

by Shannon Kennedy

  “Okay. Anything else?”

  “Yeah. How about a ride to group tonight?”

  “Sure. And I’m not saying it to be Ms. Congeniality.”

  “Yeah, well I’d rather you’d just be Ms. Honest,” Tom said. “There are enough phony people in the world. I hope you don’t join them.”

  For the first time in days, I felt like smiling, really smiling. “Around you, I won’t. How’s that?”

  “Sounds like a plan. I have to get back to work. We’ll talk later.”

  “I’ll look forward to it.” I wasn’t lying, not to him. I could be me, the real person. That was a major load off my shoulders.

  During the at-risk meeting, I found myself looking at the other seven kids in a new way. How many of them put on masks, pretending to be something they weren’t? Finally, Ingrid came back to me and asked if I wanted to contribute. I shook my head. “Not tonight.”

  Tom jumped into the conversation. “I have a question about gender expectations.”

  “What?” Ron groaned and buried his head in his hands. “Is this going to turn into one of those school lectures?”

  “No way, man. One of the girls at work wants to do more than help the cook. He says running the grill is too hard for her because she’s female. She should concentrate on being pretty and flirting with the male customers to make tips when she waitresses. Do I take this to my boss? How do I handle it?”

  That brought hoots of laughter and suggestions of what Tom should tell the cook about coming into the “now” instead of hanging out in the “middle ages.” Once the other kids figured out he was serious, the tone changed. Eleanor asked how much the boxes of burgers weighed. Could the girl physically do the job?

  Tom said that she already stocked the little refrigerator of supplies and plated for the cook. She really wanted to go to culinary school and learn to be a chef. This would make a good first step as well as a decent raise.

  Once we started coming up with possible solutions, Ingrid took over. She talked about how society had certain roles for guys and girls. She asked how many people were told they could do something better because of gender.

  “Do you mean like my mom wanting me to tune up her car when my sister actually knows more about mechanics?” Ron leaned forward and snagged a cookie from the plate. “Or my dad telling her to get out of the garage, to go to the kitchen and fix supper when she’s a lousy cook? She has the pizza parlor on speed dial.”

  “Exactly like that.” Ingrid smiled at him. “Who else has something to say?”

  “I do.” Vicky waved her hand. “How about when my stepdad says he “lost his temper” and my mom has “hysterical meltdowns”? His rages are worse than hers, but when she’s angry, he wants to know if it’s that time of the month. No wonder they’re divorcing.”

  “Yeah,” Eleanor said. “It’s like those labels we talked about in Health class. He’s aggressive, a real go-getter. She’s bossy and pushy.”

  “What’s wrong with being bossy?” Vicky glanced at me. “If Sierra’s not bossy at the barn, twenty horses go hungry. Would it be better if she was a guy?”

  “I don’t think so,” Tom said.

  That brought snickers and more laughter when I felt my face warm. I didn’t get mad because they thought it was funny that he crushed on me. I knew he did. He’d been looking at me ever since I joined the group. And okay, I looked back. Who wouldn’t? He was smart and when I got snarky, he didn’t give me a lot of be nice garbage. Wait a second. Wasn’t that another kind of label?

  I didn’t get to ask. Becky, one of the girls on the far side of the room brought it up. Fiona threw in a few sarcastic comments about the models on TV. The conversation shifted even more as Ingrid got us to talk about pet peeves. When she came to me, I said what I thought. “I hate having to miss the basket because girls can’t hit it every time.”

  “Who says?” Becky demanded, twining black hair around her finger. “It’s coordination, talent and practice. Can you play golf?”

  “I’ve never tried,” I said. “What does golf have to do with basketball?”

  “Well, if I took you out to the course, I bet I’d beat you. I’ve been playing since I could lift a club. If I’m on the court, I expect you to do better than me. You love basketball. You’ve been playing forever. Why do you have to miss the basket?”

  “I told you. Because girls can’t shoot like guys can. Does a coach ever tell a guy to hold back?”

  “Only if he’s a secret weapon,” Ron said. “We have this guy, Logan Watson at Centennial. We know he can outscore everyone, so we use him to mop up the competition.”

  “Does he hold back in practice?” Ingrid asked.

  “No way. He has to keep his skills sharp or he’ll lose it when we need him.”

  “What if he was a girl?” Ingrid didn’t look at me, but kept her attention on Ron.

  “The cheerleaders would be majorly ticked. So would he when they quit following him.”

  More laughter, but I got the point. It made me feel better. Coach Norris had preconceived notions of what made girls successful. He didn’t think we had the same desire to win that the guys did. I’d bet he’d be totally surprised that Patricia wanted us to compete at State this year. He probably didn’t even know he practiced what Ingrid called, gender bias. Okay, so I wasn’t about to call a lawyer and pitch a fit about sexual discrimination. I’d just know it was Coach and his prejudices, not me. And come Thursday night, I’d play ball. Lincoln High would win again!

  When I got home a little after eight-thirty, Charlie and Queenie met me at the back yard gate. I scooped up my puppy and snuggled with him for a moment. I leaned down and petted Queenie. Then the three of us headed for the back door. I kept a wary eye out for doggie landmines and reminded myself that I needed to poop scoop the back yard the next day.

  Dave and Mom sat at the kitchen table with Autumn helping her with homework. I put down my dog and found treats for him and Queenie. “Hey, how’s it going?”

  “Pretty good,” Mom said. “Oscar’s parents called and he’s joining the club. He’ll be here on Sunday for the first meeting. They wanted to know the name and I told them we hadn’t decided yet.”

  “I thought it would be good if everybody voted on it.” I shrugged. “Then, nobody can complain later.”

  “Or if they do, you don’t have to listen,” Dave pointed out. “Do you have homework too, Sierra?”

  “Always at this school. Why?”

  “Oh, I thought you might be up for a little one-on-one out in the carport if you weren’t too tired after your practice and meeting.”

  I eyed him, wondering how he knew about the at-risk teen thing and saw a blush creep into Mom’s face. So, she’d ratted me out again. What else was new? “Hey, I can always read History after I totally defeat you.”

  “Bring it on, little girl.” He laughed. “Bring it on!”

  “No problem.” I put away my backpack and grabbed the pink basketball out of the closet. We strolled out to the carport and he hit the light switch. Once we could see what we were doing, I began dribbling. He tried to block me, but I went around him and shot from what would have been the back of the free throw line if there was an actual key painted on the concrete. I threw the ball at him. He caught it, twisted around and scored.

  Oh yeah, this was what the game was all about. We didn’t play nice. We fouled each other, got free throws, and continued to steal the ball whenever possible. A half hour later, I collapsed on the floor. “Time out.”

  “Me too.” He sat down beside me. He reached in his shirt pocket, pulled out a tiny jewelry box. “I wanted to show you this.”

  “What is it?” Dread swirled through me. “Oh, Dave. Don’t do it.”

  “I have to.” He popped the catch. Light flashed off an emerald ring. “She’s enchanted me from the first moment I saw her.”

  “She’ll break your heart. You barely know her.”

  “I know everything I need to know about your mom, Sie
rra. She hasn’t held back anything. She’s made mistakes in her life, but so have I. Nobody’s perfect, honey.” He reached over and smoothed my hair. “Will you give us your blessing?”

  “Only if you promise to wait until next fall for the wedding,” I said, thinking fast.

  “Why?”

  “Because it takes time to put on a big ceremony,” I said, still fudging. I barely managed to meet his gaze. I couldn’t say that I wanted an escape clause for him. If Mom got through the rodeo season and didn’t do a swap-ortunity for one of her bronc riders, I’d know she really loved Dave. I’d believe she was ready to be an adult. Right now, I didn’t know what game she was playing.

  “That’s fair.” Dave closed the box and put it back in his pocket. “I’ve been visiting Shamrock Stable for a long time, but your mom and I only started dating a few months ago. If we get married next September, my youngest son will be home from Afghanistan.”

  “There you go. That’s the perfect reason.” I jumped up and grabbed the basketball. “Come on. My turn to beat you.”

  “You can try.” He was on his feet, blocking me. “When the boys are home on leave, they’ll take on both of us.”

  “And we’ll whip them into shape,” I said.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Shamrock Stable, Washington

  Tuesday, January 14th, 10:15 pm

  I looked up from my history book when Mom walked into my room. I didn’t see the ring on her finger and tried to ignore the relief that swept through me. “What’s going on?”

  “You tell me.” Mom sat on the edge of my double bed. “I haven’t seen you since this morning when you blew in from the barn, ran for the shower and hit the road for school. How was your practice?”

  “Other than the fact that my new coach is trying to turn me into Basketball Barbie, it’s fine.” I carefully turned in my chair so I could focus on her. Charlie was asleep under my desk and I didn’t want to disturb the puppy in his cave. “The at-risk meeting was good tonight. Ingrid got us going on stereotypes. She gave us an assignment this week instead of asking for our goals.”

  “Really? What is it?”

  “The girls are supposed to act like guys and the boys are going to try being sensitive and sweet. Then we list the labels we’re called, who uses them and bring the names back to group.” I laughed. “It’s going to be fun. We only do it for a couple hours, because Tom wimped out when Ingrid suggested we do it for the whole week.”

  “How does that help you learn to deal with others?” Confusion filled Mom’s face and she tilted her head to one side. “I don’t get it.”

  “It’s all about prejudices.” I glanced back at my book, then looked at her again. Perched on my bed, in blue jeans and a green Shamrock Stable sweatshirt, red hair foaming down her back, Mom reminded me of a fairy from one of the cartoons that my little sister loved. “My coach has preconceived notions about what girls can and can’t do. That’s on him, not me. All I need to do is my best.”

  “That ties into the 4-H motto of making the best, better, something we’ll need to teach in our new club,” Mom said. “I’m glad this school is working out for you.”

  “It’s good,” I said. “Anything else? I should get back to the first battles of the Civil War.”

  “I’ll leave you to it.” Mom hesitated, then added. “Dave wants to go out on Friday night. Will you be here to take care of Autumn?”

  “No worries,” I said. “You can count on me.”

  “I always do. Don’t stay up too late. We have to hit the barns early.”

  “I’ll be there.” I didn’t wait for her to leave before I started in on the Cornell notes again.

  * * * *

  Marysville, Washington

  Wednesday, January 15th, 8:05 am

  We’d finished our entry task, a long descriptive write about our favorite Christmas present. We had to tell what the gift looked like, sounded like, smelled like, tasted like, felt like if we touched it and the emotions it created in us. I wrote all about Charlie who was definitely the best puppy in the world. He was learning how to be a stock dog. He thought helping me water and feed the horses in the morning was meant to be doggie time.

  Once we finished our writes, we’d moved onto our grammar packet and diagrammed three pages of sentences. After that, the next item on the list was to read our non-fiction book so it would inspire us to write a brilliant memoir. Since Mrs. Weaver didn’t know I’d read, The Man Who Listens to Horses at least a dozen times, I’d chosen it again. I could always learn something new from Monty Roberts, my favorite horse whisperer.

  I glanced up when Vicky stopped next to me. She leaned down and whispered that it was my turn to conference with the teacher. I nodded, grabbed my comp book and went up to the front corner of the room and Mrs. Weaver’s desk. She waved to the other chair and I sat down. Obviously, this was going to take a while.

  “Have you had a chance to study the syllabus so you know what the requirements are for this class, Sierra?”

  “No.” Heat swept into my face and I knew my cheeks must be as red as my hair. “I’m sorry. I completely forgot about it.”

  She sat and stared at me, a gray-haired troll in her gray suit. “Are you a real kid?”

  “Sure. What else would I be?”

  “Because I’m not hearing any excuses. You’re not telling me that you just got here last week, that the classes are harder than any you’ve ever done before, and that you have basketball practice almost every day.”

  “I don’t think excuses are very effective or efficient,” I said. “Then, we have to do this stupid dance where you lecture me about taking responsibility. I’d lie, deny and waste time that I don’t have. Let’s just skip all those steps and cut to the chase. What do I need to know to pass your class and keep my four-point?”

  “Definitely not a real kid.” Mrs. Weaver leaned forward and picked up a piece of paper. “I think I like you. Vicky said I would, but Robin told me that you were tough. I thought that meant you’d challenge my authority.”

  “Why would I? It’d waste time I don’t have. You have a job to do here. You need to teach me English. I have a job in this room. I need to learn it.”

  “Can I clone you?”

  Before I answered, she gathered up more papers and handed them over. I glanced down at the top sheet. It read “Requirements for your Sophomore Project.” “What’s this?”

  “To sum it up, you need to put together a research project about your future job. What do you plan to do with your life?”

  “Run Shamrock Stable. It’s been in my family forever and I’m the next generation.”

  “Is that what you’ve always wanted to do, Sierra? When you were a little girl, did you decide I’m going to grow up and be an entrepreneur?”

  “Not really. I was going to be an actress.” I laughed. “I loved Julie Andrews. She was my hero. She could sing, dance, star in roles that ran the gamut from an innocent governess to a racy cross-dresser. Not very realistic, is it? So, what do I do? Get my mom to sign off on the hours that I spend teaching what Robin calls, Pee-Pee Camp and shoveling horsy stuff?”

  “No.” Mrs. Weaver smiled at me. “You talk to Mr. Haller and find out how to get involved in the community theater he runs with the drama teacher at Centennial Mid-High.”

  “What?” I gaped at her, feeling like my jaw was about to hit the floor. “Didn’t you hear me? I’m going to spend my life mucking stalls, training horses, teaching obnoxious brats who think I should groom and saddle for them while they stand and watch. Not to mention dealing with their arrogant parents who pitch fits when I won’t let their brats be bitten or kicked by animals that outweigh them by hundreds of pounds.”

  “If it was your dream job, I could see it. Vicky loves each and every minute she’s in the barn. However, you’re not her. This project is about you finding your passion, Sierra. Life is too short to be miserable for the hours, days, weeks, years you spend on this planet.”

  “Oh yeah,
” I said. “You bet. I can just hear my mom now. She’ll go off and tell me how many actresses never make it. The barn is a sure thing. Are you going to tell me that teaching snarky teens is what you love to do?”

  “Yes, I am. It’s why I get up in the morning. Like the song says, “Some people get their kicks stomping on a dream.” I have the responsibility of encouraging youngsters to go after theirs. I change the world, one kid at a time. This is my passion, Sierra. It doesn’t sound like you share it so you will be a fabulous actress. You already are.”

  “Me? How do you figure that?”

  “You’ve already signed up for what you thought would be the role of your lifetime. I’m sure it will surprise your entire family when you opt for personal happiness instead. They’ve programmed you for a “life of quiet desperation” from the time you started elementary school. Since I’ve changed your whole life assignment, I’ll contact your mom and let her know.”

  “What are you going to tell her?”

  “That nobody should give up their dreams especially not a girl like you.” Mrs. Weaver glanced past me to the clock over the door. “I’ve got time for one more conference. Send up Steve.”

  I did on the long trip back to my desk. It felt like I was on the giant roller-coaster up at the fairgrounds. My head spun and my stomach bounced up and down. I didn’t know what to think. Acting? Community Theater? Mom would lose it. She hadn’t asked about all my different classes here and I hadn’t told her that I spent two periods a day singing and a third onstage in drama. Okay, so she wanted me in the teen choir at church, but that was part of the plan to turn me into Saint Sierra who was totally patient and tolerant.

  Robin caught up with me in the hall. “You had a major conference with Weaver. What was that about?”

  “My sophomore project. I thought I could skate through it by just doing barn stuff, but it has to be what she calls, my passion.”