Unhappy Appy

by Dandi Daley Mackall

  “Do you?” Hawk asked. “Do you pray for every little thing?”

  I scooted deeper into the sleeping bag, fighting off the draft. “I have enough trouble remembering to pray for the big things,” I admitted.

  The verse from the church bulletin flashed into my head, complete with the gold bulletin and all the announcements: “He delights in every detail of their lives.”

  “Does it work?” Hawk asked. “Praying for the big things?”

  I thought about it. I’d prayed my mom wouldn’t die. I’d prayed we wouldn’t sell our ranch in Wyoming. I’d prayed Hawk would be my best friend.

  On the other hand, I’d prayed we could stay in Ashland, and here we were. I’d prayed for a horse, and now I had the best horse in the world.

  “Sometimes,” I finally answered. “I mean, prayer probably works all the time. But you don’t always get what you pray for.” I knew I wasn’t making sense. I wanted to wake up Lizzy so she could explain about Jesus and praying. Lizzy had kept praying just as hard after Mom died. It didn’t bring Mom back, but I think praying helped Lizzy through it.

  Hawk rolled over. “Good night, Winnie.”

  “Night, Hawk.”

  It took me a long time to get to sleep. It had been over two years since Mom died, and still, in the middle of the night I missed her so much I was afraid to close my eyes.

  Tuesday morning in Ms. Brumby’s class, Summer made prune faces while I tried to define friendship for our report. “I think a friend is somebody who, like, rides horses with you and—”

  “Right!” Summer rolled her eyes. “And what if the horse bites the friend? And the friend can’t fix the horse’s problem?”

  “Towaco didn’t bite Hawk!” I protested.

  Summer ignored me and turned to Hawk. “If you don’t sell that horse, you need a bigger bit and a martingale to hold his head down. And my brother knows how you can tie a horse’s mouth shut so he can’t bite.”

  “Has he tried it on you?” I asked.

  “Could we just do the report,” Hawk pleaded. “Winnie has a good start. Friends do things together.”

  Summer leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs at the ankles. She wore six ankle bracelets. “Well, a best friend is someone who’s like you.” She sneered at me, making it clear I didn’t qualify. To Summer Spidell, I’d always be the Mustang who didn’t belong in her American Saddlebred herd.

  By the time I got to life science, I couldn’t wait to get going on my horse therapy paper. I pulled out the pages I’d printed at Pat’s Pets. One story had a picture of a little kid, his legs in braces, smiling from the back of an Icelandic mare. Something about his smile reminded me of something . . . somebody . . . Mason!

  Why hadn’t I thought of it before? Horse therapy might work on Mason Edison. Dad said it was a doctor who’d suggested horse riding for Mason in the first place.

  I read through all the horse therapy material again, this time with Mason in mind. Horses had helped thousands of people. A 13-year-old girl spoke for the first time after three weeks of riding lessons; she spoke to the horse! An eight-year-old boy had never responded to his mom. She’d tell him to brush his hair or get his shoes, and he’d keep staring out the window as if he hadn’t heard her. After one month of horse therapy, the boy formed a partnership with a stable horse. The horse therapist could ask him to get a certain brush or even to saddle the horse, and the boy would do it. Pages and pages told how cerebral palsy kids improved their balance.

  I have to tell Hawk about this!

  I carried my notebook to the back row and plopped down next to Hawk.

  Summer groaned. “What were we saying about parasites?”

  Hawk laughed. Her lips tightened, and she seemed to try not to, but her eyes watered.

  Parasites. One-sided friendships.

  I didn’t feel like telling Hawk about horse therapy anymore. I walked back to my own seat and waited for class to end.

  I could smell the cafeteria before I walked in—a mixture of cabbage, cold cuts, and sweat. I took my place at Catman’s table.

  Across from me, M, one of Catman’s friends and a guy of very few words, was dressed totally in black as usual. As far as I know, nobody’s sure what the M stands for. He and Catman were nibbling sandwiches, which was odd because they can both down a whole sandwich in two bites.

  A cackle came from Summer’s table. Brian stood up and banged his fork on his plate, then sat down again.

  “M wants to know how Towaco’s doing,” Catman said between nibbles. He’d eaten the crust off and kept turning the sandwich as he ate.

  I hadn’t heard M say a word, but I turned to him. He was nibbling like Catman.

  “Thanks for asking, M. That Appy still isn’t himself. But I have an idea.” I told Catman and M about Mason and horse therapy. “So Mason and Towaco could end up partners. Might be what both of them need.”

  “Groovy.” Catman held up what was left of his sandwich. He’d eaten it into a circle, with the insides gone, except for a line of sandwich down the middle and two small branches, the universal sign for peace.

  M held up his sandwich, chewed to a perfect letter M.

  “Talented,” I said, wondering what it would feel like to have a friendship like those two.

  “We’re cutting out.” Catman stood up, and so did M. “Later.” And they were gone, leaving me at an empty table.

  I still had Lizzy’s cookies left, but I didn’t feel like eating alone. Stuffing my garbage into my lunch bag, I headed for the trash can, which meant I had to pass Summer’s table.

  Nobody looked up until I got close. Then Summer, her eyes fixed on mine, leaned sideways and whispered something to Hawk. I heard the word parasite, and then Hawk burst out laughing.

  I kept walking, past the trash can, past tables of noise and laughter, out of the cafeteria.

  Who needs people friends, anyway? I told myself as I walked faster, my shoes echoing in the empty hall. Not Winnie the Horse Gentler. She doesn’t need anybody.

  I biked straight to Pat’s Pets after school. I didn’t want to give Hawk the chance to make up excuses for not coming with me.

  As I logged onto the Pet Help Line, Pat came over to the computer. “Winnie, is Hawk with you?”

  “No.” I said it too quickly.

  Pat raised her eyebrows. “You two gals not getting along?”

  “Hawk’s just staying with me because she doesn’t have anyplace else to go. No big deal.” I typed in my name and password and watched messages fill the screen.

  “I reckon it’s not easy on her, what with her folks away for the holidays,” Pat suggested. “Did I tell you I’m chowing down with my sister’s family in Cleveland for Thanksgiving? Hawk won’t let on, but she might be a bit homesick.”

  Hawk’s parents were gone half the time anyway. And I knew for a fact she didn’t get along with them very well when they were around. I wasn’t about to let Pat make excuses for her.

  Pat seemed to be waiting for me to say more. When I didn’t, she left to help a customer.

  I answered the four horse e-mails, taking extra time on the last one:

  Winnie,

  I think my horse loves our goat more than she loves me! They share the same pasture and can’t stand being apart. But I want to be my horse’s best friend. What can I do?

  —Jealous

  Dear Jealous,

  I understand. But you should be happy your horse has a good companion. As far as friendship goes, though, you’re asking the wrong person.

  —Winnie

  When I got home, Lizzy and Geri were in the kitchen. Geri reached into the fridge and tossed me a whole tomato, Lizzy’s current favorite after-school snack. She’d picked up the habit from the Coolidges.

  “Look what came for Hawk!” Lizzy held up a box with a leather coat in it. It smelled like a new saddle.

  “That’s from her mom,” Geri said. “And this is from her dad!” Geri held up beaded leather moccasins.

 
Victoria Hawkins had it all.

  Hawk walked out of the bedroom. “Hi, Winnie.”

  “Hi.” I didn’t even want to look at her. I could still hear Summer saying, “Parasite,” still hear Hawk’s laugh. “I need to go get Towaco ready for Mason.”

  “Need any help?” she asked.

  I started to say no, but I really did need help. All the horse therapy articles said you need three people to start out—one to lead, and two to walk beside the rider. I’d lead Towaco. Dad could be one of the walkers, but I sure didn’t want Madeline to be the other one. I’d have asked Lizzy; but even though she loves spiders and lizards and bugs, she’s scared of horses.

  “I guess I could use another person to walk with Mason when they get here,” I admitted.

  Hawk followed me to the barn and helped me brush Towaco. We stayed on opposite sides of the cross-tied Appy, neither of us talking. I think we were both relieved when Dad drove up, with Madeline and Mason following in their van.

  “We’re out here, Dad!” I hollered.

  Hawk stayed with Towaco while I walked out to meet them. Mason, in little cowboy boots and a riding helmet, came clomping toward me.

  “Could I take Mason by himself for a while?” I asked. I shot up a prayer that Madeline would understand. “Hawk’s helping, and we won’t let him ride or anything until you guys come out. I just think he’ll be less scared by himself.”

  “Without me freaking him out, right?” Madeline said it smiling. “Probably a good idea. I didn’t think I was afraid of horses until I saw Mason with one.”

  She squatted Mason-level and fastened the helmet strap under his chin. “Honey, I want you to go with Winnie and see the spotted horse. Okay? I’ll be there in a little bit.” Her voice shook.

  I took Mason’s hand, and he walked with me, without even glancing back at his mother.

  Hawk had Towaco saddled and the stirrups shortened already. I wanted to let Mason ride bareback, but I knew his mother couldn’t handle it, not yet at least.

  The minute Mason saw Towaco, he slipped his hand out of mine and walked straight to the Appy. He reached up to a spot on Towaco’s shoulder, a white spot that looks like a tiny saddle.

  “You like Towaco, don’t you?” Hawk said, grinning, as if Mason’s joy had rubbed off on her.

  “It’s okay to pet the Appy,” I said.

  Mason glanced at me over one shoulder, then turned back to Towaco and moved his little hand across the Appy’s shoulder. The night before, I hadn’t known if Mason understood us or not. Now I knew he did.

  He touched another spot and stroked it. Then another and another, all across Towaco’s belly.

  Towaco’s ears flicked. He craned his head around, the first real show of interest I’d seen in the Appy for days.

  Mason moved up toward Towaco’s head. Towaco pulled away and faced the wall.

  “That’s okay, Mason,” I said. “Towaco’s been in a bad mood lately.”

  But Mason wasn’t about to give up. He stepped around to Towaco’s other side and reached for the Appy’s cheek. Towaco turned away again. Mason followed him, crossing back to the left side of the horse. Back and forth they went.

  “I am sorry, Mason,” Hawk said. “I do not know what is wrong with Towaco.”

  Mason didn’t stop though. He moved from one side to the other, following Towaco’s head until Towaco gave up and let Mason pet him.

  “Blow into his nostrils,” I whispered, feeling the cold air charged with static electricity, as if the world waited to see what would happen. “His nose holes, blow into them. That’s how horses say hello.”

  Mason stood on tiptoes and blew.

  Nothing happened. Towaco didn’t pull away, but he didn’t blow back.

  Mason blew again. And again.

  “Maybe you can try it next time,” I suggested.

  But Mason hoisted himself up on his wobbly tiptoes and blew again.

  Towaco’s ears flicked, and he blew back.

  Mason giggled and rubbed the Appy’s muzzle.

  My breath caught in my chest as I watched them. “You don’t give up, do you, guy? Blowing hello like that is a Native American custom, Mason. Hawk’s Native American.”

  “I did not know the trick though,” Hawk admitted.

  Hawk watched over my shoulder as I showed Mason how to massage Towaco. “See how the Appy sways when you scratch his back? He’s loving it, Mason!”

  Towaco had been so out of it lately that he hadn’t rolled in the dirt to get rid of the itchies. Scratching his back must have felt great. His eyelids drooped, and he sighed—horse language for This is the life!

  Mason was still rubbing Towaco’s back when Madeline and Dad joined us.

  “Well, look at that!” Dad exclaimed. “Ready to ride, cowboy?”

  “Everything all right, Mason?” Madeline asked.

  “Mason, you want to ride Towaco?” I asked.

  He turned to us, his smile so big he didn’t need words.

  “Here you go, Mason,” I said, lifting him into the saddle while Hawk held the reins.

  “Hold on to the horn, honey!” Madeline offered.

  He took the saddle horn in both hands, and I guided his feet into the stirrups. Mason’s body slanted to the right, throwing him off balance in the saddle. I tried to push him straight, but he tilted back, still angling to the right.

  “Dad, you stand on this side and keep one hand on Mason’s leg.” I took the reins from Hawk. “You do the same on this side.”

  I led Towaco down the stallway. Mason laughed out loud. I walked the Appy past Madeline, to the end of the barn, turned, and walked him back.

  “Are you okay, Mason?” Madeline asked as we passed her again.

  You just had to take one look at Mason’s smiling face to know he was more than okay. He giggled. He gurgled. He loved every minute, as I led him back and forth inside the barn.

  Towaco changed too. He had spring in his step, and I sensed the Appy was finally enjoying something.

  “I think Mason could do this for hours,” I said as we made another lap of the barn.

  “But I have a feeling this is about all Mason’s mother can stand for one day,” Dad whispered.

  We ended the ride, and Mason helped us brush Towaco before I turned him out into the pasture.

  Madeline thanked us, and Dad walked them to their van. Mason walked backward so he could stare at Towaco the whole way.

  “See you tomorrow!” I shouted.

  Just before he was lifted into the van, Mason turned and grinned, showing me the perfect dimple Lizzy had thanked God for the night before. How could I have missed it?

  Wednesday was just a half day at school. About all the teachers managed to get from us were our papers. I’d stayed up late finishing my horse-partnership paper for Pat’s class. Hawk had written the friendship paper on her own and turned it in to Ms. Brumby from the three of us.

  By the time I got home after school, our house had been transformed into a zoo. Lizzy and Geri were babysitting their class pets over the holidays—a gerbil, two hamsters, and three white mice. Peter Lory swooped the room, flying circles above the rodent cages, while the lovebirds sang to each other. Willises’ Wild World of Pets.

  “Hawk called!” Lizzy shouted over the squawking and scratching. “She said she was eating over at Summer’s tonight.”

  “But she can’t!” I protested. “I need her to spot for Mason’s ride. They’ll be here any minute.”

  I could use a helping hand here, God, I prayed as I raced to the barn to tack up Towaco. I rounded the corner and rammed smack into Catman Coolidge. He didn’t budge, but I fell backward.

  Catman stuck out his hand. “Need a hand, man?”

  Thank you, God.

  As we got Towaco ready, I explained to Catman what I needed him to do for Mason’s ride. We’d just finished saddling the Appy when I heard the van pull up.

  Mason ran into the barn in his boots and helmet, a wool jacket buttoned up to his chin. He
stumbled, and one leg dragged a little, but he didn’t stop running until he reached Towaco.

  Catman shook Mason’s hand. “Nice threads, little man. Call me Catman.”

  “Today,” I explained, “we’ll take you for a spin in the paddock, Mason.”

  Madeline wrung her hands as Catman lifted Mason into the saddle. Dad and Catman took their positions on either side of Mason, and I led Towaco into the paddock. Madeline watched from outside the fence.

  I grinned up at Mason. “Can you say ‘Go, Towaco!’?”

  Mason giggled. I tried the phrase again. He giggled again.

  Madeline waved each time we walked by her. The sun was shining, taking the chill out of the air. It may have been my imagination, but it looked like Mason was already sitting up straighter, not so off balance.

  After five trips around the paddock, Catman and Dad stopped holding on to Mason. They stayed close beside him but let him sit on his own. Mason never stopped smiling.

  Dad hadn’t said much. As we walked past the barn, circling again, he cleared his throat. “So . . . things are . . . okay?”

  “Are you kidding?” I asked, smiling back at Mason. “Take a look at that face.”

  “And . . . everybody else? Getting along better? You . . . and Madeline?”

  I glanced at Catman. He held up the two-finger peace sign. “I guess,” I said.

  “That’s good. Because I . . . vite . . .” Dad mumbled the last part.

  “What’d you say?” I asked. I looked to Catman again, but he stared off at the sky.

  “Hmm?” Dad brushed something off Mason’s boot. “Just that I invited Madeline to Thanksgiving din . . .” His voice trailed off, but not before I understood what he’d said.

  I stopped cold. Towaco bumped into me. A stabbing pain started in my forehead and traveled through my skull.

  My dad had invited another woman to Thanksgiving dinner!

  Towaco shook his head, anxious to keep going. The air in the paddock had gone stale, sucked out by my dad’s little announcement.

  “Tell me you’re kidding!” I shouted. “You can’t invite her!”

  “Shh-h-h!” Dad glanced at Madeline, who waved from the fence. “Don’t you remember our tradition, Winnie?” He was trying to make his voice light, like this was nothing. But he couldn’t look me in the eyes. “Each of us can invite a friend to—”