Bold Beauty (10 page)

“We have four volunteers for the side I'm coaching, pro-choice. But Barker and Sal still need two more volunteers for their pro-life team.”

Sal?
I figured she'd be on the other team.

Note to self: Don't jump to conclusions.

“Any volunteers?” Ms. Brumby asked.

My heart pounded.
Please, somebody!

Ms. Brumby frowned.

Barker glanced at me, then back to Ms. Brumby. “I'm sure we'll get more in life science,” he said.

“I hope so.” Ms. Brumby moved to the blackboard and started writing our assignments.

I wanted to go home and scream into a pillow. Not only was I a liar, I was a coward.

By the time I got to life science, a dozen kids had asked about my eye. I'd stuck with the door explanation, which got easier and easier to give.

Pat Haven rushed into class, dropped a stack of papers on the desk, and caught her breath. “We got ourselves a problem! I still need two more volunteers for our next debate. We have to get moving on this, folks.”

It had been bad enough wimping out in Brumby's class. Letting Pat Haven down was going to be torture.

Nobody volunteered.

Summer muffled a laugh. I wheeled around to glare at her. She was whispering to Grant. I wanted to pull her out of her chair by her golden curls.

“Anybody?” Pat asked. “Don't forget. You'll have to be on a debate team sooner or later.”

Still no takers.

Most of the kids didn't seem to mind talking in front of people. Why weren't
they
volunteering? I'd kept putting off debating because I wouldn't be any good at it. I can talk a horse into almost anything. But people? No way.

“Might as well give up, Mrs. Haven.” Summer sounded bored. “Nobody else is going to argue against a woman's right to choose.”

“You may be right, Summer,” Pat admitted. “But I sure hope not.”

“This is a stupid debate anyway,” Summer muttered, loud enough for us to hear. “Haven ought to get with the times. Abortion's been legal for years.”

Something inside me snapped. “It—that doesn't mean right!” It hadn't come out like I'd wanted it to.

“What?” Summer smirked and glanced at Sal for backup.

Barker took over. “Winnie said that just because abortion was legalized, that doesn't mean it's right.”

“That's not what Winnie said.” Summer laughed and stared right at me. “What
did
you say, Winnie?” She said it like she was talking to a four-year-old.

I didn't trust myself to answer.

“Maybe you're saving it for the debate,” Summer suggested. “Oooh—I hope we don't all end up with black eyes!”

My stomach tied in knots, like my tongue.

“There aren't enough on your side to have the debate, Mrs. Haven!” Brian shouted. “So . . . we win!”

“You do not!” I shouted back. My ears roared and my face burned.

“Are
you
volunteering?” Summer asked.

“Yeah!” I blurted out. It was like hearing someone else say it. Not me. Certainly not me.

“Hot dog!” Pat exclaimed. “No offense. Three down, one to go!”

“You said it could be
any
seventh-grader, right? If we didn't get enough from the class? Catman will recruit somebody!” Barker promised, patting my bruised shoulder. I didn't feel it. I was too numb.

I didn't look at Summer, but I heard her whisper to Sal, “This should be good. I can hardly wait to see Winnie in action!”

Mom always warned me that my temper would get me into trouble my whole life if I didn't get a handle on it. Now I'd really done it. As if I didn't have enough to worry about with Bold Beauty, I, Winnie the Tongue-Tied Horse Gentler, was now on a debate team!

I caught up with Catman in the cafeteria and waited until he sat across from me, his tray loaded with everything the cafeteria ladies had to offer. Between worrying about the debate and Beauty's high jump, my stomach was too knotted to eat. “Catman, you haven't talked to any seventh-graders about joining Barker's debate team, have you?”

He scarfed the top of his hamburger bun in two bites and shook his head.

“Don't try too hard,” I pleaded. “Or better yet, find
two
people! I sort of accidentally said I'd be on Barker's team, but—”

“Cool.” He inhaled the bottom bun, then started on the burger.

“No!
Not
cool! I'd make a fool of myself, Catman. Plus, I'd make the pro-life side look stupid!”

Catman squinted at my eye and handed me his napkin.

I dabbed at the makeup.

“Heard you ran into a door.” Catman didn't look up from the peas he scooped onto his knife.

My lie sounded even lamer coming from Catman. I couldn't think of anything to say.

Catman rejoined the food line for seconds.

All around kids shouted, making plans for after school. Silverware banged. Trays clattered.

I glanced at Summer and Grant's table and thought about Hawk's e-mail. Maybe Summer had made it up about finding a horse to replace Beauty. I wouldn't have put it past her. A tray plunked down across from me.

“Catman—,” I started.

But it wasn't Catman. I recognized the kid from my English class who sat in the back and hadn't said one word since school started. His hair, pulled back in a ponytail, was longer than Catman's, but black, like everything he wore every single day. Even in August, he'd shown up in black jeans and a black turtleneck.

I started to warn him he was in Catman's spot, but thought better of it. Catman could take care of himself. Instead, I tried to smile. “Hi . . .” I didn't even know his name.

He glanced at me, then went back to his burger.

“How's it going?” I tried again.

This time he didn't even look up.

Fine. I'd wait until Catman got back. Nobody takes the Catman's seat.

Catman walked up and, without a pause, slid in next to the kid in black. They might have been in a french-fry race, matching each other as they ate fry for fry in silence. When Catman had finished every bite of his seconds, he said, “M, this is Winnie.”

So
this
was M! I'd heard M stories ever since we'd moved to Ashland. Kids joked about what the
M
stood for—Mystery, Moody, Maniac, Mute.

“We're in Brumby's class together,” I said. “So what's the
M
stand for?”

M shot me a look as if I'd asked him why his mother wore army boots.

Catman shoved his tray away. “Done.” Compared to M, he was downright talkative.

At least I didn't have to worry about M blabbing. “Catman, I'm riding Beauty as soon as I'm done with the Pet Help Line. I have to get her to take that high jump.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Don't say that!” I protested. “I can do this in my sleep.”

Catman locked his bright blues on me. “No doorknobs this time?”

“Look, I'm going to tell everybody the truth . . . eventually. I just need to make the jump first. Okay? I'm sure I can do it this time.”

Luckily Pat had a lot of customers at Pat's Pets after school, so she didn't get a chance to quiz me. Barker settled in a new litter of puppies while I watched Catman answer his last e-mail at lightning speed, using only his thumbs and pinkies.

Catman,

A pilot friend claims you solved his cat problem after three cat psychologists failed. We're flight attendants and have a Siamese cat in our Chicago apartment. When we're gone, Cuddles takes her revenge and scratches my favorite couch—never anything else. Any advice?

—Cat-loving Stewardesses

Catman didn't even pause to think of his answer:

Peace, Stewardesses!

You can stop that scratching by chowing down an orange. Pin the orange peel to that couch. Cats hate the smell of oranges. Cuddles won't hang there again. But hey, man! You should rap about getting another cat. Cuddles is lonely! Thanks for writing—gives me a chance to practice left-handed typing. Stewardesses is the longest English word you can type with the left hand. Fly high!

—Catman

Catman walked off to find Peter Lory, and I took over. Right away I spotted a message from Hawk and saved it until I'd finished the help-line e-mails. Sunday I'd lied to Hawk, too, and promised that Beauty and I were fine. Maybe this time, on e-mail, I could tell her the truth.

It didn't take long to answer five horse e-mails. Then I scrolled down to Hawk's:

Winnie!

Great news about Bold Beauty! I should have known Winnie the Horse Gentler wouldn't fail when it came to horses!

Guess what I saw in the grasslands! My first golden plover! It had long legs, like the Ohio plover, the one Lizzy calls “killdeer.” When I got close to the nest, the bird spread out her wings and pretended to be hurt. She led me away from her babies and faked injury to protect them.

Mother is calling. No, I have not gotten the courage to tell her yet.

—Hawk

How could I tell Hawk about my problem when she had her own? I dashed off a quick pep talk to encourage her to talk to her parents. I ended with “You can do it! So just do it!”

At home, all three horses came into the barn to greet me. It felt great to be around horses after a day of dealing with humans. If there was any place in the world I had confidence, this was it. Nothing was stopping me from taking that high jump.

Except that the stalls needed cleaning. After mucking them, I grained the horses, measuring out the special oat mix I keep in plastic bins. Beauty finished her oats and came back for more. She snorted gently and nuzzled me. I slipped my arms around her neck and smelled the warmth. Chilly nights had brought on horse fuzz, the first stage of her winter coat.

“You deserve a good owner like Adrianna,” I murmured.

I was halfway to the tack box to get the jumping saddle when I changed my mind. No sense making Nickers jealous by jumping Beauty. I really should ride my own horse first.

Nickers stood still while I slipped on the hackamore, her bitless bridle, and swung up bareback. She quivered, ready to go. I hugged her neck, feeling safe.

We rode away from the barn, far away from the hedge that loomed in the pasture. I turned down an overgrown lane blanketed with brown leaves. A flock of birds took off in a fury of wings.

Can we just stay here forever, God?

The lane grew narrower, then disappeared into weeds. I let Nickers choose her own path and her own pace. She must have read my heart. Nickering softly, my Arabian moved through the field, surefooted and controlled. When we came to a fence, she turned around.

As we neared the barn, Nickers pranced. She may have been eager to see Towaco and Beauty. Or she might have sensed my anxiety.

I cooled Nickers down. Then instead of saddling Beauty, I hopped on Hawk's good-natured Appaloosa. Towaco had worked his way out of every vice he'd picked up at Stable-Mart. Anybody could ride him now.