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Authors: Susan Ketchen

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BOOK: Born That Way
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CHAPTER FOUR

I'm on a bay horse. The mane is black in my fingers and the coat is a glossy red-brown. We're only walking, nothing dramatic or exciting, except that just being on a horse is exciting. And it's dark out, so that makes it dangerous. But it's not dangerous, because I'm riding and therefore it must be a dream. On my right is another horse, and riding the horse is a woman I don't know. She has thick, wavy ash-blonde hair and she kind of glows so I can see her even though it's night time.

“Nice hi-lights,” she says, which is a little alarming, but funny too.

I laugh.

“The smell goes away,” she says, which is too much. I stop laughing.

“You're being very patient,” she says. “And the stretching is a good idea, but we think it's time you did more. They're not catching on—your parents, I mean.”

This is totally freaky. I'm not used to someone talking to me in my dreams about my real life.

She looks at me closely and says, “It's okay. There's nothing to be afraid of. Stay in the dream. Notice the horse.”

“Okay,” I say. I gaze down at my horse, the black mane, the pointy brown ears with black tips, there must be a moon for me to notice all this. There's so much light that I can see how similar this dream horse is to Nickers, she's the same colour, and I seem to be the same distance off the ground, and she feels the same under my bum, I can barely feel the ridge of her spine underneath me, and then she turns her head and sniffs my naked toes and I see it is Nickers. I am riding Nickers, in the night, in my bare feet and I am so excited that I wake up, but even when I'm awake I can hear the woman saying again, “Notice the horse.” And my toes feel the warmth from Nickers's breath.

After breakfast, while Dad plays a round of golf, Mom drives me to her sister's house. She thinks it will be fun for me to have a visit with my cousins. My cousins don't like me. Well, that's a bit strong. It's more that we don't have anything in common so they hardly notice me. Plus they are all taller than me so even when they do notice me they treat me like a baby. Even Erika, and she is only ten. Taylor is fifteen and Stephanie is way older, she must be nineteen. Luckily, she is away at university so I'll only have the two younger ones to deal with. They do highland dancing and ballet, and they like wearing makeup. The only way they'd enjoy my visit is if I let them do a makeover on me. I hope that isn't in the plans.

Still, the drive over provides a good opportunity to quiz Mom.

“Mom, do you ever have dreams where you know you're dreaming?”

“No, but that sounds like fun, Pumpkin.”

“It doesn't mean I'm crazy?”

“Oh no. It's called lucid dreaming. I've read about it but never been able to do it.”

“You mean you tried?”

“Oh, a couple of times, when I was younger. Have you been able to do it?”

“I think so. Sort of.”

“Good for you, Honey.”

“And last night someone I didn't know was talking to me.”

Mom smiles at me. “That would be your subconscious, Sweetie. One part of your brain talks to another part of your brain at night to sort things out.”

“Even in a lucid dream?”

Mom nods. “Oh yes. Definitely.”

I'm not so sure about this, but we've pulled into the driveway at Auntie Sally's and their dog Bunga is jumping on the car door and Mom is saying thank goodness we're not in your father's car, so that is the end of the discussion for now.

Auntie Sally tells me the girls are in Taylor's room and I can go play with them there.

“Play?” I say, but no one's listening—Auntie Sally wants to show Mom her new tattoo and is dragging her into the bathroom. Auntie Sally never seems to understand that just because I'm shorter than Erika and wearing her hand-me-downs, doesn't mean that I'm still a child. “I don't play,” I tell their departing backs. “I hang.”

I tap on Taylor's door but there's so much laughing and giggling and screaming going on inside no one hears me. I wouldn't have thought that two girls could make so much noise, but I also hope they haven't invited any friends over—I feel left out enough without any extra competition. I knock harder, then open the door and poke my head in. Erika takes one look down at the top of my head, yanks open the door and runs out yelling, “Mom, it's not fair, Sylvie got hi-lights why can't I?” So I guess it's not as subtle as I'd hoped.

Taylor's bedroom is a masterpiece of pink on pink on pink. Who would have known that pink came in so many shades? The only relief comes from the splashes of white from all the unicorns. Taylor is a unicorn freak. Even her bedspread has a huge white unicorn prancing across the middle of it. Her lamp is a unicorn. She has four unicorn posters on the wall and unicorns on her curtains.

“Wow,” says Taylor. Since she's the middle child Mom says she'll be the best listener and the peace-maker, probably because Mom was the middle child in her own family. Auntie Sally is the baby. Uncle Brian was the oldest. Taylor picks up a strand of my hair in her fingertips. “How did you manage that?”

“It wasn't my idea. Mom wanted a female bonding thing and took me to her hairdresser.”

“Oh poor you,” says Stephanie from where she's lounging on the bed. University seems to have made her even more sarcastic than she used to be. “It must be tough there at the center of the universe in Only-Childsville.”

“Well think about it, Stephanie,” says Taylor. “How would you like having all of Mom's attention all the time? With no dilution?”

Stephanie shrugs. She is reading a fashion magazine which is open beside her and obscuring the horn of the unicorn on the bedspread. The unicorn ends up looking instead like a fairly reasonable horse, which as far as I'm concerned is a huge improvement.

“I thought you were away at university,” I say.

Stephanie turns a glossy page. “Reading week.”

“And you can read anything you want?”

She gives me her disgusted look. “Sylvie, you are so naïve.”

Taylor says, “Stephanie, she's fourteen.” She makes it sound like it was an ice-age ago that she was fourteen herself, but I know it's been less than a year. I don't want to say anything though, because Taylor is the only one who stands up for me. She turns to me and says, “Don't worry about her, Sylvie. Stephanie's upset because her boyfriend broke up with her.”

“Oh right, tell everyone,” says Stephanie.

“He wasn't good enough for her anyway,” says Taylor, which puts Stephanie on mute. “Show her the hickey he gave you, Steph.”

Stephanie crosses her eyes.

“Plus she's embarrassed because Mom went to Stephanie's tattoo studio.”

“She is such a wannabe,” moans Stephanie.

“She wants to be one of us—she wants to be a teenager,” explains Taylor.

“Unlike your mother, Sylvie,” says Stephanie, “who is so desperate for you to become one of them. Hi-lights,” she sniggers.

Taylor butts in before I can leap to my mother's defense. “So how is life anyways, Sylvie? What's new with you?”

My life disappears before my eyes. Other than the ridiculous hi-lights, there's nothing new. There's not even anything old to report that would be of interest to the socially sophisticated glamour sisters.

“I've started a new ballet class,” says Taylor. She lifts an elegant slender leg and points a toe to the ceiling. “I've grown an inch in the last month.”

That catches my attention big-time. “Ballet makes you grow faster?”

“Of course. It helps lengthen and strengthen the spine.”

Stephanie stretches and yawns. “You're not the ballet type though, are you. You're more the peewee hockey kind of athlete.”

“Stephanie, you are so mean,” says Taylor. “Are you doing any sports, Sylvie?”

I shake my head. There is only one sport for me, and I'm not doing it. “I tried gymnastics.” Taylor looks at me with such interest that I can't help myself. “I didn't like it though. I want to ride horses. That's all.”

“Ha!” says Stephanie. “Like Uncle Tightwad is going to pay for that.”

“Stephanie!” says Taylor.

Stephanie says, “I looked into it when I was younger. I wanted to ride then too. But it's so expensive—lessons, tack, vet bills. Cool clothes though—I love the tall black leather boots.” She bounces her eyebrows meaningfully a couple of times; Taylor laughs and I pretend to, but really I don't get it.

“Grandpa will buy me a horse,” I say. I have no idea why I'm telling them my special secret.

“Holy bananarama,” says Taylor.

It's too late, but I say, “It's a secret. And not until I'm taller.”

“That means not until you're post-puberty, have discovered boys, and don't want a horse any more,” pronounces Stephanie.

Taylor glares at her. “Stephanie, just because you're disappointed with your life . . . ”

“I am not disappointed with my life. I'm being realistic. You know how cheap Mom says Uncle Tony is, and how Auntie Evelyn has to drive around in that old car. You think he's going to fund equestrian sports for his daughter? Unlikely.”

“But she's an Only. It might be different for her than it is for us. And remember Grandpa paid for my ballet lessons. And your plastic surgery.”

“Which is private and personal, Taylor. Just because he won't buy you breast implants is no excuse for blabbing.”

“I don't want breast implants,” says Taylor.

Stephanie turns her attention back to her magazine. “Well you should,” she says.

I know all about Stephanie's surgery anyway so she didn't need to get mean about it. Mom told me. It wasn't as if the new nose could go unnoticed, but Mom made me promise not to say anything. I try to look like I don't know what they're talking about. Fortunately, it is a familiar expression for me.

Taylor sits at her desk, where she's started a drawing of a unicorn. It's not very good, she hasn't put in the fetlock joints. I would have thought someone who was fifteen would know better.

Stephanie finishes the magazine and fixes me in her sights. I feel like hiding under the bed. “If you want to get a horse you'll need to mount a campaign,” she says.

I'm stunned that my problem has caught Stephanie's attention and that, after fourteen years I have suddenly become worthy of her interest.

“I can do that,” I say. I try to focus on a spot in the center of her forehead. Now that I've been reminded about her nose job it's hard not to look at it, and I don't want to see her hickey either.

“What have you done so far?” says Stephanie.

“I'm doing stretching exercises all the time.”

“Do your parents know?”

“Yeah, but they think I want to grow tall so I can murder Mom and marry Dad.”

Taylor looks up briefly from her drawing. “That's disgusting. Not to mention incestuous.”

But Stephanie nods. “Carl Jung—from my Psych 101 class. Complete baloney. What you need is a business expert—like me. We did a module on guerilla marketing and I got an A because my ideas were so creative.”

“Gorilla marketing?” I say. I'm imagining dressing up in a gorilla suit and can't see how this would help.

Stephanie nods. She goes on to tell me I have to stop being so passive and waiting for things to happen. The stretching is good, but I have to advertise more. I have to promote myself in unexpected ways, she says. I have to hit them when and where they're least expecting it. Then she lies back on the bed and puts her arm across her eyes.

I had no idea that Stephanie was so smart. She makes me wish I had an older sister, though maybe not a sarcastic one, but someone I could talk to about personal things that I can't talk to Mom about because she's too old to understand what it's like to be young nowadays. I gaze at Stephanie with new-found affection, though now it seems she has decided to have a nap. I guess I'm not the sort of person who is interesting for very long, which is too bad because something else is bothering me and Stephanie would probably be the one who would know the answer. I decide to take a chance. “Stephanie?”

“What.” She's awake, but doesn't take the arm off her eyes. Awake but bored to death, that's what she looks like.

Well, it's too late to go back now. I have to ask her, I have to finish what I started. “Stehanie, what does fallick mean?”

She laughs and props herself up on one elbow. “I think you should ask your mom about that. Or look it up in the dictionary.”

“I overheard Mom say it, so I can't ask her or she'll know I was listening. And it wasn't in the dictionary.”

Stephanie looks surprised. Then she says, “How were you spelling it, dopey? Not with an
f
?”

Taylor, who lost interest early in the marketing lecture, rescues me. She adds another strand of wispy mane to her drawing and says, “It starts with
ph
. Try that.”

BOOK: Born That Way
6.37Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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