Friendly Foal (16 page)

I moved down the hall, flanked on both sides by velvet pictures of kids with hollow eyes. A cigarette smell grew stronger.

Cautiously I knocked on Sal's door.

Something struck the door from the other side. It sounded like Sal's other boot.

“Go away!” she shouted.

I shot up a quick prayer because Sal sounded pretty mad.

“Sal, it's me. Winnie. You said I could drag you out by your hair if you didn't show up.” I tried a fake laugh, but I'm no Summer. It came out a gurgle.

The door opened, and Sal stuck her head out. Her eyes were as red as her hair, which had two new green streaks. “I forgot,” she said, looking behind me, as if she thought I'd come with a posse.

“It's not too late,” I said, checking to see if she had anything in her hand that she might throw at me. “We could ride back to the barn now.”

Sal sniffed. She dabbed at her eyes with a shredded Kleenex. “All right.”

All right? Just like that? I'm not sure what I expected, but this wasn't it.

If I'd been Lizzy, I would have gone inside Sal's room and said just the right thing that would have made Sal open up and spill out everything that was wrong.

Instead I said, “Let's go.”

Sal pulled a bright pink ski jacket out of the closet. I'd never seen her wear it, and I suspected it was Gram Cracker's.

“Nathan,” Sal said at the door, “Gram should be back any minute to go to that party with you. So be ready. You okay here?”

“I'm okay.” To me, he whispered, “Be careful. And watch your back.”

We went outside. Sleet was falling in slanted sheets.

Nickers, glistening wet, did a little rear, then came trotting to me.

“That's
our ride?” Sal asked.

I jumped on first and then showed Sal how to use the front step to climb on behind me.

She's so tall, it wasn't hard for her to mount. But once she got on, she gripped so hard around my waist that I could barely breathe.

“Winnie, I've never been on a horse before!”

“Never?”

“Never!”

“Then why were you so upset that you couldn't ride Amigo?” I asked.

“I wasn't,” she admitted.

Nickers took off toward home at a fast walk. I kept her to a walk until Sal loosened her grip. Then I skipped the trot and urged Nickers into a lope.

“Winnie!” Sal cried.

“Relax, Sal!” I had to shout above the wind that swept across us, pelting us with tiny pieces of ice. My cheeks felt like they were being stuck with tiny pins. “Just go with the motion. Smooth as a rocking chair.”

Sal buried her head in my back, but her grip let up.

I prayed that God would make me more like Lizzy and give me the right words for Sal. After a couple of minutes of silence I blurted out, “Sal, why were you crying? Are you sad about something?”

“Wow!” she said. “You guessed it. I
am
sad. Winnie, you should be a psychologist.”

Sal can be pretty sarcastic when she wants to be.

After a couple of seconds she said, “I'm sorry, Winnie. It's just . . . Brian called and broke up with me.”

To be honest, I thought breaking up with a boy seemed about as dumb as going with one. I still didn't get it, the way girls in my class claimed they were
going out
with a guy, but they never went anywhere. I could care less myself. But I didn't say this to Sal. I'm not that dumb.

“Sorry, Sal. He sure acted like he was crazy about you.”

“Brian is a jerk,” she said. “I, Salena Fry, do hereby make the following New Year's resolution: I will give up men!”

I thought 12 years old was kind of young to give up on men, especially since
I
hadn't even started hoping for them yet. But maybe in Sal's case it wasn't such a bad idea.

“Good for you!” I said.

“Yeah! Good for me!” she said even louder. “Guys! Who needs them?”

We cantered back through the pastures while ice battered us. Nickers' steady breathing sounded regular and loud. Sal held on tight, but I heard her laugh behind me.

The Barker Bus was waiting in front of the barn when we rode up. Catman and Barker hadn't wanted to leave until I got back. I thanked them, and they hurried to the yellow van.

“Catman's cool,” Sal said after we were alone. “Barker too.”

“Yep.”

Sal and I went to the house to change into dry clothes. Lizzy donated a pair of her sweat pants and a sweatshirt, since all my stuff was way too small on Sal.

“Hey, at least I don't have to worry about Brian seeing me in this getup,” Sal said, checking herself out in the mirror. It definitely wasn't her usual look.

When we came into the kitchen, Lizzy had hot chocolate and salamander cookies waiting. We dug in.

“These are the best cookies I've ever eaten, Lizzy,” Sal said.

“Geri helped with this batch.” Lizzy elbowed her friend. “She got a really cool salamander for Christmas. Want to see it? She brought it over.”

“I'll pass,” Sal said, downing another cookie. “Man, Nathan is right. You really are the best baker in town.”

I glanced at Geri to see if she minded. But she kept grinning.

Dad walked in from the workshop. “Did you guys start the party without me?” He wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “Sal, right? How are you?”

Sal looked surprised that Dad remembered her. “Okay. How are you, Mr. Willis?”

“Not bad, as it happens.” Dad pulled a slightly singed golf ball from his pocket. Wires ran all over it. From his other pocket he pulled a tiny black box.

“What is it?” Sal asked.

“Don't ask,” I whispered.

“Glad you asked!” Dad said. “It's the chipmunk golf buddy!”

“Doesn't look much like a chipmunk,” Sal observed.

“Ah . . . but look
and
listen.”

“Dad, we really better get to the barn and—”

“Go ahead, Mr. Willis,” Sal said, ignoring me. “What's a chipmunk golf buddy?”

Dad filled Sal in on the history of the golf buddy, through the entire smoking-buddy stage, past the buzzer stage, and ending with the contraption in his hand.

“So you see, I had to have an
ordinary
sound that wouldn't disturb the other golfers but would still let the owner of the golf buddy find his ball. Check this out.” Dad set the ball on the table, flipped the switch on the remote, and the ball went
chit, chit, chit, chit.

“That sounds just like a chipmunk!” Sal exclaimed. “How did you do that?”

Dad actually blushed. “Well, I have a long way to go. I'll make it wireless, of course. And I can't add weight to the ball.”

“It must be so tight to be an inventor,” Sal said. “What else are you working on?”

“Funny you should ask, Sal,” Dad said. “Just this morning, I got the idea for an alarm squirter. You know? For those mornings when you sleep right through the radio
and
the buzzer. The clock would squirt you with water.”

“Man! I'd cut my tardies in half if I had something like that. Can I see it?” Sal asked.

“I've only just started . . . but sure! Come on!”

It was unbelievable. Sal followed Dad to his workshop and stayed there for 30 minutes.

Finally I had to go out and get her. She was down on her knees, holding a piece of clear plastic tubing while Dad attacked his old alarm clock.

“We're almost there, Winnie!” Dad called. “Sal has a good eye for invention.”

Sal grinned at me.

I let them play awhile longer, then dragged Sal out to the barn.

Outside, it had stopped sleeting. But the rain had frozen on tree branches, wrapping them in clear, sparkling ice. The trees twinkled.

Amigo was ready for us. This time everything was different between Sal and him. Sal wasn't in a rush. And Amigo didn't try to bolt from her. We did a whole imprinting session, just like Mason and I had done with the filly. Winnie the Horse Gentler was back. Nickers could go back to just being Nickers.

“He's not such a bad little guy, is he?” Sal said, scratching Amigo's chest. “Wouldn't he look tight in pierced earrings?”

“Not a good idea.” I showed her the horse greeting, how to blow into her horse's nostrils. Sal tried it. It took her three attempts before Amigo blew back. When he did, Sal acted as if he'd recited the Gettysburg Address.

“He'll be a great friend for you, Sal. You could keep him in your grandmother's backyard. There's room enough. He'll be easy to take care of.”

Please, God. Please?

“Maybe you're right,” Sal said.

Thank you!

“I had a really good time, Winnie,” Sal said, as if that fact had taken her totally by surprise.

“Me too. But we better get a move on, Sal. I have to wash my hair and get ready. I'm sure you do too. Dad can drive you home. Oh, yeah. Brian won't come to get you. Dad's dropping me off. We could swing over and pick you up first and maybe—”

“Winnie,” Sal interrupted. “Brian will be there. No way I'm going to that party.”

Sal and I made our way up to the house. The clouds were breaking apart and letting patchy light through, turning glazed branches into giant diamonds.

“If you don't go to Summer's party, what will you do, Sal?” I asked. “Is it too late to go with your grandmother and Nathan?”

“Yeah, thank goodness. Gotta admit, I hate being at Gram's by myself. That place is creepy at night, but it's better than Slick Hair's.”

I rode along when Dad drove Sal to Gram Cracker's. We scrunched in the cab of the cattle truck, and Sal didn't even make a wisecrack about our only “car.”

“Are you all set for the big night?” Dad asked, obviously trying to make conversation.

“I don't plan to do much,” Sal said, focusing out the frosted window that reminded me of Granny B's doilies.

“Aren't you going to the Spidell New Year's Eve party?” Dad asked.