Unhappy Appy (3 page)

“He tried to bite me!” Hawk narrowed her brown eyes at Towaco, who had already gone back to his droopy stance.

I couldn't believe the Appy would have gone through with it. But one thing was for sure: that horse was madder at Hawk than I'd imagined.

Hawk was wearing jeans, boots, and a fringed, suede jacket. Even in regular clothes, she manages to look like a model, or a Native American actress with her long, straight, black hair.

“I-I think Towaco was just kidding,” I said, putting myself between Hawk and her horse. Nickers had the good sense to stay away. “Your Appy is in a lousy mood today. I think he misses you.”

Hawk wasn't about to be kidded out of it. “Towaco has never tried to bite me.” As always, she pronounced each word precisely. She only slips into contractions when she's caught off guard, which is almost never.

“Forgive and forget, right?” I glanced at Catman for help.

“Have a groovy ride. Gotta split.” He put Nelson down. “Promised I'd help Bart and Claire with Thanksgiving decorations.”

Catman calls his parents by their first names only when they're not around. And they're the only ones who can get away with calling the Catman by his real name, Calvin. Calvin Coolidge.

“You decorate for Thanksgiving?” Hawk asked.

“Mr. and Mrs. Coolidge are big on lawn ornaments,” I explained, remembering the plastic figures that had covered their yard on Labor Day and Halloween.

“And they really dig Thanksgiving,” Catman added.

“So do we!” Lizzy chimed in. She turned to Geri but talked loud enough for all of us to hear. “I'm baking Wyoming turkey, lizard potatoes, and frog Jell-O. Everybody in our family has to come up with three things they're thankful for—and you can't count family because that's too easy. And we all get to invite a friend to dinner if we want—although most of the time the friend can't really come because they're having Thanksgiving dinner with their families. But this year I invite
you!
And you can . . .”

Lizzy's voice trailed off, and my brain flashed me a full-blown picture of a Thanksgiving dinner at our Wyoming ranch. I was in first or second grade, sitting next to my mom, who had her hair in one long braid. She was smiling at Dad, and I think she must have been listing the three things she was thankful for. But my photographic memory never includes sound, so I couldn't remember what she'd said. What I could remember was that I'd had trouble narrowing my choices to three things I was thankful for.

What would I say this year? It would really be our first Thanksgiving dinner without my mom. We'd moved out of the ranch over Thanksgiving the first year. Last year I'd had the flu and spent the whole time in bed. Lizzy had gone to a friend's house, and I don't know what Dad did.

I hate
firsts
connected with Mom's death—actually,
first withouts
—first birthday without Mom, first Christmas without Mom, first Easter without Mom.

I knew Lizzy would make sure we kept the family tradition of naming three things we were thankful for. I wanted to do it too. But I didn't know what I'd name. Nickers, for sure. Who wouldn't be thankful for such an amazing horse? But where did I go after that? And who could
I
invite?

My only hope was Hawk. Riding with her seemed more important than ever.

Catman strolled off, holding up the two-finger peace sign behind his back.

“I'll get your Appy ready, Hawk,” I said, taking Towaco by the halter before Hawk could object. “Nickers and I will show you guys our secret hideout.”

Towaco wouldn't lead for me, so I had to turn him in a circle to get him going. Mom used to say, “When in doubt, circle the horse.”

It worked. Once he got his hooves moving, he let me take him to the cross-ties in the barn.

While I brushed her horse, Hawk sat on a bale of hay and stared at her boots. What she should have been doing was brushing her own horse. That's what Towaco needed. I love the Appy, but not like I love my own horse. Towaco needed Hawk.

“Want to ride bareback?” I asked, hoping she'd say yes. It would help her get in touch with her horse again.

“No,” she answered. “I will ride Western. I do not trust that horse today.” She fetched her heavy, Western saddle. Her dad had bought it for her the week before, even though she already had perfectly good Western and English saddles.

The leather creaked when we hoisted the deep brown saddle onto Towaco's back.

I slid the bridle on and handed the reins to Hawk. “I'll just put the hackamore on Nickers, and we can take off.”

“Thank you, Winnie,” she said. “This will be nice.”

Nickers whinnied. She was as ready to ride as I was.

It took me two seconds to slip on the hackamore—a simple, no-bit bridle. “Let's take them out front,” I called to Hawk, figuring Towaco might ride better if we got away from the pasture.

Nickers and I led the way through the barn and out to the yard.

I held the Appy while Hawk made a smooth, perfect mount and settled into her new saddle.

I started to pray that Towaco would behave, but I stopped. My relationship with God was kind of like my relationship with Dad. After Mom died in the car accident, I stopped talking to God. Since we'd moved to Ashland, though, I'd started praying again—not like Lizzy does or my mom did. Lizzy prays about every little thing. I'd been concentrating on the big things, figuring God had enough on his mind not to have to hear about every little thing I worried about.

I swung up bareback on Nickers and scratched her withers. She pranced in place. “Okay, Hawk. Let's—”

“Winnie!” The front door slammed, and Dad trotted out of the house, followed by his
friend.
“Great! We caught you. I want you to show Madeline the barn before we leave to pick up Mason.”

“We're going riding, Dad!”

Hawk was already urging Towaco to the street. The Appy acted tired, as if they were coming back from a ride instead of starting out. I didn't like to see Hawk using her heels to kick him, though, since kicking would only make him mad. He responded better to leg pressure, and Hawk knew it.

“Let her go, Jack,” Madeline said, standing behind him.

“This will just take a minute,” Dad promised, leading Madeline to us. “Madeline is very interested in horses, aren't you, Madeline?”

Her back stiffened, a sure sign she was no horsewoman. “Well, I do wish I knew more about them.”

Hawk got Towaco into the road and flicked him with the reins.

“Wait, Hawk!” I shouted. Beneath me, Nickers tensed, itching to follow them.

Hawk shouted back, “I have to keep him going while I can. He is acting like a plug! Catch up with us, Winnie!”

I glared down at my dad, hoping he'd read my mind and let me out of there.

“So tell Madeline about your problem-horse business, Winnie,” Dad suggested as if I weren't staring bullets at him. “Show her the barn.”

“I help horses with problems.” I pointed to the barn behind us. “That's the barn.” Turning back to Dad, I leaned down and whispered, “Dad, I have to catch up with Hawk.”

“It's wonderful, what you're doing,” Madeline said. “I wish Mason would ride. It would do him good.”

I watched Hawk and Towaco amble farther down the road. Hawk had to kick and wave the reins to keep the Appy moving.

“Well, bring Mason over!” Dad insisted. “Winnie can take him for a ride anytime!”

“Dad, I fix problem horses, not problem people.”

“Winnie!” Dad scolded.

“Winnie's right, Jack,” Madeline agreed. “She might not know how to handle Mason.”

Handle him? The kid must have been more spoiled than I imagined.

Dad wouldn't quit. “I insist! Winnie should take Mason for a ride.”

Why couldn't he volunteer himself? He could use his Swiss-Army umbrella to take the kid's picture in the rain, while golfing at night and listening to the radio or something.

Nickers flicked her tail. I couldn't even see Hawk and Towaco anymore.

A fancy white car sped up the street, stopped in front of our house, and beeped the horn twice. Spider Spidell had another new car. The Spidells own most of Ashland, including A-Mart, Pizza-Mart, Pet-Mart, and Stable-Mart, the fancy stable where Towaco had picked up bad habits from being kept in his stall almost 24 hours a day. Spidells care more about their cars than they do about their horses.

Dad crossed the lawn, and Mr. Spidell got out to meet him. The passenger door opened, and out came Summer Spidell, flipping her long, blonde hair over one shoulder. Summer is queen of the popular “herd” in my class. She has a way of making me feel like I got dressed in the dark.

Nickers snorted and backed away from them. My horse is a great judge of character.

“Willis!” shouted Spider Spidell, who got the nickname because his arms seem to reach all over Ashland. “Are my horse clippers repaired yet?”

Dad slapped his forehead. “Almost! I was working on them when I got this great idea for the perfect cereal bowl.” He turned to Madeline. “You know how cereal always gets soggy? Well, I decided if you place a—”

“Willis!” barked Mr. Spidell. “I'm in a hurry. We're down to three clippers in the stable.”

Dad nodded. Madeline and I moved closer, like accident gawkers on a highway.

Summer stared over at Madeline. Then she turned to me with a smirk that said,
So your dad does have a girlfriend.
Of all people, Summer Spidell had been the first person I know to actually see Madeline and Dad together.

I wanted to gallop Nickers right over her.

Note to self: Could one thing I'm thankful for be the fact that I'm not related to Summer Spidell?

“All right, Willis,” Mr. Spidell was saying as he headed back to the car empty-handed. “But Monday at the latest, hear?”

Down the road came the pounding of hoofbeats.

I wheeled around to see Towaco trotting back. Hawk was hanging on to the saddle horn and bouncing all over her new saddle.

“Whoa!” she cried.

But Towaco paid no mind as he trotted across the ditch and up into the yard.

Hawk yanked the reins, and the Appy stopped a few feet from Nickers. “What is wrong with you?” Hawk screamed. “Winnie, this horse is now an official problem horse!”

I urged Nickers closer to Towaco. “He just needs a fun ride, Hawk. Come on. You wanted to ride. We can go ride now. He'll be okay with Nickers—”

“Hi, Victoria!” Summer called in her sickly sweet voice. “What's wrong?”

“Towaco will not do anything right, Summer!” Hawk answered. “First he acts as if he can barely move. Then he races back in that awful trot.”

“He misses you, Hawk,” I insisted. “That's all! Let's just ride and—”

“You poor thing,” Summer cooed. “I know! Why don't you come back to the stables with Daddy and me? You can ride one of our horses.”

Hawk turned to Towaco. “That is not such a bad idea.”

“Hawk?” I hated the whine in my voice . . . and the way it made Summer glow.

“I
am
sorry, Winnie. I am just not up to this today.”

I took the reins and then watched as Summer and Hawk walked to the big, white car and drove off with Mr. Spidell.

“Well,” Dad said, glancing from me to Madeline. “No problem. Right, Winnie? You can fix Towaco in no time.” He laughed—a short, weak, weird laugh.

Madeline's lips moved in smile formation, but her eyes weren't in it.

A woodpecker tapped somewhere in the distance. On top of the barn a lone crow cawed.

“I-I've heard horses are highly unpredictable,” Madeline stammered. “Probably why my Mason is so afraid of them.”

“You didn't tell us Mason is afraid of horses.” Dad looked almost hurt. “Well, you've come to the right place! Winnie the Horse Gentler can fix that! Right, honey?”