Bold Beauty (11 page)

After a quick ride on the Appy, I trotted back to the paddock, where Lizzy and Catman were waiting.

“Why aren't you riding the new horse?” Lizzy asked.

“I will.” I dismounted, careful not to look at Catman.

“Catman told me you're on Barker's don't- have-abortions debate team! That so rocks, Winnie!” Lizzy hopped off the fence. “Can you hold off on riding the jumping horse until after dinner?”

“Sure!” I must have sounded too eager. Catman shook his head. Quickly I added, “I'll work Beauty after dinner.”

But even as I said the words, pictures flooded my head—the hedge below me, Beauty's neck as I fell, Catman's shadowy face as I lay flat on my back.

We found Dad rocking in his chair like a crazy man. Sweat dripped off his forehead, although it was sweatshirt weather.

Catman pulled a rolled-up paper from his pocket and handed it to Dad.

Dad stopped rocking. He took the paper, then handed it back. “Catman, I told you I'm not ready. What if I won, not that I ever would? What would I do with Winnie and Lizzy while I'm at some Invention Convention?”

“You didn't enter that Inventor's Contest yet?” Lizzy squealed.

Catman handed back the paper. “Claire and Bart said our pad is your pad. You win, we'll keep the girls.”

Lizzy and I exchanged looks of terror. Coolidge Castle? Talk about your nice place to visit . . . but you wouldn't want to live there.

But Dad wasn't biting anyway. For some reason, he didn't seem to want to enter that contest.

Just as well.

Dad tossed the application down and revved up his rocker. “See? It's just not working.” He rocked faster and pointed to the fan blades on top of the wind pole. “Stick your hands up there.”

We did. A trickle of wind came out. Nothing compared to Dad's huffs and puffs.

He stopped. “Some invention.”

We ate a quick meal of corn fish—Lizzy's variation on corn dogs, using fish sticks instead of hot dogs. Then Dad returned to his invention, and I headed back to the barn.

I decided to work Beauty on the lunge line, letting her jump riderless on the end of the long, nylon line.

I set out the five poles, or cavalletti, in a grid, spacing them along the ground so Beauty could canter over them without shifting her stride. Next I laid out a series of low jumps, raising the poles nine inches off the ground, adding in two medium fence jumps, and letting the hedge serve as the final high jump.

Beauty cantered easily at the end of the lunge, flying over the ground poles and low jumps as if they weren't there. She loved to jump.

I kept her low-jumping on the lunge until dusk. Then I brought her in and cooled her off.

“How was your ride?” Dad asked when I walked up. He turned off the yard light.

“Great!” Half-truth. Beauty had done great. I hadn't even ridden.

Dad opened the door. “Coming?”

“In a minute.” I gazed at the moon as Dad went inside. Clouded beams dabbed light around weird shadows in the yard.

I started for the door.

“Yuk!” Something sticky grabbed my arms. I brushed wildly, trying to get it off, knowing I'd walked smack-dab into a spiderweb. Imagining the spider pouncing on me and crawling all over my skin, I rubbed my arms and stamped my feet.

Lizzy's spider? I knew it couldn't have been Lizzy's pet, but I walked back to her spider tree to make sure. Moonlight struck the spider's fancy web, outlining silvery lace patterns and sparkling pearls.

In the corner of the web, Lizzy's spider waited with his prizes—three lumps wrapped in silk, insects hopelessly trapped.

Hopelessly trapped.

That's how I felt when I thought about jumping that hedge.

No! I can do it! I can. . . .

But it felt like a lie, a lie to myself.

My mind flashed to Beauty chasing Pat's car. Pat had said something about giving Beauty a false confidence. Was that what I'd had myself—false confidence? Because somewhere inside me a voice screamed that I could no more jump that hedge than Beauty could chase a car.

I ran back to the house, still trying to get the sticky cobweb off. But it followed me every step. I couldn't get unstuck. I couldn't shake it off.

“Little Miss Muffet was a real girl, you know.” My sister's voice floated in darkness above our beds as the night outside grew darker.

I wished I'd never told her about my run-in with the spiderweb. She hadn't stopped chattering about the creatures.

“Thomas Muffet was a spider expert,” Lizzy continued. “He made his daughter eat mashed spiders when she got sick. People thought eating spiders would cure a cold.”

I pulled the covers over my head. “Night, Lizzy! Please?”

But I couldn't sleep. Every time I dozed off, pictures of the hedge crept into my brain, and I'd jerk myself awake.

Tuesday in English, Ms. Brumby didn't say a word about the debate. And she didn't bring it up the next day or the next. Meanwhile, Pat Haven made a plea in her class every single day, so heartfelt I could have volunteered all over again.

But it was just as well I didn't have to worry about the debate. I had enough on my mind. All week I practiced Beauty over the pole jumps and parallels—always riderless. I kept reassuring myself that I had plenty of time to ride Beauty. The Howards weren't due back from their honeymoon until a week from Saturday.

But the more I told myself everything was fine, the more I doubted my own word. I knew better than anybody how many lies I'd handed out lately.

On Friday, I could tell by Pat's face that nobody had come through at the last minute and volunteered for her debate team. She begged the class one last time, then gave up and made us open our books to the chapter on senses.

“What do you kids know about the way animals see?” Pat sounded like the spunk had drained out of her.

“My cat's eyes glow in the dark,” Kristine offered. I'd never spoken to Kristine. She had short blonde hair, dark eyebrows, and dark eyes. All I knew about her was that she seemed smart and she ran with Summer's crowd. “But it's actually reflected light not absorbed by the retina.”

“Uh-huh.” Pat glanced around the room. “Anybody else?”

Barker raised his hand. “Most dogs see great, but they're not big on colors.”

“Uh-huh.” Normally, Pat would have been bouncing around room, cheering for each answer, instead of slouching behind her desk.

Brian raised his hand. “Bats are blind as a bat—no offense!”

Half of the class laughed. I hated it. It felt like they were making fun of Pat. And she felt bad enough already.

I swallowed hard and raised my hand, something I don't usually do in class unless I need to go to the bathroom.

Pat sighed. “Winnie?”

I cleared my throat. “Horses' eyes are set on the sides so they can see almost all the way around, except for blind spots right in front and right behind.”

My mind flashed that picture of me on Beauty heading for the hedge. How could she jump something so tall when she couldn't even see it in front of her? But that was silly. All horses have blind spots, not just Beauty. And if they have confidence in the rider, they're okay not seeing everything in front of them.

Pat was asking me something. “. . . anything else?”

“Um . . . horses see independently out of each eye, but that gives them poor depth vision. They may not know if something is a foot away or three feet away.”

Did Beauty know how far she was from the hedge?
Again, it wouldn't have mattered, not if she could have gotten confidence from me. Maybe I was the one who couldn't read how far we were from the hedge.

I didn't hear much of what other kids said about their pets. I kept trying to picture that hedge the instant before we jumped.

Kids began to shuffle their papers and grab their backpacks, signaling class was almost over.

Pat took a deep breath and gave it one more try. “Well, this is it, kiddos. Last chance before we have to move to the next topic. Any takers on the abortion debate?”

Summer sighed so loud she sounded like Catman's camel-moan tornado horn.

Nobody spoke up.

Barker silently begged, his colt eyes turned on each student.

“Then I guess,” Pat said, “since today's the deadline, we'll change the topic to—”

Somebody knocked at the door.

We all turned to see Catman Coolidge, nose pressed to the windowpane high in the door.

Pat opened the door. “Catman?”

Without a word, he handed her a note and left.

Pat walked back to her desk, unfolding the note. “Yippee! The debate is on!”

“What happened?” Barker asked, already out of his seat.

“Catman came through! He's recruited a fourth member for the pro-life debate team.”

“Who'd he get?” Brian hollered.

Pat squinted at the wrinkled paper.

“Well?” Summer demanded. “Who is it?”

“I'm not rightly sure,” Pat said slowly. “I reckon this is just an initial. All it says is
M.”