And this is the question I ask myself: Which is worse? To hide that you know someone is doing something wrong, or to hide from that person because you don’t know if what they’re doing is right or wrong? Here is my answer: I don’t have an answer.
During the day there’s plenty of work to be done to get the yearlings ready for auction and take my mind off of Justin’s extracurricular activity. We have to walk the yearlings and groom them and teach them how to stand and move. I thought horses knew how to stand and move, but apparently in a horse show they’re supposed to walk and move like people want them to. And then there’s all the regular work of running the ranch.
I don’t talk to Justin. I’m sick about the way the mustangs are being treated, but I’m also worried that if Justin gets caught, Coulter will lose the ranch. Justin could get sent to jail. And that colt could have died for lots of reasons. But mostly I don’t want to think about it because I can’t stop feeling sick about it.
In the afternoons I ride with the group. My tutoring is over. It’s good to be with Ethan and Charlie and Alice. They tell dumb stories that make me feel normal. At night I keep reading the books from the big house. I puzzle over the pictures, tables, and charts. So much information but no solutions. Millions of dollars are getting poured into this problem. My mom says when I have a problem I have to start from the bottom line and work up. But the bottom line on mustangs is fifty thousand horses in holding facilities all over the country. Just waiting to be adopted. Who is going to adopt fifty thousand mustangs? How do you work up from that?
* * *
Saturday I burn through my chores so fast I finish them by midafternoon. It’s so hot, everybody is walking in slow motion, but I can’t stop moving. Even the clouds are stuck in the sky. I ask Mrs. Sanchez if she needs help making dinner, but she says she is already finished. Darius is sitting on the porch drinking iced tea. His shirt is covered in sweat and hay.
“Is there anything you need me to do this afternoon?” I ask. That’s how desperate I am.
He hitches up half his lip. “Yeah, why don’t you go finish stacking those hay bales.”
He’s being sarcastic, but I’m fine with it. “Okay,” I say.
He snorts. “Right. Those bales weigh about as much as you do.”
“I’ll figure something out,” I say. “Enjoy your iced tea.”
I love being polite to Darius. It really pisses him off.
* * *
The bales are heavy. But not so heavy that I can’t move them. We got a hay shipment in two days ago, and the delivery people did a terrible job, so Coulter wants the whole thing redone. It’s a lot of packing up and stacking. Darius must be getting old. I mean, the barn is like a stuffed sauna, so I don’t do it fast, but I can do it. Just one beastly bale at a time.
After I’ve been alone in the barn for ten minutes, Justin comes in with his work gloves on. “Are you going to keep hiding from me the rest of the summer?” he asks.
I straighten my already-sore back. “I’m not hiding. I’m working.”
“That thing with the colt was more than you were ready for the other day. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
When he almost apologizes I almost want to like him for it. But I am upset. Now I have to carry around this knot in my stomach about the colt, but also about Justin. Who knows who’s on the right side of that mess? I lift another bale. “I’m just going to finish this job.”
“Some jobs go faster if you have two people.” He picks up a bale.
“I didn’t ask for your help,” I say.
He says, “I’m not asking for yours.”
I look up and our eyes connect uncomfortably. He doesn’t look away. I know exactly what he means, but I wish I didn’t. I keep stacking. Finally I say, “They’ll catch you.”
Justin tosses the bail in front of me. “Who’ll catch me? You? You’ve never seen me buck hay before.”
Justin can lift twice as much as I can twice as fast. I stack faster to keep up. He speeds up, too. Then I get momentum and start catching up. Until one of the bails I grab has a stowaway. A mouse spurts out and scampers right across my thigh. I drop my bale and let out a whoop. The bale poofs in the air, and little pieces fly up in my face and mouth so I blow like a geyser. “Swit,” I puff.
Justin drops his bale, too, he’s laughing so hard.
“I hate those things.” I say, inhaling hay and spitting it back out again. My hands and arms are too dirty to clean my face.
Justin pulls his hand out of his glove and reaches out across the foot between us. He takes my arm with one hand and wipes the hay off my lips by dragging his thumb across them. “You’re going to choke yourself, Cass. It’s just a mouse.”
I stop spitting and inhaling. I shake off his arm and step back. I swallow the hay dust in my mouth. “Thanks,” I say. “I’ll go get a glass of water.”
* * *
That night I lie in my bed, unable to sleep. I think about Justin lifting me off the ground onto his horse. I think about what he’s doing with the mustangs and how dangerous it is for everyone, but especially for him. I think about the men I saw at the rodeo and how they seemed rotted out by prejudice. Those men wouldn’t think twice about shooting a kid sneaking around letting horses go. I think about the colt and the white mare. Why do people hate what’s free? Why is freedom so dangerous?
Outside I hear Goliath’s frustrated whinny. I’m sure not a horse, but what I hear is his impatience for freedom. I feel that, too.
I think about how good it felt to race along the top of that mountain, flying on Smokey’s back. I think about Justin’s rough thumb on my lips. How my insides light up like a chandelier when we’re together. A mouse’s tiny feet skitter across the tent floor. I pull out my flashlight and wave it side to side. I don’t see any beady red eyes, and the skittering stops. Then I realize, with a shock, it doesn’t matter that much to me what the mouse does. He’s probably not going to bother me. I’m fine.
I settle into my sleeping bag and go to sleep.
Chapter Thirty
“HANDS QUIET AND shoulders back,” yells Coulter.
The cool thing, he isn’t yelling at me. I post past Devri. Her face is tight and miserable. Highball is dropping his head to resist the bridle and giving her fits today.
“Nice, Cassidy. That’s what I like to see.” Coulter’s given me Shooter to ride today to get him collected back up. Danny rode him yesterday, and he bolted. He’s doing fine for me so far. He’s not even ornery. I pick up his head and gently ask for the canter.
My riding skills are still rough. It takes years to develop the timing of an experienced equestrian. But I’ve improved fast. Coulter is letting me ride all of his horses. And my mustang, Roanie, is letting me put a noisy piece of plastic on her back, to simulate loading her with rain gear. That’s crazy advanced for a yearling, because horses usually hate that kind of stuff. Kaya has me help her with some of the younger campers, getting their horses groomed each day and making sure the horses are getting the gentling that they need. Kaya says I’m not a horse whisperer; I’m a horse listener. Which is fine by me.
Banner rides by on Thunderbird. “You’re on the wrong lead,” she says as she passes me.
I look down at Shooter’s shoulders. No, I’m not. I don’t know, maybe I am. I do a half-halt bounce and switch my timing.
Coulter yells, “What’s a matter, Cassidy? You just switched to the wrong lead. Can’t you tell which lead you’re on yet? Just look at the horse’s legs.”
I look at Shooter’s shoulders and switch back. Banner is galloping on the other side of the arena by now. Justin is hanging on the fence. Of course he’s seen the whole thing. He just shakes his head.
The closer we get to the tryout day for the mustang challenge, the more Banner fills my life with her charming sense of humor. Yesterday she told me that Mrs. Sanchez wanted me to start dinner without
her, and when Mrs. Sanchez got there she about tore my head off for poking around in her kitchen without permission.
In a way I guess it’s a compliment. Banner sees me as competition instead of pathetic. But I can think of other compliments I’d rather have.
When I come to get dinner going I make sure not to do anything until Mrs. Sanchez tells me to. She’s in a mood, and I don’t want to do anything to make it worse. We’re making stew and cobbler today. Coulter’s favorite. It’s not that hard, really, but there is a lot of chopping and peeling to feed a group our size. Mrs. Sanchez leaves me alone with the peaches. “A peach is little gift from God. Don’t waste them by being sloppy.”
I peel each gift from God slowly and try to get it right. The rich, cheerful smell makes me feel hungry and satisfied at the same time. Maybe Mrs. Sanchez is right.
“Whatcha cookin’ up there?” asks Banner, coming to visit me in the kitchen.
I turn around quickly. “Dessert.”
Banner picks up a plastic spoon and licks it. Like, seriously. “Because you’re so sweet?”
I go over to the fire. I’m warming up shortening in the pan near the coals. I have to keep my eye on it so it doesn’t burn.
“Have you decided if you’re trying out for the riding spot?” she asks.
“Not really,” I say.
“Yeah. Me neither.”
We are both lying. She’s been planning on winning since the camp started. And why wouldn’t she? She can do flying lead changes and jump fences without messing up her hair. Justin can train horses to do things, but even he can’t ride like Banner. Something weird happens when she sits on a horse. Instead of being mean old Banner with a perfect bod, she turns into graceful Banner with perfect timing. Of course, the whole perfect-bod thing doesn’t hurt.
Just the same—I’ve been thinking about how I don’t want her to ride Goliath.
I walk back over to get my juice and one of the bowls of peaches. Banner reaches for the second bowl of peaches I’ve just peeled, sticks her fingers under the plastic wrap, and helps herself.
“That’s disgusting, Banner,” I say as calmly as I can.
“That’s a little harsh, isn’t it?”
“Your hands are dirty.”
She licks her fingers. “I’m not the only one with dirty hands, am I? I’ve seen you sneaking out in your pajamas. I’d hate for that to get back to Coulter. He might have to fire smash nose.”
I squeeze the spoon I’m holding. “What is your problem with me exactly?”
“I don’t have a problem.” Banner gets up and sticks her hand in the bowl again before walking off. “But you might.”
I squeeze the wooden spoon so hard I’m afraid it’s going to snap. I don’t hurl it at her.
* * *
Mrs. Sanchez has me chop vegetables for the stew. I imagine the carrots are Banner.
“You are chopping with gusto today,” says Mr. Sanchez. He puts some more wood in the fire.
Mrs. Sanchez points at Mr. Sanchez. “Go bother those boys who do nothing. Cassidy is my little chef.”
I stop thinking about Banner for about two seconds so I can appreciate how nice it is for Mrs. Sanchez to call me her “little chef.” She blusters past me and sets out the Dutch oven. “If you don’t pay attention, you make mistakes,” she says. “Don’t get distracted.”
That rings a bell in my head. I think about how much I’d like to sneak up and steal the spot from Banner for the mustang competition. How good it would feel to win because I care about my horse instead of how I look on top of him. How it would feel to win at something, and maybe even make money doing it. But I’d have to do what Mrs. Sanchez says. Not get distracted.
And then there’s Ethan. He wants the spot, too. But I can’t think about that.
Mrs. Sanchez shows me how to layer the ingredients for the cobbler. The layering changes the way the heat gets around in the pan. Then she explains what she wants done with the stew. “I can do things in this pot you can’t buy in a restaurant,” she says.
I think Mrs. Sanchez could make a neutron bomb in a Dutch oven if she felt like it.
“The redhead gives you trouble?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“No one is more prized than a good cook.”
I like Mrs. Sanchez. She doesn’t get distracted.
* * *
Right about the time everything is in its rightful Dutch oven, doing its beautiful thing, Justin hijacks me at the water spigot. “I’m going out to check on the white mare tonight.”
So much for not asking me to get involved in this. But then I still ask, “Is she back with her band?”
“Yeah. But I’ve only seen them from a distance.”
“Banner threatened to tell Coulter about us meeting at night.”
“She’s yanking your chain like she always does.”
“What if she’s not? What if Coulter lost this whole place because of you?”
“Why do you care? You’re never coming back here.”
“Why don’t you care? You live here. Coulter’s your friend.” Not to mention the fact that there is a three-thousand-dollar fine if we get caught, and Justin could get his butt slammed back into juvenile detention. “It’s not safe.”
“What’s your deal with safe? When has that ever gotten you anything?”
“I’m behind schedule getting dinner ready.”
“You know what your problem is?”
“I’m sure you do.”
“You let everyone tell you what lead you’re on.” He kicks his boot in the ground and walks off.
* * *
I drink water in the tent with Alice. It’s so hot even the flies are taking naps. Alice sits on her bed reading a book from Coulter’s library.
“What are you reading?” I ask.
“Meditations.”
“What kind of meditations?”
“It’s kind of like horse yoga. Like things you can say to yourself when you ride. You know, to be more enlightened,” says Alice.
“You should tell me some.”
Alice closes her book and looks at me. “You have that restless look again. You’re going to take me if you go anywhere tonight, right?”
I need to get a better poker face. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Okay,” says Alice. “But you’ll take me if you go, right?”
I stand up and look for my canteen. I feel like I’ve been thirsty since I woke up.
Alice holds another package from home. She gets them so often that sometimes she waits to open them for a day or two.
“What did they send you this time?” I ask.
“Hand warmers,” she says.
We bust up laughing.
An hour or so before dinner I’m supposed to pull all the ovens out and check on everything and salt and pepper the stew to taste. It’s hellish hot, but if I focus I can get it done. Everything smells amazing. At least there is one thing I’m doing right around here. I cover them up and go wash my hands for dinner.
The Sanchezes make a big fuss about how I helped with cooking dinner. We all gather around the picnic tables. Everyone is laughing, smelling the food. Coulter’s eyes squint in a smile as he drinks out of his canteen. Justin sits on the edge of the adult table and doesn’t look at me.
I bring Coulter a corn bread muffin and a heaping bowl of stew, and he belly laughs. “Cassidy, sometimes you’re downright useful.”
Coulter sits back in his chair and crosses his legs. He puts a big spoonful of the stew in his mouth. His smile withers to a pucker and then twists into a tight oval. In front of everybody he spits the stew out on the ground. “What is that?”
Mrs. Sanchez looks as if she’s been mortally wounded. She grabs a spoon and sticks it in the pot. Her face says it all. “What did you do to it, Cassidy?’
“I seasoned it, like you told me to.”
Coulter stands, kicking dirt over his mess. “It tastes like you dumped a cup of salt in there, hon.”
I can barely talk. “I did it just like you told me to.”
Alice walks up behind me with her bowl in front of her. “What happened?”
All the kids are spitting the stew out. Except Banner, who is sitting innocently on a rock looking at the ground. She doesn’t even have a bowl.
Mrs. Sanchez is already diving into each of the three Dutch ovens. Her face gets angrier each time. I feel myself sinking in humiliation.
Not this time, I tell myself. This time it’s not even my fault.
“Banner,” I say. I don’t care if she rats me out. She’s probably going to do that anyway. “You did this, didn’t you?”
“Did what?” asks Banner, snorting with laughter. “Wreck dinner? I’m pretty sure that was all you, Cassidy.”
“Why would I wreck dinner?”
“I don’t know. Why do you do anything?”
“You can’t stand the thought of me doing anything right, can you?”
“Cassidy,” says Alice. “It’s okay. You don’t know that for sure.”
“Yes, I do,” I say, stepping in front of Banner and her big obnoxious red hair.
Coulter steps up to me. “Campers need to take responsibility for their own mistakes.”
“This isn’t my mistake.”
Mrs. Sanchez marches off holding one of the pots with hot pads. Everyone else starts moaning. And they stare at me, the killer of dinner.
I don’t step back from Coulter. “She did it. To spite me.”
“Cassidy, get ahold of yourself.”
I look through the crowd and see Justin with his head down. Thanks for that.
Banner looks so innocent it’s revolting. I’ve had enough of everyone. I turn to go.
Thief of Happy Endings Page 16
