Tamson rolls her eyes at Landri.
I stare at my desk. For the millionth time, I tell God how much I want to go to Tamson’s sleepover. But what if Tamson thinks lizards are creepy? And my sister is creepier? And that makes me—
“Aaaarg!” Miss Pento screams. She kicks off her shoe. The roly-poly, now rolled into a black ball, sails out of her shoe through the air. It heads straight for Austin.
Note to self: the lost has been found.
Friendship
Something has changed.
At recess, Tamson asks me to play jail tag. She puts me on the other team. And everybody except Simon plays. But still.
On the bus, I head for my seat in the back.
But Tamson stops me. “Sit by us.” She points to the seat in front of her.
I obey, sitting next to Myra, one of the popular kids.
We talk together. I almost feel like one of them. Tamson makes a few jokes about Simon’s bug show. I laugh along. First I make sure Simon is in the back, where I usually sit. He can’t hear us.
We’re almost to my stop.
Tamson looks at me like she’s never seen me before. “Winnie, you’re all right.”
Myra, Landri, and the others nod.
“Do you have anything going on Friday night?” Tamson asks.
Friday night? That’s her birthday. Her sleepover. “No!” I almost shout.
The bus jerks to a stop. My stop.
Lizzy and Simon get off. “Winnie!” Lizzy shouts. “Our stop.”
I stand. I want Tamson to say it. I know she’s about to invite me to her party.
“Out!” yells Mr. Ted, our bus driver.
I move to the aisle. Then I look back at Tamson.
She’s not looking at me. She’s talking to the popular girls.
I jump out as the bus doors close behind me.
As soon as I get home, I run to the pasture to look for Chief. I need him to help me figure out what’s going on.
I spot Lucky at one end of the pasture and Princess’s tiny herd on the other.
Why can’t they be friends? I wonder this, but I’m saying it to God too. Jesus was friends with everybody. God already knows that. But it feels good to talk to him about it.
Chief nickers when he sees me. I sit on the fence, and the big plow horse comes and puts his head in my lap. I scratch his cheeks, and he closes his eyes.
“Chief,” I begin. “I think I’m starting to make friends with the coolest kids in our class. I really want to go to Tamson’s sleepover.”
Chief’s soft breathing calms me.
I lean down and blow into his nostril. He blows back. This is how horses greet friends. “You’re a good friend, Chief.”
Simon flashes through my mind. I hope he didn’t hear me on the bus. “I wasn’t a very good friend today. It’s hard sometimes.” I stroke Chief under his mane. “You never graze with the other horses. Does that bother you?”
Chief groans with happiness from being scratched. He doesn’t seem bothered.
“Winnie!” Mom calls from the house. “Homework.”
I join Mom and Lizzy inside. “How did Lucky get along today?” I ask.
“I’d like to work her in the round pen.” Mom sets down a glass of milk for me. “But Lucky needs to think of me as a friend first. And right now, I just don’t have the time I need to earn her friendship.”
Mom can always get horses to trust her. It’s like she can read their minds. And hearts. But she insists on taking her time with them.
“How about the other horses?” I ask.
Mom sighs. “No friends there, I’m afraid. Not yet anyway.”
Note to self: when did friendship get so hard?
Phooey on Field Trips
Next morning, Simon boards the field trip bus with me as if we’re going to sit together as usual.
But Tamson waves me over.
“I’m sitting up here today,” I tell Simon. This has to be the day Tamson invites me to her party. The sleepover is tomorrow.
“I am not looking forward to this field trip,” Tamson gripes. “Bugs and lizards?”
“Yeah,” I say, like I agree. “But think about it. We could be having a science test instead.”
“Or a math test,” Myra adds.
Tamson leans forward. “Or another bug disaster with Rhymin’ Simon.”
My face laughs along with them, but not my heart.
The closer we get to my ranch, the more nervous I get. My stomach feels like Lizzy’s lizards are in there and looking for a way out.
I love our ranch, and I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. But as we pile out of the bus, I see things like Tamson and the others might. Our barn could use a new roof. So could our house. The porch sags. Dad forgot to mow the grass.
Tamson jogs to catch up with Austin. I jog after her.
“Austin!” Tamson calls. “Show us your horse.”
We’ve been training Princess—and Austin—to ride for a few weeks. Princess is coming along nicely. Austin, not so much. If he listened to Mom like his horse does, everything would be great.
“You want to know which horse is mine?” Austin asks. “That’s easy!” He leads us to the gate and points out his Thoroughbred mare. “Mine is the expensive one.”
Princess and her herd, including Mom’s Buckskin, continue to graze. But for the first time, Chief and Lucky are grazing together. Chief is so big, and Lucky is so little. They make an odd pair.
“Whose are those ugly horses?” Tamson points out Chief and Lucky and laughs.
Austin shrugs. “I’ve never seen that little one before. I would have remembered. Yuck!”
“It’s a wild horse, a Mustang we caught. We’ll sell it as soon as we’re done training it,” I explain quickly.
“You think somebody will buy that?” Austin asks. “The big ugly one is Winnie’s horse.”
Tamson turns and wrinkles her nose like I smell bad. “That’s your horse?”
“Not really,” I say. “Old Chief came with the ranch. We didn’t have a choice. We had to keep him.” Right away, I feel bad. I’m sorry, God. I’ll tell Chief I’m sorry later.
Miss Pento calls us over to Lizzy’s lizard farm. Lizzy has set out horse blankets for us to sit on.
Tamson frowns down at the green saddle blanket Mom used on Buttermilk when she competed in barrel races. “Isn’t there anywhere else to sit? I don’t want to smell like a horse.”
Myra jumps up from the Navajo blanket spread out next to the green one. “Ooh! I didn’t think of that.”
“I’m sure not sitting on those things,” Austin says.
Lizzy smiles at them, although I don’t know how she can. I feel like running into the house and hiding under my bed. “You’re welcome to stand if you like. But all of our saddle blankets have been washed. I think you’ll discover they’re soft as clouds.”
Austin and Tamson take a seat. But they make sure we know they’re unhappy about it. Everybody else sits down too.
Lizzy takes her first lizard from its cage. She holds it in front of her, showing it to her audience. When she speaks, her voice is clear and bright, like she’s just talking to Simon or me. My voice, which always sounds a little hoarse, would be shaking like a horse’s tail in fly season.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Lizzy begins, “I would like you all to meet one of my favorite lizards. His name is Bug. Now, a lot of people call this fine creature a Horned Toad. But I assure you that Bug is a Horned Lizard. You may not know this, but the Horned Lizard is the official state reptile of Wyoming.”
Somebody says, “Wow! I didn’t know that.” Everybody is listening.
Lizzy shows us her Red-Lipped Plateau Lizard and her Great Plains Earless. Her smile is so real and friendly. I look around and see everyone smiling back, even Tamson.
“Isn’t it amazing that God would take time to create 5,600 species of lizards?” Lizzy asks. “God and Jesus must love lizards as much as I do!”
If I said somethin
g like that, the popular kids would stare or laugh at me. But when Lizzy says it, kids nod and agree. Everybody likes Lizzy. She’s popular, and she doesn’t even try.
I love my sister more than anybody, but I wish this field trip would be over.
To Be . . . or Not to Be . . . a Friend
After the lizard show, Miss Pento chats with Mom. We kids check out the rest of Lizzy’s lizards.
Simon says, “You’ve made these cages into home. No wonder lizards no more roam.”
“Thanks, Simon,” Lizzy says. “I should have told your class how much help you’ve been with the lizards.”
“Simon!” Tamson shouts. She points at a cage. “This lizard looks just like you.”
Lizzy moves between Tamson and Simon. “They’re both handsome,” she says. “Simon was a big help collecting these lizards. I don’t think anyone else could have found a Great Plains Earless around here. And he found it twice!”
“That’s because my brother has so much in common with lizards,” Austin says.
Tamson adds, “And roly-polies!” She laughs harder than everybody else put together.
I don’t laugh. But I don’t speak up for Simon either.
Simon shuffles away. No rhyme this time.
I watch as he wanders off toward the pasture. Something about the way his shoulders slump and his head hangs down reminds me of Lucky when the Mustang herd ran off and left her alone.
In my mind, I ask God to do something to make Simon feel better. But I know I should do something too.
While my classmates hover around the lizard village and ask Lizzy questions, I walk toward the pasture. But I stop when I get close. I don’t think Simon sees me.
Simon climbs the fence and sits on the top rung. He wipes his glasses on his sleeve.
Chief walks up and lays his head on Simon’s lap.
Simon jerks, and I’m afraid he’ll fall. But he catches himself. Then he pats Chief on the head.
I know Chief doesn’t like that kind of a pat. But he stays there anyway.
Chief is a way better friend than I am.
I climb up and sit beside Simon. He smiles at me, and I feel rotten.
“Chief is my best friend.” I sigh. “Sometimes it feels like he’s my only friend.”
Simon frowns at me. “Really?”
“Really.” I reach over and scratch Chief’s cheek. “I wish Chief could come to school with me.”
“And on field trips?” Simon asks. I wait, but he still isn’t rhyming.
“Everywhere.”
We climb down, and I look back to see Princess leading her herd to the barn. Lucky tries to follow, but Princess shuts her out.
Chief trots into the pasture toward Lucky.
“Where’s Chief going?” Simon asks.
“Watch,” I tell him, knowing what’s coming. “Good ol’ Chief is trotting to the rescue.”
Sure enough, Chief trots up behind Princess, positioning himself between Princess and Lucky. Princess snorts. Then she seems to decide the two “ugly” horses, as Tamson called them, aren’t worth the trouble. She and her herd drift away and leave Lucky alone.
At least Lucky has a real friend.
The field trip has taken all day, so Miss Pento tells Mom that Lizzy and I don’t have to ride the bus back to school. We’d just get there and have to turn around and ride the bus home again.
Once everybody is gone, I can’t shake my bad feeling about everything that’s happened today. I know I let Simon down. And Lizzy. And even Chief.
I need to do what I always do when I can’t make sense of things. I need to go for a ride.
Chief is always easy to catch. I brush him. Then I bridle him with a snaffle bit. But Chief and I don’t need a saddle.
“Come on, my friend,” I whisper as I open the gate and lead him through. Already, the scent of horse and the feel of his coat have me breathing more easily. “Let’s head for the woods, Chief.”
I close the gate and lead Chief outside. Then I guide him up next to the fence so I can get on. He’s way too big for me to jump on bareback. Chief stands still while I climb to the top rung and then onto his back. “Good boy. Ready?”
Even though Chief is ten years older than any other horse on the ranch, his gathered muscles and high head let me know he’s as ready for a ride as I am. I barely squeeze with my thighs, and he’s off at a fast pace.
I look between his ears to the woods, and Chief senses that’s where I want to go. He enters the trail that we’ve made with our many rides here. I don’t have to guide Chief. He knows me. I duck a low-hanging branch. Then I let my head stay resting on Chief’s broad neck. His mane strokes my cheek, and the horsey smell of him mingles with the earthy scent of the woods.
I hug Chief, stretching my arms around his neck as far as they’ll go. I close my eyes and let my body rock with his steady beat as if we’re one creature. I can almost imagine we are.
“Thanks for this.” I think it’s Chief I’m thanking. He’s the only one here. But a bigger thanks rises inside me. “And thank you, Jesus.” Because it feels like he’s in on this too. “Thanks for my best friend, Chief.”
When we come out of the woods and onto the plain, all I have to do is whisper, “Gallop, Chief!”
Chief trots first, a rollicking, bouncy trot that makes me laugh. Then he breaks into a gentle canter before running all out. His ears flick up and back, listening for my laughter while keeping an ear out for whatever’s ahead. He tosses his head in joy and kicks up his heels, just a bit.
Chief’s joy is electric. It passes through my fingers to every part of my body. I feel as if we’re galloping through the sky, above the clouds, leaving every trouble on earth far below.
Real Friends
At dinner, Dad won’t stop talking about his ideas for the pocket hat and an ice scooter. “The ice scooter would be for kids who can’t ice skate,” he explains. “It wouldn’t be a sled. Or skates. Or a scooter. You could sit on it or stand on it, though. I think it would have wheels with tiny spikes that would hold traction on the ice. I’d need to build in brakes, like on a bike. And it would come in seven colors!” He waves his hands around, trying to help us understand, and he nearly knocks over Lizzy’s water glass.
Mom turns to Lizzy. “Why don’t you tell Dad about the lizard field trip, honey?”
Lizzy is as excited as Dad when she describes her lizards. Mom says Lizzy can talk as fast as a Quarter Horse runs.
We’re almost done eating before I get a word in. I’ve been thinking about this ever since my wonderful ride on Chief. “Can I take Chief to school with me tomorrow?”
“No,” Mom answers. “We’ve already had this discussion a hundred times.”
I knew she’d say no.
“Why would you want to take a horse to school?” Dad asks.
“It would be nice to have a friend there,” I answer.
Lizzy gets her teasing look. “You always have Tamson.”
“Right,” I mutter. “Nope. The truth is, my only real friend is a horse. And he’s a friend who can’t go to school with me.”
“There is a friend who can, you know,” Lizzy says.
“Yeah.” I’m sure she means herself. And she is my friend. “But you can’t stay in my classroom.”
“Not me, silly,” Lizzy says.
She can’t mean Simon. Not after the way I’ve treated him.
Mom explains. “Maybe Lizzy means Proverbs 18:24. ‘There are “friends” who pretend to be friends, but there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother.’”
Note to self: now I get it. They mean Jesus.
Friday I get up so early it feels like the middle of the night. I make a peanut butter sandwich and fill a plastic bag with carrots, then head for the barn.
Three or four of the horses nicker when I enter the barn. I recognize Chief’s friendly greeting. The others are probably saying, “Food? This early? All right!”
But they still have hay, and I don’t like to feed Chief
before a ride. “Sorry, everybody. Keep munching hay. I’ll be back to give you breakfast before long.”
The sun still isn’t up when I hop from the fence onto Chief’s back. There’s a touch of chill in the air, just enough to see Chief’s breath in tiny clouds. I’m carrying breakfast in the small backpack I always use on breakfast rides and horse picnics. I think this is my favorite time of the day.
Since I want to see the sunrise, we trot up the lane to the best country road in Wyoming. So many trees line the road that it feels like Chief and I are entering a tunnel. After about a mile, I turn Chief down the ditch and up into the Millers’ field. Mr. Miller used to have Tennessee Walking Horses. But when his wife got sick, he sold all of them. Now the pasture stands empty. He gave me permission to ride here whenever I like.
For fun, Chief and I canter, circling the pasture until the first light appears above the horizon.
“Time for our picnic, Chief,” I tell him.
We stop where I can lean against a tree and face east. I’ve left Chief’s halter on, so I take off his bridle and let him graze close by me.
The sun creeps up—first the top arc, then the golden-red center. And finally, the big ball of a sun hangs low in front of us. Even Chief lifts his head and stares as if he’s never seen such a miracle.
“And to think, Chief. This happens every single day.”
Halfway through my peanut butter sandwich, I remember the carrots. I fish one out and hold it for Chief. He chomps half of it in one bite.
“Chief, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something.” I hold the rest of the carrot in the palm of my hand. He nibbles it between his lips, never letting his teeth touch my fingers. “I owe you a big apology, boy. Yesterday I was a lousy friend, and you know it. I said things to Austin and Tamson about you because, well, because I was a stupidhead. And I didn’t stick up for you or for Simon because I wanted Tamson and her friends to be my friends too. And maybe I don’t know much about friendship. But I know that you—and Simon—are better friends than they’ll ever be.”
A Horse's Best Friend Page 2
