Saturday, August 29, 2009
IDEAS???
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Andrew
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Ballet Slippers (poem)
My nail polish is ballet slipper pink. So for this post I've written a little (okay, longish) poem. Warning... I'm more of a story writer than poet, so this will probably be really bad. I also did ballet for a grand total of 2 days when I was young, but this isn't quite about that, so... Be honest and tell me what you think, OK?Ballet Slippers
It started out as a memory
Which turned into a dream
Which turned into a tangible thing
Hanging from the attic beam.
Once upon a time now
The pirouettes
Plies and arabesque
Just a dusty memory
Perhaps it's for the best?
Gone forever now
It was just a dream
She had when she was young
Be like her mama.
Be soft. Be strong.
Six feet under now
Mama took a wrong turn
To the daughter's dance
The traffic was bad, sure,
But what was the chance?
Little girl sobbing now
Hospital bed, cold and white
Daughter still in her slippers, pink tutu.
"Mama's gone now, sweetie.
She can't hear you."
Pink exchanged for black now
Ten years later
Sweet sixteen
Goes up the attic stairs
Stares at a dream
What could have been now
Stands on tiptoe- nearly pointe-
Takes them down from their place above the box
Marked "Mama's Things".
Takes them in her hands
Maybe she was wrong now
Bends her head over the sweet memories
Salt dries on the rose-shade silk
What would Mama have wanted of me?
Tears of joy and hate and guilt
Reaching into Mama's box now
Lifts up the cardboard. Mice have been
In Mama's things. Takes them out,
Slips them on. Fits perfectly.
Size nine and a half. Just like Mama.
First position, start to dance now
Music in her head plays a soft goodbye
To childhood and innocence.
One last dance, can she remember...
Pirouette. Mama's breath and love and scent.
Back for one last minute now
Tears trickle down with no reason
But she doesn't stop their steady flow
Mama's ballet shoes. Just like her.
Folds up the cardboard, steps away
Slippers still in her hand now.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
entry for olive tree's writing contest
Ride by Night, part 2
Jenna woke at ten o’clock on Sunday. She meandered downstairs to find a note from her mother saying she had taken Maggie to church and her father was at the store. Jenna made herself some toast and drizzled some honey on it, munching it as she made her way upstairs. She popped into her parents’ room to see if they had any good books. Soon she returned to her own room, arms laden with To Kill a Mockingbird, the entire Harry Potter series, and many other classics. She spent the entire day in bed, reading, and it felt good. Towards five in the evening she put aside The Red Pony and laid out her best outfit for the next day.
She woke early on Monday and showered, blow-drying her hair afterwards. She got dressed punctually and shoveled down her scrambled eggs. She waited on the front steps, no longer nervous but instead confident and gutsy. Her spirits heightened when Bee waved her over on the bus, indicating she had saved her a seat. Moving her backpack, Bee patted the seat beside her and asked her how she felt.
“Terrific.” Jenna beamed.
Bee nodded approvingly. “My mom will pick us up after school and take us to town. The gang is coming too, I hope you don’t mind, but they leap at every opportunity to spend money.”
“Who’s ‘the gang?’”
“Oh, Chrissie and Leila and Georgia. Abby might come too, but she might have tennis after school today.” Bee shrugged. “Do you play any sports?”
“Besides riding?” Bee nodded. “No. I do theater though.” Jenna swooned. “Romeo, Romeo, where for art thou, Romeo?”
“There’s a boy named Romeo in our grade. He’s a jerk.” Bee laughed. “You’d be better off asking ‘where for art thou’ to a grumpy bear.”
Jenna laughed too, amused that such a romantic role was the namesake of a prickly eighth-grader. The bus hissed to a halt in front of the school and Jenna hopped out after Bee. Look out, Rose Junior High, she thought. Here comes a new Jenna.
She trailed after Bee to the lockers, hanging up her backpack and coat and getting out her binders and planner. Luckily, Bee was in all her classes but one (Language Arts) so Jenna had lots of time to talk to her.
At lunch, Bee grabbed Jenna’s arm and guided her over to one of the lunch tables, where Chrissie, Leila, Georgia, and Abby sat- the most popular girls at Rose Junior High. They greeted Bee as she sat down. She introduced Jenna, who smiled and said hi.
“I’m Chrissie,” said a redheaded girl with slanting green eyes. “Nice to meet you.”
Leila was Asian, with long, straight black hair and a uniform-like outfit. “We’re glad to have you,” she said politely. She struck Jenna as the quiet sort of girl who never shouted.
But Georgia was loud. Her strawberry blond hair was perfectly curled at the ends, like a model’s, and her big brown eyes were like a chestnut horse’s coat. She had a perfect tan. She greeted Jenna too, though a little suspiciously.
Abby had blonde-brown hair with white-blonde highlights. She wore a lot of eyeliner and a shirt that read “the Rolling Stones.” She had a quirky sort of smile that left Jenna in no doubt that she was a highly unique individual.
Next to the glamorous girls, Jenna felt ugly and insignificant. She fingered her long chestnut hair, feeling self conscious. She remained quiet, eating quickly, until Leila offered to braid Jenna’s hair. Relieved, Jenna accepted, and Leila braided thin, long plaits of Jenna’s hair, so that only in certain places could you see the braids lying on top of her hair.
At last the end of the day came. Jenna gathered her backpack from her locker and joined Bee and her friends in waiting for Bee’s mother. At last a moss-green car pulled up and they all piled in. Bee chattered away with her friends, but Jenna remained rather quiet, only speaking when spoken to.
When they arrived at the mall, Jenna looked around and made a face. Her old house was just a few blocks from here. She took in the ugly city around her, the blackened grass and the smog. Bee, Christie, Leila, and Georgia jumped out of the car, still chattering away. Jenna felt very alone.
Jenna had never been to the mall just for fun. She went sometimes to buy Christmas presents or to get her yearly haircut, but the concept of just shopping for the heck of it was alien to her.
Apparently, not to Bee. “Come on, Jenna,” she shouted. “We’ll hit Aeropostale first.”
The evening passed in a rapid succession of stores and outfits. By the time Jenna was dropped off at her house, she was laden with clothes and accessories. She decided it was fun, but she definitely needed some breaks in between trips.
That Friday, Jenna was surprised to see a boy hanging around her locker. She ignored him for a minute or so as she deftly twisted out her combination and removed her science notebook, but as he didn’t go away, she closed the metal door and turned to face him.
“Yes? Can I help you?” She tipped her head to one side in a quick, vaguely bird-like motion.
The boy’s green eyes grew wide. He opened his mouth, then shut it, seeming to think better of it, then hurried off.
“Hey!” Jenna called after him. He did not turn around. Jenna shook her head, mildly confused, and walked to Science class.
Bee had convinced the teacher to let Jenna sit next to her, so as she slid into her seat she whispered to Bee, “There was this guy hanging around my locker!”
Excited, Bee asked, “What was his name?”
Jenna shrugged. “I don’t know. He didn’t say anything.” She giggled. “He was so funny! His mouth was just hanging open, he looked like he’d seen a ghost!”
“What did he look like?”
“Um, sandy blonde hair, green eyes…”
Bee rolled her eyes. “Great. There’s only about twenty boys in the school who look like that.”
Jenna considered this. “He had a brown shirt.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake! How descriptive of you, Jenna,” Bee said sarcastically.
The teacher flashed a look at the two. “Having a nice conversation over there, ladies?” he asked dangerously.
“No, sir,” they chorused.
When the teacher had returned to his desk, Bee whispered furtively, “I’ll try to find him. That’s weird. I’ll see you at the barn tomorrow, okay?”
Jenna nodded and began taking notes on what the Science teacher had put on the whiteboard.
Night came, and Jenna looked forward to riding Sahara. Sure enough, the silver mare appeared on the front lawn at about eleven o’clock at night, nickering for Jenna to come. Having slept in her clothes, Jenna immediately sprang out of bed and flew outside. She ran to Sahara and flung her arms around her neck.
“Oh, Sahara,” she sighed, “I can’t wait until weekends. You must come every night, you must!”
Sahara whinnied in agreement, then pranced sideways. Jenna mounted her and they started off at a trot down the moonlit country road. Sahara was holding herself back, waiting for Jenna’s command.
Girl and horse.
Horse and girl.
Jenna crouched into Sahara’s liquid moonlight mane and whispered a single word.
“Fly.”
Sahara took off, galloping smoothly and silently into the mists that seemed to appear wherever she went. Jenna’s hair flew back, and the wind tore tears from her eyes, but she was shouting for joy, laughing and crying and riding and shouting. Sahara whinnied, never once missing a single smooth stride.
Girl and horse.
Horse and girl.
And they vanished into the night.
The following morning, Jenna was tired, but excited. Today she would start working for Melissa at the barn. She slipped into a T-shirt and shorts, and pedaled off.
She arrived at the barn at seven o’clock sharp, and went to find Melissa. The barn manager was mucking out a stall. Without a word, Jenna took the pitchfork.
“Thank you, Jenna,” Melissa smiled. She mopped her brow with a red kerchief. “Phew! This is getting too much work for an old woman like myself.” She blew out a great gust of air, exactly like a horse. “Listen, I have a young man coming here for his first lesson at eight. Will you brush and saddle Pip for him? You can take a break and watch from the tack room if you want, or come into the ring.”
“Okay!” Jenna was glad to watch a lesson. “Which one is Pip?”
“He’s the chestnut a few stalls down. He’s a wonderful horse; just right for beginners, not too fast but not slow either. He’ll listen to a rider and keep them safe.” Melissa strode down the aisle of stalls to one with a plaque that read “Pip”. A chestnut peered out at them, and stuck his head through the window. He nuzzled Melissa for a treat.
“Oh, you old fat horse,” she laughed, producing a carrot. “If you go on like this, you’ll be as fat as a hog, and then who will be able to ride you?”
Pip munched his carrot, unconcerned. He swung his head around to face Jenna. She rubbed his nose, and he bobbed his head with pleasure. “Hello, Pip,” she murmured. “Good horse, yes, good horse.”
Melissa showed Jenna around the stable, all the pastures and tack rooms and the office and the supply room. Jenna then went back to cleaning stalls, while Melissa retired to the office. At seven-fifty, Jenna groomed Pip until he shined and saddled him with a gleaming Western saddle, per Melissa’s instructions. He waited patiently on the cross-ties, occasionally whisking away a fly with his long tail. Then, a few minutes before the lesson began, she slipped on his bridle and led him into the indoor ring. She waited there, holding the reins, until Melissa strode in a few minutes later and relieved her of the horse.
“The pupil should be here in a minute,” she explained. “If he doesn’t know where to go, point him in here.”
There was no need, however, because as Jenna watched from behind the one-way mirror in the tack room, a boy her age wandered into the ring, gazing at the letters and finally Melissa and Pip. When he saw Pip, he started with mild fright. Jenna couldn’t hear what he said, but she could guess: “I didn’t know he’d be that big!”
Then the boy turned as he mounted Pip, and Jenna could see his face. It was the shy boy who had waited by her locker! Jenna choked down a laugh. Could it be that he braved riding lessons because he knew she worked here?
Melissa started him out by walking around the ring with him, holding the reins. He was clearly terrified. Jenna watched for a bit, then came into the ring. She entered silently, and sat in the middle of the ring on the mounting block. The boy had his reins now, and was clutching them like a lifeline as Pip walked along the rail without any guidance. Poor, good-natured Pip. It must be dreadful to be a lesson horse with all those beginners, Jenna thought.
Then the boy looked up from his steady concentration on Pip’s ears and saw Jenna. His face went white, then red, and he topped from the saddle. Pip stopped and swung his head around to look at the boy, who was clambering up from the sand, unhurt. The horse’s eyes seemed to say, “Why did you fall off of me? I was doing my job perfectly well.”
Melissa hurried over and helped him up, brushing him off and asking if he was hurt. Jenna stifled a giggle. While Melissa dusted the boy off, Jenna took Pip’s reins. Poor Pip!
The boy, red-faced and silent, finally mounted again and set off on the other direction at a walk. Melissa gave tips and instructions- “Look up! Your eyes guide the horse more than your hands.”- while Jenna watched the boy. Finally the lesson was over, and the boy gratefully slid off. Jenna took Pip again and led him to the cross ties, listening to Melissa tell her pupil, “You did very well for your first time. Don’t worry. Everyone needs to fall off a horse once, so you might as well do it your first time! Next lesson we’ll try a nice slow jog. I’ll talk to your mother to schedule one.” The boy nodded mutely, still blushing furiously. As Jenna untacked and brushed Pip, she talked to the horse, telling him all about the strange boy. Pip pricked his ears with mild interest, then nuzzled her pockets. Laughing, she gave him a sugar cube and turned him out to pasture, where he ambled off.
Jenna leaned on the fence, watching him kick up his heels and mess around with the other horses. Then she looked beyond him, at the outdoor ring where she had first seen Bee riding. How strange, she thought, that in a week my life could have changed so much. She stuck a straw of hay in her mouth, and went back to the barn to continue working.
Bee arrived a few hours later, as Jenna was cleaning some tack. Bee found her in the tack room, scrubbing away at a bridle. Bee grabbed a sponge and plunged it into the bucket of soapy water to help her friend.
Jenna looked up, wiping hair out of her eyes and leaving a smear of sticky saddle soap across her forehead. “Oh, hi,” she said, smiling at Bee. “You won’t believe what happened!” She proceeded to tell Bee about the strange, shy boy and Pip and falling off. Bee listened, laughing and gasping at all the right places. It was nice to have a friend.
When Jenna was finished, Bee explained what she had found out. “That boy’s name is Danny Colter, and he’s in our grade but none of our classes. His family owns a dairy farm. Other than that I can’t find much out about him, he sort of keeps to himself, I guess.” Bee grinned wickedly. “Not even my awesome crazy detective skills can go past that.”
Jenna considered this. “Hmm. What was he doing here at the barn?”
“Riding. Duh!” Bee smiled good-naturedly.
“No, I don’t think that’s what he really wanted. He seemed terrified, and not at all happy.”
Bee reached over to tickle Jenna. “He likes you.”
Jenna swatted her friend with the soapy sponge she was using to clean tack, laughing. Bee sank to her knees, moaning, “I’m melting, I’m melting!”
Melissa poked her head around the tack room door. “I always knew you were a witch,” she laughed. “Come on, girls, there’s a rider coming in fifteen minutes and I need you to get Starr ready.”
“Starr?” Jenna looked quizzically at Melissa and Bee.
“Yeah, you know, like Ringo Starr. The Beatle.” Melissa looked at the girls’ confused faces and groaned. “Oh, come on, you guys make me feel so old. You have to know who the Beatles are!”
Bee shrugged. “Are they punch buggies or insects?”
Melissa groaned again and retreated out of the tack room, leaving the girls to collapse in laughter. Between giggles, Bee said, “I really do know who they are. I was just messing with Melissa.”
Still smiling, they rinsed off the bridle and went to get Starr, a black Appaloosa mare with blanket spots. Bee brushed her as Jenna went to go get a saddle and bridle. Starr was not nearly as patient as Pip, and stomped her feet and whinnied at the other horses the entire time. At last she was ready, and Jenna rode her into the ring.
She looked around, confused. No rider stood ready to ride Starr. Instead, Melissa lounged on the mounting block, sipping a Coke. Another soda lay beside her.
“So who’s riding Starr?” Jenna asked, gratefully accepting the slightly dusty Coke that Melissa offered her.
“You are. You’re working so you can ride, right?” Melissa screwed the cap back on her soda. “Go on, get a helmet from the tack room. You any good at bareback?”
Jenna thought back to her midnight rides on Sahara. “Yes.”
“Great! Slip off that tack and tell Bee to get Cocoa ready, okay? She can ride Picasso if she’d like to come along. We have a neat little network of trails through the hayfield and the woods out back.”
Jenna hurried to do as the riding instructor had ordered. “Bee,” she called. “Hey Bee, where’d you go?”
Settling Starr in her stall temporarily, Jenna went looking for her friend. She hear Bee’s voice drifting from somewhere over near the chicken coop, so she headed over, ignoring the feather-footed rooster who crowed, annoyed, as she knocked him aside, walking through the flock.
Bee had someone cornered and was saying something in a half-angry, half-fascinated tone of voice.
“What did you think you were doing?” Bee lectured, sounding like a teacher berating a naughty student. “You could have spooked the horses and gotten a kick in your head. And then that would create a whole mess for the barn. Why were you lurking around with the chickens?”
“I… I… I…” a voice stuttered. The speaker was obviously quite scared of Bee. Jenna strolled around the corner of the coop and found the shy boy backed up against the coop wall, Bee’s finger two inches from his nose. He was cross-eyed, staring at it as it wagged back and forth as Bee continued her reprimand.
“If a horse is spooked, not only could it hurt you, but also itself and other horses! The horses don’t mind the chickens, but they’re not stupid. They can clearly tell the difference between you and the rooster! Though,” she added, “you seem to be equally stupid and full of yourself. Why are you still hanging around?”
The boy was clearly at a loss for words. Jenna had been watching the scene with muffled laughter, and finally spoke. “Hi Bee. Who’s this?”
Bee put on a comical scowl. “None other than Danny Colter the Corsair himself! What shall we do with the scurvy blaggard?”
Jenna raised one eyebrow. “Aye, hanging is too good for the knave. I say we tie him up and leave him in yonder pasture for yon man-eating horse to devour!”
The boy—Danny, he was called—paled and desperately tried to get away, but Bee caught his shirt collar, barely concealing her mirth. “Right you are, lassie. Fetch yonder reins and we shall proceed!”
Jenna ducked into the chicken coop, grabbing an old and torn pair of driving reins. Bee bound the boy’s hands with a flourish, stating that she had learned an unbreakable knot from an Indian chief. By now Danny’s face was an interesting shade of pale green, though he offered on resistance as Bee told him to go sit on a hay bale, “where we can interrogate the lad further.”
“Okay,” Bee proclaimed. “So we won’t feed you to the horses if you answer all our questions. Deal?”
Danny nodded, relieved.
“Okay.” Bee dusted imaginary dirt from her hands. “First question is: Do you have a voice box?”
“Yes.” Danny’s voice was surprisingly strong, and had a bell-like tone that suggested it would be good for singing.
“Funny,” Jenna said. “But continue.”
“Next question,” Bee went on. “Did you come here to a, learn to ride, b, see Jenna, or c, steal a chicken?”
“Um,” Danny said, confused. “B.”
“What do you want?” Bee frowned at him.
“No, B. The letter B. That’s my answer.”
“You wrote your answer in a letter to me?” Bee turned her head to wink at Jenna. Clearly she was feigning her confusion. “Well, then it won’t be here for a while, so ‘fess up. Why are you here?”
Danny sighed. “To see Jenna. Option B.”
Bee smiled, pleased. “Well then. Third question. Why exactly were you hiding with the chickens? I can’t imagine you enjoy their company. Though we might as well stick a beak and a pair of wings on you if you’re going to be so cowardly and call you a chicken, too. At least the rooster doesn’t hide behind the barn to sneak a peek at the lovely new hen in town.”
“I was waiting for my mom,” Danny lied lamely. “She’s late.”
“Oh yes, and when she gets here I’m sure the chicken coop will be the first place she’ll come to find you. Try again, Danny boy.” Bee grabbed a passing chicken and cuddled it. It squawked and flapped but Bee was obviously in a stubborn mood because she held on tight until the chicken gave up.
“Okay, okay,” Danny sighed, as subdued as the chicken. “I came here to see Jenna and hid because I was embarrassed. Happy now?”
“Yes. Though I still think you ought to be fed to the horses. What do you say, Jenna?”
“Aw, let him go. That is, if you can untie your incredible knot.” Jenna indicated the twisted reins.
“There wasn’t any knot. Danny, just pull your hands apart. I just looped the reins around your wrists a few times.” Bee giggled at her prank.
Danny, red in the face and very disgruntled, ambled off down the lane that lead to the barn. A dirty white pickup truck beeped its horn for him to climb in when he reached the bottom, and the truck—with Danny inside—drove away.
“I think you were a little harsh,” Jenna told Bee.
“Naw, I know his type. Once they get a bit of prodding they always break out of their shyness.” Bee nodded wisely.
Jenna considered this. “I guess you’re right. I never would have spoken to you in the first place if it weren’t for… um…” Reluctant to mention Sahara, Jenna backtracked. “If I hadn’t noticed Picasso’s leg was hurt, we would never have talked and I would still be a friendless loser.”
“Funny how those things work out. Anyway, what’s up?”
“Oh no!” Jenna clapped a hand to her forehead. “The trail ride! I completely forgot! Melissa will be so worried!”
Hastily, she repeated Melissa’s instructions. “And I left Starr all tacked up in her stall. Oh no!” She sprinted back up to the barn, leaving Bee laughing by the chicken coop, the hen still in her arms.
A few minutes later, Bee, Melissa, and Jenna were trotting along a twisty path behind the barn. Picasso’s leg was fully healed; Bee had tried to bring her chicken along but was stopped by a raised eyebrow from Melissa. Melissa and Bee were both chattering at once, pointing out the finer points of the trail. Starr shied at a rabbit in the path once, but other than that it was the perfect trail ride.
Jenna’s ride on Sahara that night took her into a forest not unlike the once she had ridden on Starr. Sahara’s barrel was firm and muscular beneath Jenna’s legs, and she had no fear of falling off as the mare raced faster and faster. Jenna hugged her neck at the end of the dreamlike ride.
“I wish you were real, Sahara,” she told the horse.
Sahara tilted her head and looked at Jenna as if to say, I am real!
“I know, I know,” Jenna sighed. “But Mom and Dad don’t seem to think so.”
Sahara nickered and Jenna slid off. “My birthday’s tomorrow,” she whispered into the mare’s nicked ear. Sahara snorted warm breath into Jenna’s face. Jenna went to bed feeling vaguely dissatisfied, as if Sahara knew something that Jenna did not.
Jenna leapt out of bed the next day with an unexplainable feeling of excitement. “Happy birthday to me,” she sang to herself as she got dressed. She was greeted downstairs by her family and a breakfast of eggs and bacon. On the bus, the seat next to Jason, the silent boy, was the only one left. She slid in next to him.
He stared at her for the entire ride. When they had almost reached the school, Jenna confronted him. “What is your problem?” she exclaimed, sounding harsher than she meant to.
“Expect great things today,” he blurted.
“Huh?”
“Never mind.” Jason hurriedly looked away. Jenna frowned and poked his shoulder.
“No, really,” she insisted. “What do you mean?”
Jason opened his mouth, but closed it quickly as the bus ground to a halt and the doors hissed open. Jenna stared after him as he raced to be the first one off the bus. Shaking her head, she went to go join Bee. Bee listened, puzzled, as Jenna repeated what Jason had said.
“No idea,” she declared. “We can track him down at lunch.”
Jenna swallowed, imagined, horrible scenes of lunchtime flashing through her head. “No, that’s okay. I’m sure I’ll figure it out.”
As it turned out, Danny was in just one of her classes- Language Arts, the only class that Bee wasn’t in. He sat in front of her. Right before class, a note was dropped onto her desk as he made his way to the pencil sharpener. Jenna unfolded the note, amused. How classic, she thought.
Jenna, the note read in neat but rather pressed-in lettering, as if Danny had rammed his pencil into the paper a bit too hard. I’m sorry I don’t have the guts to say this to your face — Bee was right, I am a chicken. I think you’re smart and nice and really pretty. Will you come to the dance with me on Friday? –Danny
Jenna’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. She reread the note, aghast. She barely paid attention to the lesson, staring at the back of Danny’s head. She noticed his hands were shaking as he took notes.
She cornered him after class. “Sorry, I missed the homework. What was it?” she asked innocently.
Danny turned a hundred shades of pink and showed her the inside of is planner, where he had written the assignment down.
What is one extraordinary thing that happened today? the planner read in Danny’s handwriting. Face grim, Jenna copied it down into her own planner and then jotted two letters under the homework.
Jenna raced to Bee’s locker and told her everything. Bee looked amused. “What did you say?”
“Guess.”
Bee raised an eyebrow. “Give me a hint.”
Jenna sighed despairingly. “Just guess.”
Bee gasped. “You didn’t say no?”
Jenna laughed. “Of course not! This Friday, I am going to the dance with Danny Colter!”
Bee squealed and the two friends hugged. Then Jenna gasped. “Crud,” she said, “we’re late!”
“Happy birthday, by the way,” Bee told her as they took the stairs to math class two at a time
“How’d you know?”
“I know everything,” Bee chirped happily. Then she laughed. “No, your mom told my mom when we dropped you off the other day.”
Jenna had no time to answer, because they had reached the classroom. They tried slipping in undetected, but the teacher’s voice rang out sternly as they crept to their seats. “Miss Clearwater! Miss Featherstone! You are three minutes late!”
Bee’s eyes grew huge as she pleaded with the grumpy teacher. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Clarks, but it’s Jenna’s birthday and…”
The teacher relented, though clearly she was itching to pester them some more. “Fine,” she said. “But just this once. If you two are late again, you both get detentions!”
The two friends nodded solemnly. At the end of the day, Bee handed Jenna a handmade card, signed by all the popular girls.
“Thanks,” Jenna smiled. “You should sleep over this weekend.”
“Sure.”
Jenna jumped up onto the bus behind her friend, her heart lighter than it had been in a while. Bee was forced to sit a few seats behind her, as there were no empty benches. Jenna, for the second time that day, felt Jason’s eyes boring into her.
“You were right,” she told him. “How did you know?”
“Wha—?” Jason frowned at her.
“You were right when you said great things would happen today. Danny, right? That’s what you were talking about?”
“Um…” Jason looked rather nervous. “No, actually. Who’s Danny?”
Jenna stared at him. “Then what…”
Jason hastened to explain. “My dad just had to get rid of something… someone. That’s all I should really tell you…”
Jenna was still puzzled as she hopped off the bus and burst through her front door. She was surprised to find both parents home. Her dad took her hand and her mother tied a blindfold onto her.
“What the…?” Jenna protested, laughing.
“You’ll see,” came her father’s voice. “Just follow me, okay?”
Jenna obeyed. When the blindfold was untied, she found herself in the old barn, in front of one of the less ruined stalls. Her father opened the door. A familiar whinny sounded.
“No way,” breathed Jenna. “No way!”
Sahara’s head poked around the door. When she saw Jenna, she nickered.
“I knew you were real! I knew it!” Jenna cried, hugging her. She turned to her parents. “How…?”
“We saw an ad in the papers,” Bernice told her. “We went to see her, and she sounded just like the horse in your dream, so we bought her.”
“I thought we didn’t have the money!”
“Fooled you,” her father laughed. “We had been thinking of getting you a horse for a long time; about six months actually. We have some money set aside. We’ll pay for the horse until you get a paying job, then she’s your responsibility, okay?”
“Yes, yes, yes!” Jenna squealed.
“What will you call her?” Bernice asked.
Jenna looked at her in mild surprise. “Isn’t it obvious? This is Sahara!”
She hugged Sahara again, and led her out. “Can I go for a ride?” she asked, already mounting.
“Go ahead.” Her father smiled from behind his forgotten glasses.
Jenna urged the mare into a trot, then a canter, then a streaming gallop. “Sahara,” she whispered.
She no longer needed to ride by night.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Ride By Night, part 1
Since this story is 28 letter pages long, it will be broken up into 2 parts.
Ride by Night
A story by Olive Tree
Jenna cast one last glance around her room. Its pale pink walls seemed to wish her a fond farewell. She tried to picture where her bed had been, her posters of Arabians and Friesians, her bookshelf filled with horse stories. She padded over to the window seat where she had so often sat, engrossed in books filled with pictures of all sorts of horses. The window overlooked a small dirt road, and past that a field of wildflowers.
Jenna sighed. She was thirteen, with long chestnut hair and green, slightly almond-shaped eyes. Her hands were slim and her fingers were long, the type of fingers a well-known pianist might have. Jenna liked to think she looked like a delicate chestnut Arabian horse. She had been utterly happy here in this room, in this house where she had lived all her life. But her parents, always concerned with her education, had decided to uproot the family and move to a town two hours away, which apparently had one of the best schools in the state. And Jenna was sure she would be absolutely miserable. What about Kenzie, the horse she took lessons on every weekend at a nearby stable? The Quarter Horse mare had grown very attached to Jenna, and Jenna to her. Not just anyone could ride fidgety Kenzie, the instructors said. It took a special kind of person to handle her.
“There will be other stables with even better horses,” her father promised. Jenna had just stared at him sullenly. He didn’t understand the bond between horse and rider. Kenzie wasn’t just any horse. She couldn’t be replaced with another. Jenna knew that.
Yet here she was, watching the moving van pull up in front of her house and swallowing her possessions. She was powerless to halt the terrifying string of events flashing before her, unable to say, Stop! I live here! I’m not leaving!
“Jenna!” trilled her mother. Jenna looked once more around her old room and shuffled down the hall. Her mother, Bernice, waited at the foot of the stairs, blue eyes twinkling and brown, pixie-cut hair positively quivering with excitement. Jenna thought her mother looked like a little Hackney, quick and ready for anything. She clomped down the stairs as loudly as she could, as if to tell the whole house, This is the last time I’m going to walk down these stairs. Bernice grabbed her hand and pulled her out the door unceremoniously. The movers pulled out in their big white van and Jenna jumped in the family car just as her father revved up the engine and followed the van.
Jenna’s sister, Maggie, sat in her carseat beside her. Maggie was six, and seemed to have inherited her mother’s bubbling energy. Her shaggy brown bangs and stubby limbs reminded Jenna of a Shetland Pony. Maggie giggled.
“We’re going to the country, Jenna,” she sang happily. “We’re going to the country with forests and fields and cows and bunnies!”
Jenna ignored her exuberant sister, choosing instead to stare out the window at the houses whizzing by. It was true that this was not rural at all; in fact the houses and backyards were rather cramped. But just across the road stretched Jenna’s field, her field of flowers, and it always cheered her up to charge down the narrow path her pounding feet had made over the years. Who would walk that path when she was gone? Would the new residents of her former home have a little girl who loved horses and was always exploring, just as Jenna was? So many questions she would probably never know the answer to. She twisted around in her seat to catch one last glimpse of the field. The flowers would be in bloom soon, as the weather slowly but surely grew warmer as spring progressed.
Jenna continued to stare out the window as they drove on, deaf to Maggie’s endless chatter, not really seeing through the glass in front of her nose. The car flew past forests, farms, and lakes, but Jenna saw nothing. Finally the car pulled to a halt.
“Here we are,” announced Jenna’s father, unfastening his seatbelt and opening the door to stretch his long limbs. With his awkward, seemingly uncoordinated arms and legs that were really quite strong, Jenna thought he was like a Thoroughbred colt, but his thinning hair ruined the picture. Her father’s real name was Robert, but everyone called him Bert. Jenna thought that name was for a clown, not her father. He wore round glasses for reading, but often forgot to take them off. Someday, Jenna thought, they are going to weld to his head. His uniform of sweater vests never changed, except colors. They were all either maroon, white, gray, or black. Her father was an excellent golfer, and the visor looked just right on his round, nearly bald head.
As her mother helped Maggie out of her carseat, Jenna got out of the car, prepared to moodily stare at her new home. She forgot all about that, though, when she took a look around.
Acres of fields stretched to her right, and an old apple orchard stood in craggy rows just beyond that. To the left- could it be?- was a field of wildflowers exactly like the one Jenna had just left! Forests skulked behind the bright field, the shadowy sort that was perfect for wandering about in. The house itself was ancient, the sort of old farmhouse that promised an excellent barn. Surely enough, a huge outbuilding stood beside it, red paint peeling, a rusty weathervane featuring a running horse perched on top. Jenna’s father ambled up beside her, wrapping one of his long arms around her shoulder and squeezing gently.
“What do you think?” He gazed down at her through his glasses. He had forgotten again.
“It’s perfect,” Jenna whispered, breathless. “Dad, it’s just perfect!”
“Let’s take a look inside, shall we?” Her father steered her up the cobblestone path that led to the house, arm still around her shoulders. He fumbled with the key for a second, then opened the door. It swung open into darkness. Her father switched on the lights and a huge kitchen of white pine emerged from the shadows. Releasing her shoulder, Jenna’s dad hurried over to the window above the sink, flinging back the heavy, moth-eaten curtains and letting light flood the room. They continued through the house, opening windows and pulling back curtains. There were a lot of rooms in this house, enough for Jenna and Maggie to each have their own. Jenna and her father crept down the upstairs hall, until they came to the last room. It had a huge picture window overlooking the field.
“We chose this room for you,” her father murmured. “I’m going to build you a window seat, just like at our old house, okay?”
Jenna nodded. The room was big, big enough for all her posters and books. She hugged her father. “Thanks, Dad.”
“The movers will bring up your furniture in a moment. Then you can start setting up house again.” Her father strolled out of the room, leaving Jenna pacing around, imagining where each thing would go.
Soon her furniture was in place. Jenna looked around at the dusty, peeling wallpaper. It had yellowing, repeating patterns of baby dolls with staring eyes. Jenna shivered. She had never really liked dolls. It was bad enough to have a little sister. She flopped down on her mattress, not yet covered by sheets, and shut her eyes tightly. This was a good house, she decided, in spite of all the dolls.
“Jenna!” Maggie trotted into the room, shaking her bangs out of her eyes. “Jenna, Mommy says dinner’s ready.”
“Ugh, Maggie,” Jenna moaned, dragging herself up. “Why can’t you respect someone’s privacy for once?”
But Maggie was already out the door. She paused in the hall and retorted, “of course I come into your room without you saying so. I’m your little sister!” Then she slid down the banister- it was the sort of banister that was wide, flat on top, and curvy, just right for sliding- and disappeared downstairs.
Jenna slumped down the stairs. Her mother waited in the kitchen, takeout on the counter.
“Isn’t it great?” Bernice hurried about getting silverware and napkins. “A takeout place just around the corner! It didn’t take five minutes for it to arrive.”
Jenna’s father lay sprawled on the couch in the next room, eyes closed. His glasses were crooked.
“Dad,” Jenna chided him gently, “you’ve forgotten to take off your glasses again.”
“So I have,” he replied, opening his eyes. He set the glasses on the coffee table next to him. “Look at this house, Jenna,” he said. “It’s a major renovation, but isn’t it wonderful? It’s so old and lovely and full of—”
“Dust?” Jenna suggested.
“No. Secrets.” Her father roused himself and sat up. He ran his finger through his thinning hair. “Look, Jenna. You know as well as I that we can’t afford a horse of your own, but there’s a nice little stable just down the street that you might like. Maybe you can ride there.”
“I’ll go check it out tomorrow,” Jenna promised.
“Oh no, you won’t,” Bernice shrilled from the kitchen, holding a fork. “You’re starting school tomorrow. So is Maggie.”
Maggie looked pleased with this arrangement, but Jenna became the picture of indignation. “What? We just moved in,” she cried.
“Jenna, honey, we moved here so you could go to school in a better system. Your father is going to have to drive an extra fifteen minutes to work, but we think that your education is the most important thing.” Jenna’s mother leaned down and kissed her forehead. “It will be fine. You’re a very bright girl, Jenna. You can do it.”
Jenna wasn’t hungry for takeout. Her stomach was filled with a terrible, sick churning. A new school? Tomorrow? Jenna was rather shy. She wasn’t the sort of person who made friends the first five seconds of a new school. She had never needed to; she had had Katie, her best friend in her old town. Katie’s mom and Bernice were best friends in grade school and were pregnant at the same time. Jenna and Katie had been rolled about in strollers together, taken to the beach together, started walking around the same time.
Jenna shuffled up to bed, which her mother had made for her, early. She crawled beneath the covers and thought. She was awake long after the rest of the house had gone to sleep.
Jenna picked out a pink polo shirt and a miniskirt to wear on her first day at Cecilia M. Rose Junior High. She brushed her long, straight hair, taking more than enough care to tame loose strands. She slid in a headband. She brushed her teeth, washed her face, and applied some clear lip gloss. She pattered down the stairs with a backpack filled with binders patterned with cutesy circles or lines, paper, and a pencil case full of supplies. Her mother, with that amazing forethought all mother have, had laid them outside Jenna’s door.
Bernice waited now in the kitchen, clutching a brown paper bag that contained Jenna’s lunch. Jenna thanked her, grabbed her jacket, and hurried out the door.
Students’ homes were so spread out in this rather rural area that the bus stopped in front of houses, not stops where kids clustered together. Jenna was the last to be picked up and the first to be dropped off, so she didn’t have a long ride. She laid down her backpack and lunch and wandered around, looking at the barn and the apple trees. While she wandered, she promised herself that she would not be shy. It was a new school; she had a whole new range of options here. It wasn’t like at her old school, where everyone knew she had ripped her pants in second grade. Nobody knew anything about her, and therefore couldn’t make fun of her, either- yet. If they got the chance they probably would. Jenna swore that she would not give them that chance.
The bus pulled up in front of the house and honked. Jenna ran back to where her backpack had been and gathered it up, then sprinted to the bus. The doors opened with a rush of air. A fat, matronly woman sat in the driver’s seat. Jenna took a deep breath and opened her mouth to say, “Hello, my name is Jenna”, but the fat lady spoke first.
“Sit anywhere,” she grunted, gesturing at the full bus behind her. Jenna closed her mouth and nodded, shyness winning over. As she ventured down the bus, almost falling flat on her face when it started up, she cursed herself inwardly for breaking her self-made promise.
Finally, in the very back of the bus, she found a seat that was open. She sat next to a boy with big, serious black eyes and spiky black hair. He glanced up at her for a second, then went back to looking out the window.
“Hi,” Jenna said nervously. “It’s my first day here.”
The boy merely glanced at her again and uttered a single word- “Jake”- then went back to staring out the window.
“Oh,” Jenna faltered. “Um, nice to meet you.”
Jake did not reply. He now seemed oblivious to the fact that she was there. That suited Jenna just fine. She stared at the back to the seat in front of her instead. It was fake leather, and had big holes in it. Subconsciously she inserted a finger into a hole and started worrying it, making it bigger. Laughter sounded from the front of the bus and Jenna shrank back. This is a disaster, she thought. I’ll never make it through the day.
She was crushed and pushed forward in a throng of students eager to leave the bus. She finally hopped out the door and entered the school.
She had to admit, it was a nice school. Windows, inlaid with modern-looking stained glass, surrounded her in the atrium she had stepped into, and the offices were off to the side. Students flowed around her, chatting and laughing. Jenna went to the office.
“Hello,” she said to the secretary. “My name is Jenna Featherstone, and this is my first day here. I think I’m supposed to check in.”
“Oh, yes,” the woman replied, peering at Jenna over her horn-rimmed glasses. “Vice Principal Foster will be with you shortly in the Fishbowl.”
Jenna blinked. “The Fishbowl?”
“Yes, dear, that room over there.” The secretary motioned to a room to Jenna’s left. It was indeed circular, and half of it was windows, looking out into the atrium. Jenna thanked the secretary and entered the Fishbowl. She set down her backpack and sat at one of the many chairs surrounding a table. Paper lanterns in the shape of fish dangled above her. This school, Jenna thought, is definitely odd.
A man strode into the room. He was obviously Vice Principal Foster. He carried a thin, spiral-bound book, which he presented to Jenna with a flourish, as if he was awarding a medal. “This,” he declared, “is your planner. It will be both your guide and helper throughout your education here at Rose Junior High.”
Jenna took the planner, extremely aware that students on their way to class were gathering at the window, trying to catch a glimpse of the new girl. Vice Principal Foster didn’t seem to notice them, and went right on with his speech.
“Here is your schedule,” he told her, flipping open the planner and pointing to the front page. “Mrs. Lakenvelder, the guidance councilor, will guide you through your first day.” The vice principal strode away, humming, as a small, mousy woman appeared.
“I’m Mrs. Lakenvelder,” she said rather unnecessarily. She peered at Jenna’s schedule. “Let’s see, Mr. Wilson’s homeroom. Let’s go, then.” She started off, Jenna trailing behind her. They halted in front of a door that read “102”. Jenna tried to peer in the window. Mrs. Lakenvelder swung it open and pronounced to the students inside, “This is Jenna Featherstone. She is a new student from the city!”
“Ooh,” one girl said, “I go there to shop.”
Mrs. Lakenvelder ignored her. “So let’s give her a big, friendly Rose Junior High welcome!”
The students stood and chanted tonelessly, “Welcome, Jenna Featherstone.” Then there was a scuffle as everyone sat down.
This procedure was repeated as Mrs. Lakenvelder guided Jenna through the whole day. Each time Jenna was given a “big, friendly Rose Junior High welcome” she grew redder and redder. This was not a good first impression. By lunch, Jenna was content to merely find an empty table and sit hunched with her sandwich. But this was not to be.
A group of boys wandered over to her table and grouped around, jeering, “Welcome, Jenna Featherstone, Little Miss Big-City.”
Jenna tried to ignore them, cursing Mrs. Lakenvelder silently.
The boys continued their taunting, until the boy Jenna had sat next to on the bus called from another table, “Oh, come on guys, leave her alone. You know Mrs. Lakenvelder does that to everyone.” Jenna flashed him a grateful smile, but he didn’t seem to see her. The boys went to join him and started pushing each other around.
By the end of the day, Jenna’s mouth hurt from faking a smile all the time. She gratefully clambered on the bus, this time snatching a seat near the front. She hurried off as the bus stopped in front of her house, and, answering her mother’s “How was school today?” with the customary “Fine”, hustled up to her bedroom. Maggie wouldn’t be home for another hour, thank goodness, so Jenna had some time to herself. She spread out the various papers teachers had given her on the floor, filling in an answer here, scratching out a number there. She saw the elementary school bus pull up in front of the house, and Maggie jump out of it, bouncy and excited as usual. Obviously first graders were more receptive than seventh graders.
Jenna walked over to the window on her knees, watching her mother dig up grass and weeds to make way for a garden. Bernice was an avid flower gardener. Maggie worked beside her, knees dirty and clutching a yellow plastic beach shovel. She had a matching pail beside her, into which she dropped in the occasional unlucky worm. Jenna changed into shorts and a T-shirt and went to go join them.
Bernice beamed when Jenna came outside, the screen door banging behind her, and held out a shovel. Jenna set to work digging, the shovel making a “chuck” noise each time it entered the ground and a sort of swish as she flung dirt over her shoulder. It had a sort of rhythm to it, and Jenna worked to the sounds like they were a beating drum.
Chuck, swish.
Chuck, swish.
Chuck, swish.
Clang.
Jenna stopped and peered down at her shovel. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, she resumed digging.
Clang! Jenna halted her digging again. A dull silver corner was poking out of the ground. She looked around; her mother and Maggie had moved to a different section of the yard. Setting down her shovel, Jenna dug down in the dark soil with her hands, unearthing a silver box. It was tin, really; dented in some places and caked with dirt. It looked a bit like an old lunchbox, with little clasps and a vague engraving on the front. Closer inspection revealed that the engraving depicted Superman. Jenna shook the box, holding it next to her ear. A dull thump came from inside. Curious, she opened the box, flipping open the lid and leaning back in case something nasty came out. Nothing did, and Jenna peered inside.
The box was lined with padded leather, but the interesting thing was what it contained. A gray model horse- Jenna recognized it as an Arabian- lay on the leather, caught in the action of prancing proudly. Jenna removed it and fondled the long tail and broken ear. The horse was plastic, and was painted in such detail that the black eyes seemed to follow Jenna as she turned it. A white sock graced the horse’s right foreleg. Joyful shouts rang across the yard as Bernice drenched Maggie with a garden hose. Setting the horse back in its box, Jenna ran inside, kicking off her flip-flops and bounding up the stairs to her room to examine the horse some more.
She set it on her nightstand, lying on the bed and looking at it, puzzled. Why would someone bury a model horse? It would probably have been twenty years ago or so, judging by the lunchbox. Jenna reasoned that it might have been a sort of time capsule, but closer investigation (that is, holding the box upside down and shaking it) revealed nothing more. Jenna set the box down, bewildered, and lay on her back looking at the ceiling until her mother called her for dinner.
After eating, Jenna retreated back into her bedroom. She changed into pajamas and fell asleep staring at the horse.
She awoke to a shrill whinny outside her window. She sat bolt upright, momentarily frightened. Perhaps one of the horses from the farm down the road got loose, she thought frantically. Scrambling out of bed and pulling on a pair of slippers, she ran as quietly as she could through the house, amazed to see that no lights were on. Had her family not heard the whinny?
She rushed out the door, staring wildly around for the horse. A shining gray figure stepped daintily out of the fog, prancing. Jenna gasped and her jaw fell open. It was the gray horse! The mare promenaded in circles around her, flipping a flowing mane. The full, white moon above them made the fog swirling about her fetlocks turn ghostly silver, and as the mare tossed her head the moonlight shone upon a nick in her ear. Jenna nearly fainted.
After a bit, the mare turned her side to Jenna and swung her head around on that elegant, arched neck, liquid eyes gazing at the girl. Jenna understood. The mare wanted her to ride.
Leaping onto the mare’s back— she was not a tall horse, but rather delicate and small, a true Arabian— Jenna grasped the silvery mane that floated before her. With another shrill whinny, the mare bolted forward, racing the wind and the stars and the night. Jenna cried out, clinging to the mare’s neck with her arms and gripping her sides with her legs. At her cry, the mare slowed, adopting a gentle canter. Jenna sat up, fingers still entwined in the horse’s mane. Gradually the mare adjusted her pace until she reached an easy walk. Jenna looked around. She had no idea where she was.
“Do you belong to the farm?” she murmured to the horse. The Arabian whinnied in reply. “I bet you have a name,” she told the mare, “but between you and me I’m going to call you Sahara. It’s an Arabic name, you know, not just a desert. It means ‘wild.’” Sahara nickered throatily, as if agreeing that it was indeed a splendid name.
Jenna desperately tried to figure out where Sahara had taken her. Mist swirled all around her, once in a while parting to reveal the dark shape of a tree. Well, she reasoned, if Sahara knew the way here then she must know the way back. “Can you take me home now?” Sahara took off again, but this time Jenna was ready and had wrapped her arms securely around the mare’s neck. The wind that Sahara’s speed created whistled through Jenna’s hair. They came to a halt in front of the old farmhouse, where Jenna dismounted and led Sahara into the barn. She fumbled for a light switch, finally finding one and flicking it up. The barn was illuminated by a weak glow, emitting from an old lamp dangling from the ceiling. Stalls lined the walls, mostly filled with old, rusting tractors and supplies. Jenna wondered why the previous owners hadn’t bothered to clean it out. As she guided Sahara into an empty stall she took a long look around. Closing the stall door and telling Sahara that she would take her back to the farm in the morning, Jenna wandered out of the barn and back to her room, where she fell asleep, exhausted and glad that the next day was a Saturday.
The next morning Jenna awoke at six o’clock to her clock radio cheerfully telling her the weather. She had forgotten to shut it off for the weekend. Groaning, she dragged herself out of bed and shut off the radio. Then she remembered.
She dashed downstairs, ignoring her mother’s chirp of good morning. She flew out the door and into the barn, halting outside Sahara’s stall. The mare was gone.
Jenna ran back into the house, stopping at the breakfast table to pant out, “Where’s Sahara?”
“Sahara?” Her father sipped his coffee. “Who’s Sahara?”
“The horse! In the stable! Where is she? Did you bring her back to the stable?”
“Do you know what she’s talking about?” Bernice turned to Jenna’s dad.
“Haven’t the foggiest.” He set down his coffee and frowned at Jenna. “You probably dreamed it.”
But Jenna was sure the experience was real. Maybe Sahara had gotten out on her own and gone back to her farm. So Jenna got dressed, wolfed down a bowl of Maggie’s cereal, and biked down the road to the stable. “Shady Pine Equestrian Center,” the sign informed her. She pedaled up the long drive until she came to the barn. A girl about her age was leading a horse into the outdoor ring. Jenna could tell from her expensive clothes that her family was rich. She recognized her as one of the popular girls at Rose Junior High. Jenna stood on the wooden rail.
She mustered up all her courage. “Is there a gray Arabian at this barn?”
The girl glanced up. “No.” She went around to the other side of her horse, a Paint, and tightened the girth. The horse blew out a gusty sigh and leaned to one side. The girl swatted him gently, scolding, “I’ve told you not to do that.”
But Jenna realized that one back fetlock was swollen. “No,” she said, her concern for the horse overcoming her shyness as she hopped over the rail. “Look, his fetlock’s all puffy. Something’s wrong. He might have pulled a muscle.”
The rich girl paled and hurried over. Se lifted the hoof in question tenderly, then set it down again. “You’re right,” she muttered, turning her blue eyes on Jenna, who felt very uncomfortable. “Oh, my god, you’re right!” The girl grew hysterical, shouting, “Somebody call a vet!”
The horse looked surprised at all the fuss. He swung his head around to look at his mistress, who was hyperventilating.
“Calm down!” Jenna took the girl’s arm. “A pulled muscle isn’t going to kill him. Ice it and wrap it, and show him to the vet to make sure he hasn’t sprained it.”
“Okay,” the girl said, eyes still wide, but calming a bit. “Thank you. Sorry I snapped at you. My name’s Bee.” She watched anxiously as stable hands led her horse back into the barn.
“Bee?”
“Yeah, you know, a nickname. Short for Blaine. Blaine Clearwater. I’ve never seen you around before.” Bee tilted her head, straight blond hair rippling.
“No, you probably haven’t. I’m Jenna. I just moved here; yesterday was my first day at Rose.” Jenna felt Bee warming and becoming more friendly.
“Oh, yeah, I remember. That Mrs. Lakenvelder sure is something, huh?” Jenna’s heart sank, and she braced herself, ready to endure more teasing, until Bee laughed, a tinkling sound. “Don’t worry, the guys will forget about it by Monday. She does that to everyone. I should know; I was new last year.”
“Really?” Jenna had no doubts that Bee made popular, beautiful friends the first fifteen minutes at the new school.
“Yeah. I was really nervous, you know. I was so unpopular at my old school. Everyone made fun of me for loving horses so much. And once some boys put a can of dog food in my locker. It had horse meat in it. I cried in the bathrooms for hours. And I didn’t have any friends to comfort me. They all hated me because my dad makes a lot of money.” Jenna privately thought that they also hated her for being so pretty. “Then my parents decided to move to the country, out here. My little brother was really upset, but I was thrilled. I could make a new start here, you know? I tried to be really friendly to everyone, but I was so shy and scared inside! I guess it worked, though, because at lunch a bunch of girls, Chrissie and Leila and the rest, invited me to sit with them, and it sort of went from there. Then Daddy got me Picasso, and I was totally happy.”
“Is Picasso your horse?” Jenna felt an odd sort of kinship with this beautiful, popular, rich girl.
“Yes. I love him more than anything else in the world.” Bee looked over into the barn. “I board him here; I live right down the street. I hope he’s okay,” she added. “Melissa, she’s the barn manager, has probably taken a look at him. She used to be a vet, you know.” Bee’s forehead wrinkled in concern. “I’m still worried though. Want to come check on him?”
Jenna nodded, concerned herself. She was pretty sure that the injury was minor, but learning from books is not the same as real life and she was quite possibly wrong. Picasso’s injury may be far worse than a mere pulled muscle. She followed Bee into the barn and had to choke down a gasp.
The barn was beautiful. Dark mahogany made up the walls, and stables lined the sides. Beautiful horse heads poked out of them, lipping for an apple or a sugar cube. Jenna stared around as Bee led her to the end of the barn, where a plaque on a stall proudly stated “High Flingin’ Picasso” and declared him a registered Quarter Horse. Picasso himself stood inside, looking puzzled at all the attention he was getting. He nickered softly when Bee approached, reaching out his neck to search for a treat. A middle-aged woman leaned on the stall door, using one knee as a desk to scribble something down.
“Hi, Melissa,” Bee greeted her. “Is Picasso okay?”
“He’s going to be fine. I wrapped his leg, and we’ll have to ice it, but no lasting damage will be done.” Melissa looked up and noticed Jenna. “Hey, who’s your friend?”
“This is Jenna,” Bee explained. “She’s the one who noticed Picasso’s leg.”
“Good job,” Melissa smiled. “It’s a good thing he wasn’t ridden on that or it might have turned nasty.”
Jenna smiled back. She ran over the words she had been forming in her head since she knew there was a stable. “Would you let me work in the barn? You don’t have to pay me.”
Melissa smiled wider. “Well! I can’t say no to such a determined young lady. But I refuse to let you work without pay. How ‘bout you work for lessons?”
Jenna was thrilled. “Thank you!” Then she remembered her reason for coming to the barn. “You don’t happen to have a gray Arabian, do you?”
“No, dear, why?”
“Um, no reason.” Jenna thought it might be unwise to reveal Sahara’s existence. She turned to Bee. “I’m glad Picasso’s okay. See you.”
“Hey, wait!” Bee grabbed her arm to prevent her leaving. “Are you busy today?”
Jenna shook her head.
“So come on over to my place! I need to spend a little more time with Picasso and all, but hang around a bit and we can go to my house!”
Jenna couldn’t believe it. One of the most popular girls in the school was asking her, Jenna Featherstone, to go her house. “Okay,” Jenna said. “Do you have a cell phone? My mom will probably want to know.”
After Bee handed over her phone (pink, with rhinestones depicting a running Paint horse) and Jenna settled things with her mom, Jenna hung on the stall door as Bee untacked and groomed Picasso. After Bee had kissed him on his velvety nose and produced a carrot, they bid Melissa and the stable good-bye and strolled down the drive. Bee had also ridden her bike, and they pedaled side-by-side, talking about horses. Bee asked her where she had ridden before she had moved, and Jenna told her about Kenzie, the Quarter Horse. Delighted, Bee started talking about the breed—temperament, showing, pros and cons. Eventually Sahara was brought up.
“Why did you ask about that Arabian?” Bee glanced sideways at Jenna, curious.
Jenna decided not to jeopardize her new friendship by spouting off her seemingly crazy tale. “Oh, I saw one around here, and I thought it might belong to the farm,” she replied vaguely. This seemed to satisfy Bee, who started her flowing chatter again.
In a few minutes they arrived at Bee’s house. Well, mansion, really— it was huge. A pool shimmered turquoise in the backyard, and a tower erupted from the roof. Bee put her kickstand down and went inside, yelling to her mother that she had brought a friend.
Her mom, blonde and beautiful like her daughter, appeared with her nails half-painted a shocking pink. “Hey,” she greeted Jenna. “I’d shake your hand, but then you’d be painted pink. I’m Bee’s mom, Queenie. And,” she added with mock seriousness, wagging a finger, “don’t you dare call me Mrs. Clearwater. That’s my mother-in-law.”
Jenna introduced herself and followed Bee upstairs. On the second floor landing, a little blond head popped out a door. Bee groaned, muttering, “Devin.” This was obviously the boy’s name, but Bee said it the way you might say “swarm of locusts” or “leeches”. Devin slid out the door, a plastic water gun in his hand.
“Uh-oh,” said Bee, throwing herself to the ground and pulling Jenna down as well just as Devin squirted an arc of water straight at the place where the two girls had been standing just a second before.
“Oh, you little insect!” Bee sprang at her little brother, who leaped out of the way. A scuffle followed, which Jenna watched, amused. Finally, Bee and Devin lay panting on the floor, laughing and snarling at the same time. Bee got up and ushered Jenna into her room, but not before Devin caught her squarely on the back of the head with a stream of water. She yelled out an insult and slammed shut her door.
“Sorry about Devin,” she said. “He’s so annoying.”
“I know,” Jenna agreed. “My little sister is six. I swear she drinks ten coffees every day!” Jenna looked around Bee’s room. It was a cheerful yellow, not too bright but not a sickly buttery color either. Photos of Picasso adorned a cork bulletin board that hung above a wooden desk, and a four-poster bed with a ruffled white comforter sat in one corner. It was a big room, and the closet door was open, revealing a large walk-in closet containing a bureau and stylish clothes on hangers.
Jenna sighed. “It must be nice to be popular.”
Bee laughed her tinkling laugh. “Actually, can I let you in on a secret?”
Jenna nodded.
“I mean, if you’re my friend you’re going to be pretty popular too. It’s like this contagious disease, it spreads from person to person!” Bee reached out to tickle Jenna, who laughed. “Well, sometimes it does get sort of annoying. Like you have to watch yourself or one little slip would send you down the drain. I mean, probably no one notices if your backpack isn’t monogrammed, but you feel like they do. It’s hard sometimes. And the boys are annoying too.”
Jenna raised an eyebrow. “The like-you kind of annoying or the devote-their-lives-to-tease-you kind of annoying?”
“The first kind. Trust me, I’d kill them if they tried the second kind on me.” Bee struck a kung-fu pose. “I have a red belt in karate, you know.”
“Note to self, do not mess with Bee unless you want your head kicked off,” Jenna said. They both collapsed on the bed, laughing.
Bee poked her. “There, you’re officially contaminated.” Jenna rolled her eyes up into her head and made choking noises.
“Deadly disease,” she choked, laughing. “Accckkk…”
Bee laughed again. She laughed a lot. “You know,” she said, scrutinizing Jenna’s stained T-shirt, “you could benefit greatly from a shopping trip with the girls.”
“Like I have any money! My mom gets my stuff from Goodwill mostly.” Jenna was only half-joking. Half her clothes were secondhand, either from a shop or as hand-me-downs.
But Bee waved her protests away. “No biggie. You can use some of my allowance.”
Jenna was torn. On one hand, she would like some new clothes, and was otherwise unlikely to get any for a long time. But she also felt sort of sick when she heard Bee speaking so lightly of a probably high sum of money.
She decided that she would pay Bee back someday and accepted. They set a date- Monday after school- and started flipping through Bee’s books of horse photos, pointing out the good and bad points of each horse.
At the end of a highly enjoyable day, Jenna pedaled home thinking about everything that had happened.
She got a job at the stable. Good.
She had made friends with one of the most popular girls at school, and Bee was really nice. Good.
She was going shopping. Good.
She didn’t have the money herself. Not so good.
She hadn’t found out the mystery of Sahara. Not so good either.
She arrived at her house with her head tumbling with goods and bads, ready for dinner and then a long night’s sleep. She’d take it easy the next day, reading and relaxing, getting ready for Monday. Monday, when after school she would go shopping with the most popular girls are Rose Junior High. Monday, when she needed to make the best impression.
After a dinner during which she chatted amiably without really hearing what she was saying, she clambered up the stairs and changed into pajamas. She brushed her hair and braided it so it wouldn’t be tangled in the morning, then brushed her teeth and washed her face. She flopped gratefully into bed and fell asleep instantly.
In her dreams, (or were they dreams?) Sahara whinnied. But Jenna didn’t get out of bed to ride. She told Sahara that she could only ride on Friday and Saturday nights, and even though that night was Saturday she needed her rest. Sahara lowered her head with a sad nicker and plodded back into dream-fog. Though she was unhappy that she wouldn’t be riding Sahara, she knew that another sleepless night would do her nothing but ill. She drifted into a deep, deep sleep, the kind that you don’t remember anything from in the morning.
End of part one! Tune in soon for part two!