Kids on Fire: A Free Excerpt From Coming of Age Novel A Pony For The Fair

Thirteen-year-old Katie and her best friend, Angela, find a beautiful Gypsy pony. Unfortunately, her owners have neglected her and she is terribly lame.  Katie is horrified by the pony’s predicament. No matter what the cost, she knows she must rescue the pony!

 

And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free excerpt:

 

Chapter One: A Phone Call

 

“Supper’s ready!”

“Coming, Mom,” Katie called, stuffing the math homework she’d just finished into her book bag.  She got up from her desk, then ran down the stairs and into the kitchen where the delicious smell of baked chicken drifted through the air.

“Angela called while you were outside with Tuffy,” her mother said, shooing the little black poodle out of her path as she placed a heaping plate of golden chicken on the table.  She asked if you can go over there after supper.  I told her, yes.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Katie said.

Her older brother, Brian, interrupted. “Don’t forget the dishes, Kats.  It’s your turn all week.”  He placed a heaping bowl of mashed potatoes on the table and took his seat.

“Yes, Brian,” Katie grumbled.  “And don’t call me Kats,” she added as she sat down at the wooden table.  Then she glanced quickly at her dad’s empty chair at the head of it.  Yep.  It was still there and still empty.  She looked at the clock.  Five-thirty.

Then the phone rang, exactly on time for a change.  She dropped the drumstick she’d been lifting to her plate into Brian’s milk, overturning the glass.

“Katie!” Brian yelled, but she barely heard him in her scramble to reach the phone.  Racing around the kitchen island and almost sliding into the fridge, she grabbed the telephone receiver.  “Hello?” she said, a question in her voice.

As she hoped, it was her dad.  They talked briefly.  He told her he‘d had to work late and was just rushing home, so he couldn‘t talk for long.  But he gave her some very exciting news.  When Katie put down the phone, she turned to her mother and brother and squealed, “Dad’s coming in August.  He wants to take us to the Fair.”

Her mother had cleaned up the table and filled Katie’s plate while she was on the phone.  Tuffy was still lapping at some milk that had dribbled to the floor.  “I know,” she said.  “He called about it last night after you were in bed.”

“Big deal,” Brian said.

Their mom and dad had split up a year ago and Dad was living in an apartment in Calgary, about a six-hour drive south of Bakerfield, the small town where she, her mom, and brother still lived.  “It is a big deal, Brian,” Katie insisted, sitting down again.  “We haven’t seen Dad since last Christmas.”

“Yeah, and we all know how great that turned out.”

Katie was too excited to bother with Brian’s negativity.  Dad was going to be home for the Fair.  Like the old days.  They’d stroll around the grounds as a family, riding the rides, admiring the exhibits, snacking on caramel apples and cotton candy.

She sighed.  If only she could get an entry displayed in the Exhibits Building.  It could be anything: a drawing, a photo, sewing, baking. Anything — to make him proud of her.

But it was Brian who won all the prizes in the family.  Brian the Brain, Brian the Jock.  Brian the Jock-Brain, she sometimes called him.  Boy, did that make him mad!

“How was school?” Mom asked, her regular supper-time question.  Katie looked over at her.  Her dark hair was streaked with grey and the lines in her face were getting deeper.  Katie looked away.  She didn’t like to see her mom tired.  She didn’t like to think of her getting old.

“Great!” she answered.  “I got perfect on my spelling quiz.”  Then she felt bad, because it was a lie: she’d spelled three words wrong.

“Hey, that’s wonderful.  Congratulations!“  Her mom’s face lit up.  It made Katie happy for an instant, but then sad: she made a silent promise to stop fibbing and study harder for spelling.

Brian started talking about his day.  Katie tried not to listen, but the words reached her anyway: “track record, ninety-eight per cent, football team…”

Jock-Brain, she said in her head.

Then excitement about the Fair took over and she forgot all about Brian’s bragging.  Dad was coming for the Fair.  But what could she enter?  She was all thumbs when it came to sewing.  No go.  Drawing wasn’t much better.  The last picture she’d drawn for art class had been a tiger, and the teacher had said, “Katie, what a cool zebra!”  Katie hadn’t corrected her and she’d got a B-, her best mark in art so far.

But a B- didn’t make it to the Fair.  It had to be better than that.  No, Scott was the best artist in the class, and his drawing would be the one chosen for the class’s drawing entry.  He was awesome.  She smiled as she thought about Scott — the things he said and did often brightened up her day.  There was no way she could compete with him in drawing.

She got to her feet, walked to the calendar hanging on the kitchen wall, and circled the Fair days in red ink.  August’s picture was a beautiful photo of a blue prairie sky above a field of bright yellow canola.  Something clicked — of course.  Photography.  How hard could it be to point a camera at something pretty and press a button?  And photography was part of her class’s art curriculum this year.

“Mom,” she blurted.  “I need to use the camera to take pictures for the Fair.  Please!”

Brian made a noise like a mule choking.

“What are you laughing at?” Katie snapped.

Clearing his throat, Brian collected himself.  “Not a thing,” he said solemnly, just before he burst into laughter again.

“Brian, you’re lame,” Katie said.

“Katie and Brian!” their mother warned.  Then her voice softened.  “Yes, by all means, you may use the camera, Katie.”

Katie sat up straighter in her chair and glared at Brian with one of those “withering looks” she’d read about.

Then she remembered — her photos from Banff two summers earlier.  Elk without heads  and a mountain so tilted it looked ready to fall over!  The one good shot she’d got was of a beautiful white carriage horse.  Hey, maybe horses were her artistic medium.  After all, zebras were sort-of horses.

“I’m taking pictures of horses, Brian.  Remember the photo of the white carriage horse?”

“You didn’t take that picture.”

“Did so!”

“No way,” he answered.

“Actually, she did, Brian,“ Katie’s mother said.  “I’ll get out the camera manual for you,” she told Katie.

“Thanks, Mom.”  Then Katie frowned.  “Only one problem.”

“What?” asked Mrs. Bailey.

“Do you know where I can find some horses?”  Katie scratched her head.

“Well, we can check for horse shows coming up,” her mother suggested.

“Yes!” Katie enthused.  “Palominos and Arabs and Lipizzaners and–”

“Hang on a minute.  That’s pretty fancy.  We can’t go driving all over the country, you know.  I think Edmonton is our limit.”

Brian broke in.  ”Actually, Katie, there’s a horse in a pasture three miles down the road from the vet clinic.  I pass it all the time on my runs.”  He paused.  “But I bet you can’t get it in the centre of a single frame!”

“Bet’s on,” Katie said, giving him her best sneer.  “Banff was two years ago, Jock-Brain.”

“Lame-Brain,” Brian shot back.

“I’ve had enough of both of you!” her mother said firmly.  “One more comment like that out of either of you and you’ll both be grounded.”  Mrs. Bailey didn’t make idle threats.

“Sorry, Mom,” Brian said.

“Sorry,” Katie echoed.  She turned to her mother with a pleading look.  “Is it okay if me and Angela ride our bikes out there and I practice taking pictures of that horse?  Now?”

“Hey, after you do the dishes!” Brian protested.

“Yes, after the dishes,” Katie assured him.  “Can I, Mom?”

Katie’s mom gave her a big smile and got a quick hug in return.  “Sure,” she said.

 

 

Chapter Two: Shikoba

By the time she and Angela reached the place Brian had mentioned, Katie was out of breath.  She took off her jacket and wiped her damp forehead, dropping her bike into the weeds at the side of the road.  It was too warm for the start of May.

“Look!” said Angela as she leaned her bike up against a fence post.  She was pointing to a black-and-white horse standing in the wide green field beyond the fence  “Is that the horse?”

“Must be,” Katie answered, trying to sound calm.  In reality, she was very excited.  Taking the camera from its case, she removed the lens cover with shaking fingers, then held the camera up the way her mother had showed her and looked through the sights.

“Gee, that looks like a complicated camera,” Angela said.

“Yes, Mom takes some pretty fancy photos.  She said that as long as it’s sunny, I can just leave the dials right where they are.  All I have to do is focus it.”  Katie scrunched up her face as she stared through the lens.

“How does he look?” Angela asked.

“Good,” answered Katie.  “But tiny.  We need to get closer.”

Angela cleared her throat.  “Like, I think that’s a bull?” she said, pointing toward a huge brown animal with horns.

Katie squinted at the creature.  “I think you’re right,” she said.

“I’m not going in a field with a bull,” Angela said firmly.

“Hmmm,” Katie responded.  “Do you think he’ll come if we call him?”

“The bull?”

“No silly, the horse.”

Angela shrugged.  “Here horsie, here big fella,” she called.  She bent down and pulled up a handful of grass and weeds, waving it to and fro over the barbed-wire fence.  The bull lumbered towards them.  “Yikes!” she said, scooting behind Katie.

Katie laughed.  “He can’t hurt us if we’re on the other side of the fence.” she assured Angela.

“I guess you could take a picture of him instead,” Angela suggested.

“No.  He’s filthy.  He looks like he’s been wallowing in mud,” Katie responded.

“Well, that’s nature.”

“It’s not what I had in mind.  I want my photo to be beautiful.”

“We could bike along further,” Angela offered, “look for another farm.”

Katie considered this.  “No.  Who knows how far we’d have to go to find another horse.  It’ll be getting dark in an hour.” Katie tested the wire.

Angela sucked in a gasp of air.  “You … you’re going in?”  Angela was biting her lip.

“Well,” Katie said.  The bull snorted.  “No.”  Then she pointed toward a house at the end of a long driveway.  “Let’s go over to that house and ask if they can help us.”

“Hey, good idea,” Angela agreed.

They walked along the shoulder of the road until they reached the driveway.  At the head of it sat a rusted mailbox that read, Daryl Lundlord, in faded black letters across its side.

When Katie looked closer, she saw a fat brown spider sitting in the middle of a web spanning the open end of the box.  “Wanna guess this guy doesn’t get much mail?“ Katie asked, brushing away the web and closing the creaky mailbox door.

“Ugh!“ said Angela, jumping back and looking frantically for where the spider had dropped.  “I love all animals.  But not necessarily so up close and personal!“

Katie laughed.  “You’re such a girl!” she said.

Angela was like her name — she looked like an angel: pretty, blonde, blue-eyed and petite.  Katie was taller and sturdier with dark hair and brown eyes.  She thought they made a good pair.

They walked up the dirt driveway.  Spruce trees grew along its edges here and there.  Katie kept throwing glances over her left shoulder at the horse in the field.  It hadn’t moved an inch.  Odd, she thought.  She and Angela followed the driveway for about a quarter of a mile to where it opened into a farm yard.

Across the weedy yard stood a tall red brick house and beyond that a big grey barn and several smaller buildings.  All around the barn and sheds lay stacks of hay and straw bales and jumbles of machinery.

They passed several cats on their way to the house.  Following them up the stoop, a skinny black one rubbed up against Katie’s leg, purring.  Angela bent down and petted it.  “Nice Kitty,” she said.

Katie knocked on the door.

After a minute, a girl with purple-and-red striped hair opened it.  She was wearing torn, leather-look black pants, a short black shirt that showed her pierced navel and several gold and silver chains around her neck.

“We don’t wanna’ buy nothin’” the girl said in a bored tone as the cat raced past her legs into the house.

Not even a few yards of gold chain, cheap? Katie thought to herself as she cleared her throat.  “Hi,” she said.  “I’m Katie and this is Angela.”

The girl crossed her arms.  “I’m Pamela,” she said.

“Ummm,” Katie stammered, “I have to take pictures for art.”  She held up the camera as proof.  “And I was wondering if I could take some of your horse?” she finished.

“You mean Shikoba?  She ain’t no horse, she’s a gypsy pony.  But sure, go ahead.”

“Ah well, she doesn’t seem to want to come over to us and  there is that bull in the field with her….”  Katie swallowed, embarrassed.  The older girl was intimidating with her scowl and her heavy makeup.

“That old bull?  You’re worried about him?”  She laughed and her features softened.

“Shou … shouldn’t we be?” Angela asked tentatively.

“Nah.  Old Red won’t bother you none.  He’s gentle as a puppy dog.”

“Not a pit-bull puppy dog, I hope,” Katie joked.

“Got us one of them too,” the girl said, and, as if on cue, a wiggling mass of brown pit bull pup ran up and started licking Katie and Angela.

The girl smiled again and bent over, pulling the pup back in the house,  “Get back inside, Butch,” she said, then straightened up.  “Just shoo Red away if he slobbers on you or anything.” she added.

“Shoo him away?” Angela asked.

“Like this.”  The girl made a waving motion with her hands.  “Shoo!” she said.

“Thank you,” said Katie and she and Angela stepped down the warped grey stoop of the house.

“Pamela seemed nice,” said Angela.

“I don’t trust her,” said Katie.

“Why not?”  Angela sounded surprised.

“Well, she just seems hard.  Did you see her clothes and makeup?”

“That’s the style, Katie!” Angela said.

“Sure, if you’re Lady Gaga or somebody,” Katie responded.

Katie held apart the wires of the barbed wire fence for Angela to crawl through and then Angela did the same for her.  They made their way across the field to where the pony stood.  Out of the corner of her eye, Katie saw Old Red start walking toward them.

New spring grass was sprouting everywhere.  As they walked, Katie noticed here and there the delicate heads of crocus, yellow and purple.  Ahead of them stood the black-and-white pony, at the edge of a large pond ringed with bulrushes.

“Do you think he’ll run away?” whispered Angela.

“It’s a she, remember?”  Katie was whispering too.  “Let me get a shot from here, just in case she runs off when we get closer.”  She focused the camera and clicked the shutter button.  “She’s standing right in front of the pond.  That should look pretty.  Too bad there isn’t a tree off to one side to frame the scene.”

“You sound like some kind of expert.”

“I have my trade secrets,” Katie giggled.

As they approached the pony, Katie spoke in a soothing voice.  “Hello, Shikoba.  How are you doing today?”

The pony turned her black-and-white face toward them, lifted her nose and nickered.  “Oh, isn’t she gorgeous,” Katie murmured.  “Her nose is pink!”

“Her eyes look so soft,” said Angela.

The pony’s face was mostly white, with some black spots around her pink muzzle, black ears, and some black in her mostly white forelock.  The rest of her was white with black patches.  Her shoulders and rump were heavy and her legs solid.  From her lower legs grew long hairs that spread out softly and reached down to the ground.

“Look at those feathers on her legs! She really must be a gypsy pony,” said Katie as they got closer.

“Feathers?” asked Angela.

Katie knew a little about horses.  She’d gotten one of those sticker books with the different breeds when she was six.  She’d always loved horses, just never had a chance to be around them.  “Feathers are what you call the long hairs on the bottom of their legs.  Some draft horses have them.  So do Gypsy horses.”

“Oh,” said Angela.

Then Katie stopped in her tracks.  “Oh my gosh.  Look at her hooves!“

“Ugh!“ said Angela.  “What’s wrong with them?”

“I don’t know but I know they’re not supposed to be like that!”  The pony looked like she was wearing those wooden shoes from Holland on her feet.  Her hooves were overly long and curled up at the ends.  Her knees trembled.  “Oh, she looks like she’s in pain,“ Katie said.  She could almost feel the pony’s distress.  “I wish I’d brought her something,“ she added.

“Here,” Angela said.  She fished a lint-covered candy from her pocket and handed it to Katie.

Slowly, Katie approached the pony, holding the candy on the palm of her flattened hand.  “Here, Shikoba.  Good girl.”

The pony took the candy gently from Katie’s hand.  Her whiskers tickled.  Katie then stroked her neck which wasn’t sleek, but was encrusted with dried sweat.

“Like, do you think she can walk?” Angela asked.

Katie grasped the pony’s worn nylon halter and pulled gently.  Immediately, the pony leaned back onto her haunches, as if trying to sit down.  “Doesn’t look like,” answered Katie.  “Poor thing!”

When Katie let go of the halter, the pony put her head down and her lips moved around the stubs of grass, searching.

“There’s not much grass around her,” Katie said.  “Do you think she’s starving?”

Angela stepped back to look the pony over.  “No, she’s not skinny at all.  She’s actually pretty fat.”

“Now that you mention it, yes, she is,” Katie agreed.

“Well are you taking pictures or what?” said a sharp voice behind them.

Both Katie and Angela whirled in surprise.  There stood the girl from the farmhouse, hands on her hips.  For several moments they all stared at each other in silence.  Finally, Katie spoke.  “There’s something wrong with this pony,” she said, her voice shaking and her heart pounding with a feeling she couldn’t name.

The girl shrugged as she walked up to the pony.  “She’s a little foundered.  Here, Shikoba,” she said to the animal, grabbing her halter and pulling, then pulling harder.  The pony lifted a trembling foot, set it down about an inch ahead of where it had been, then repeated the process with the other foot.

“Stop that!” Katie said.  “Can’t you see it hurts her?”

“I know it hurts her.  But I can’t do anything about that.”  She gave the halter another yank.

“Quit it!” Katie yelled.  “You must have ridden her too hard,” she accused, her face burning with anger.

The girl shook her head.  “I haven’t rode her in years.  What’s bothering her is the spring grass.  It happens every year.  She eats too much new grass and founders.  The older she gets, the worse it is.  There’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Well, are her feet supposed to look like that?” Katie demanded.

“The founder does it,” the girl replied.  “She’s an old crippled mare.  She’s lucky we’re even keeping her.  She should go off to the meat auction, that’s what my dad says.  We could get a few bucks for her.”

“Meat?” Katie repeated.

“Yes, meat,” the girl said.

“That’s horrible!” Katie said.

“I suppose you don’t eat meat,” the girl said.

“I don’t eat ponies,” Katie retorted.

“Well, some people do.  And so do pets and fur-farm animals like mink.  I don’t have time to ride anymore and she’s crippled anyway.”

“I think you’re mean and cruel and–”

“You just shut up and get the heck out of here before I call my dad!”  Then, turning on her heel, the girl started jogging toward the house.

“Are you okay?” Angela asked Katie when the girl was gone.

“Yeah.  But we’d better get out of here.  I think she means it about getting her dad.  We are on their property.”

“Then let’s go!”

“Just a sec,” Katie said.  She put a hand on the pony’s warm neck, and breathed in her rich, musky smell.  Then suddenly, she hugged her tight, pressing her face into the pony’s thick, wild mane.  “Bye, Shikoba,“ she said.

The girls ran across the pasture, spooking Old Red who had crept up behind them and now trotted off in a huff.  By the time they reached their bikes, both girls were panting.

“Oh, no!  You didn’t get your pictures,” Angela said.

“I don’t care,” Katie answered.

“Like … are you very upset?” Angela asked.

Katie looked over at her friend who was chewing her nails.  “Yes, I am,” she admitted.  “And I intend to do something about it.”

“What can you do?”

“Not sure yet.”

“Are you going to tell your mother?”

Katie thought about this.  If she did anything without telling her mother first, her mother would be angry.  But if she told her mother and her mother ordered her not to get involved, that would be worse.  It was very confusing.  “I don’t know yet, Angie.  I’ve got to think it through.”

“Can I tell mine?” Angela asked.

“Well, I can’t stop you.”

“My mother knows about animals.  She’d know if Shikoba is just crippled and nothing can be done for her, like that horrible girl says.”

“Horrible?  I thought you said she was nice.”

“I changed my mind!”

“Okay.  Why don’t you tell your mother tonight.  Then tell me what she says after school tomorrow.  If she thinks there’s something we can do to help the pony, I’ll beg her to talk to my mother.  Otherwise.…”

“Otherwise what?”

Katie thought about what was right, about the pony’s welfare and about her mother’s hesitancy to get involved in any controversy.  She made her decision.  “Otherwise, I’ll call the SPCA, or the RCMP, or both!”

 

 

 

 

Chapter Three: School

Katie sighed.  The way things had been going at school today, she might as well have stayed home.  First, the science teacher had spoken to her sharply about not paying attention, then she forgot her gym stuff in the change room, then she lost track of where she was in a social quiz….

And meanwhile, her mind was flipping from Shikoba to her dad to the Fair and back again — almost as though there were some important connection.  One she couldn’t figure out!

Suddenly, something poked her in the back.  She jumped, giving a small yelp, then turned to glare at the offender.

Scott grinned.  “Sorry, but when I nudged you gently, you didn’t even notice.  So I poked you harder.  I figured you were asleep.”

“Very funny!” Katie retorted.

“Got an extra pen?” he asked.  “This one’s out.”

“Sure,” she said, rummaging through the mess in her pencil case.  “Here.”  She handed him her favourite pen, the one she saved for reports because it never left those ugly ink blobs some pens did.

“Thanks,” he said.  She noticed the way his dark hair waved back from his forehead.  It wasn’t spiked like so many boys’ hair and was long enough to curl at the nape of his neck.  She liked Scott.  He wasn’t super smart, but he wasn’t dumb either.  He was just right.  They’d been in the same class since kindergarten, making him one of her oldest friends.

“You feeling okay today?” he whispered.

She sighed and nodded, then looked around quickly to verify that Mrs. Nimm, their French teacher, was still busy explaining something to a student near the front of the class.  “You planning on getting anything into the Fair?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said.  “You?”

“Hoping.”  For an instant she’d wanted to tell him all about Shikoba, but now wasn’t the time.  First, she had to sort the whole thing out for herself.

“What are you entering?” he asked.

“Oh … art,” she said vaguely.

He raised his eyebrows.  He knew art wasn’t her strong point.  “That was a pretty good drawing you did the other day,” he commented.

She blushed.  He must have noticed her … her … tibra, was the best word for it.  “Actually,” she began, “I’m getting into photography now.”

“Yeah?” he said with interest.  “Me too!”

Her heart sank.  Only one entry from each art category — drawing, painting, and photography — would be chosen for the class Fair entry.  Scott would be stiff competition.  “Oh,” she said.

He didn’t seem to notice her lack of enthusiasm.  “Have you done much?  What camera are you using?  Have you read–”

She broke into his string of questions.  “I’m really just starting.”

“Oh,” he said.  “Me too.  But all I’ve been able to do is read books in the library.  I don’t have a camera.”

Right. Scott was the oldest of a large family and his mom didn’t work.  She stayed at home looking after all the young kids. They probably couldn’t afford a good camera.  “My mom’s letting me use her camera,” Katie said.  “If you want to come over, we can experiment taking photos together.  If you’ve got the brains, I’ve got the Brownie,” she joked.  “Err, Nikon, I mean.”

Scott laughed.  “Sure.  Tonight?”

“Gee, I’m kind of busy tonight.  I’ve got this problem.”  She hesitated. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Try me,” he said.  “I knew there was something bugging you today.”

“I can’t.  Not yet.  Maybe when you come over for the photography….”

“How about I drop by Sunday afternoon?”

“Sure,” she said.  Then she smiled before turning back to the French book lying open on her desk.  Only it was hard to see the words.

 

 

At recess, Katie leaned against the side of the school building watching some kids fooling around in a field with a soccer ball.  Katie noticed that one of the girls kicking the ball had long, curly blonde hair. Katie watched her.  She looked a bit like Nicky, the girl they’d met while Katie and Brian visited Dad in Calgary over Christmas.  Nicky was her dad’s girlfriend.  God, Katie hated that word, girlfriend.  They’d gone out for dinner every night with Nicky.  Every place they went to they took Nicky.  Brian and Katie spent most of their time keeping each other company while Dad and Nicky had their heads together, literally.  Disgusting.  Even Brian thought so.  And Katie found lots of makeup and girls’ stuff in the bathroom of Dad’s apartment. After they went back home, Dad informed them that Nicky had moved into the apartment with him.  Right, like she hadn’t been living there all along.

Katie looked away from the kids playing ball and spotted Scott sitting on a bench across the tarmac, a sketch book in his lap and pencil in his hand.  He seemed absorbed in what he was drawing.  Just when she felt safe enough to watch him without being noticed, he looked up at her and then back down at his sketch pad.  A few seconds later, he looked up again, then down.  Oh no! she thought.  He couldn’t be–

Turning, she raced into the school.  After almost colliding with the principal in the hallway, she dove through the nearest door into the girls’ washroom, where she sat in a cubicle until the thumping of her heart slowed down and her cheeks stopped burning.  Then the buzzer that marked the end of recess sounded.

When Katie strolled casually back into her class, Scott was already sitting at his desk.  Katie pretended not to notice his grin.  “Sorry I embarrassed you,” she heard him whisper as she passed him.

 

 

 

“What a day!” Katie said under her breath as she got on her bike outside the school.  She pedalled across the parking lot as fast as she could.  Angela, who was a year younger than Katie, attended the senior elementary school on the other side of town from the junior high where Katie was in the eighth grade.  Katie just hoped Angela remembered their plan to meet after school.

A few minutes later, she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Angela biking up the street toward her house.  The girls met right in front of the driveway of Katie’s condo.

“Well, what did she say?” Katie asked eagerly, dropping her bike to the lawn.  She waited impatiently for Angela to step off her bike and set it on its stand in the driveway.  Angela seemed to be moving at a snail’s pace.  “You did tell her, didn’t you?  You didn’t forget, did you?  Oh Angie, I was counting on you!”

“Calm down, calm down,” Angela said.  “Just calm down and I’ll tell you.”  Brushing past Katie, Angela sat down on Katie’s front step.

Katie parked herself next to her friend.  “Well, what happened?” she said.  Her throat felt tight.

“My mum wants to talk to yours after supper.”

Katie squealed in delight.  “I can’t believe this.  It’s too good!  She’s on our side?”

Angela shrugged.  “All I know is that last night she called a vet and a farrier.”

“Really?”  Katie was overjoyed.  “That’s fantastic.  She’s helping us!”

Angela said.  “I know what a vet is.  What’s a farrier?”

“A person who looks after horses’ hooves,” Katie answered.

“Calm down,” Angela repeated.  “It sounds like there’s, like … a problem.”

“A little problem?” Katie asked hopefully.

“I think it may be more of a big problem.”

“What is it?” Katie demanded.

“Don’t know.  She didn’t tell me.  She just said to warn you not to call the RCMP or the SPCA.”

“You told her that part?”

“I thought I’d better.”

Katie sighed.  “Let’s go inside.”

As the girls went through the door they almost collided with Brian on his way out.

“Hey, Squirt,” Brian said to Angela as he passed them.

“He’s so cute,” Angela sighed.

Katie wrinkled her nose.  “Thinks you and every other girl in town.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.  The phone never stops ringing for him.  My mom says when she was young, girls never called boys.”

“That’s weird.”

“It may be weird but it beats being your older brother’s answering service,” Katie said as she picked up an imaginary phone, her thumb and little finger extended.  “Brian the Jock-Brain isn’t here right now.  Please leave your message at the sound of the tone.”  Then she pinched her nose with her thumb and forefinger and went, “Honk!”

“That’s rude, Katie.”

“Rude?  Me?”  Katie feigned surprise and they both laughed.  She walked over to the fridge, then stood at the open door, searching.  “Want some cheese and pickles Angela?”

Angela shrugged.  “Sure.”

Katie fixed them each a small plate of dill pickles and sliced cheese, adding crackers and a glass of milk.

“You’ve been thinking about that pony all day, I bet,” Angela said, crunching a pickle between her front teeth.

“Yep,” Katie admitted.

“Me too,” said Angela.

Katie sighed.  “She’s so pretty.  Shikoba.  I looked it up.  It means, “feather” in Chocktow.”

“Chocktow?”

“A North American Indian language.”

“Are you worried about her?” Angela asked.

“Major,” answered Katie.

“You should try and think about something else,” Angela said.  “We’ll find out more when my mother gets here.”

When they were done snacking, Katie cleared up the dishes and took them to the sink.

“I’m hoping to get a science project in the Fair,” Angela said.

“What are you doing this year?”  Katie asked.  Last year Angela had won a prize with a project about Alberta’s mammals.  Her mother, Dr. Lowell, worked at the research centre on the edge of town and she learned a lot about nature from her.  Even though her title was Dr., she wasn’t a medical doctor or a veterinarian.  She was a scientist with a university degree called a Doctorate.

Angela’s eyes narrowed in concentration.  “Well, I got the idea from social studies class.  We were studying Native Indians.”

“Yeah?”

“And I’m going to make some tools, weapons and household objects the way the Indians did in the past.”

“Like a bow and arrows or something?”

“Right,” said Angela.  “Mum’s taking me to the museum in Edmonton tomorrow and I’m going to choose what I want to make — maybe one thing from each group.  One tool, one household item, one weapon … like that.”

“I made a tomahawk when I was ten,” Katie said.

“But I bet you used something from today, like string from the store.”

“Probably,” Katie agreed.

“All my stuff, I’ll be taking from nature.”

“That sounds interesting,” Katie said.  Sometimes school was boring but Angela’s enthusiasm was contagious.  “I could help,” she offered.

“Thanks!”  Angela smiled wide, her blue eyes lighting up.

“I can’t wait till you and your mom get back here after supper,” Katie said.  Katie’s mother liked Angela’s, which was one of the reasons why, after they sold the big family house when her parents split up, Katie’s mother had chosen to rent a condo in this area.  Katie found it strange that the women got along so well.  Her own mother was so conservative and, well, frumpy, while Angela’s was so weird and extreme.  Not that she wasn’t nice, but for instance, “Has your mom bought a TV yet?” she asked Angela.

Angela grinned.  “Not a chance.  It might ruin the environment.”  They giggled.

“Well, she’s a cool mom anyway,” Katie said.  ‘She’s always helping you with stuff and she’s very interesting.”

“She’s my mum and I love her, but I wish I’d had a traditional family with a mum and dad, like you have.”

Suddenly, Katie began to cry.

Angela gasped.  “What’s wrong?  What did I say?”

Katie shook her head but was crying too hard to answer.

Angela sat quietly, chewing her nails.  When the storm of tears ended, she handed Katie a tissue.  “Is it about your dad?” Angela asked.

Katie shook her head.  “No.  I mean, yes.”

Angela was silent for a while.  “So he’s not just away working like you said?”

“No,” Katie sighed.  “He left us!”

Angela blurted, “You’re my best friend, Katie.  If I knew that, I wouldn‘t have mentioned him.”

“I should have told you but I was too embarrassed.”  Katie sighed.  “I even told my mother to tell yours not to say anything to you about it.  That was dumb.“

“Yeah,“ Angela agreed.  “I had no idea.”

“And now, Dad’s coming for the Fair and I want to impress him somehow.  I just want things to be back like they were.  If he remembers how good things were, then maybe he‘ll stay!”

“Katie,” Angela said.  Her voice sounded soothing and sympathetic.

Katie tried to smile. “I shouldn’t be such a baby.  You don’t have a dad either.”

“Well, I never had one.  You miss yours.  I can’t miss someone I never knew.”

Katie nodded.

“And at least you get to see him on holidays and stuff,” Angela said.

“Yeah, I just feel like he wouldn’t have left if I’d been a better person.  I mean, if I’d been good at stuff like Brian is.  Smart.  Talented.  If I’d been like that, it would have kept him from leaving,” she sobbed.

“Oh Katie, that’s not true.  You couldn’t have kept him from leaving.  That’s between your mum and dad.  It has nothing to do with you!”

“Thanks,” Katie whispered.  She knew that was true but somehow still couldn’t accept it.

“I’ve got to go now,” Angela said as Katie’s mother came in the door.  “Hi, Mrs. Bailey,” she called.  “See you after supper,” she whispered to Katie, giving her hand a squeeze.

 

 Click here to get the book: Inge Moore’s A Pony For The Fair (The Gypsy Pony)>>>