Cowboy Colt (5 page)

“Ethan James!” the umpire shouts.

I look at Ethan. He's still sitting on the bench, swinging his legs.

“Ellie, go!” Mom shouts.

I tear down the bleachers and run all the way to Ethan. Out of breath, I sign,
Ethan, you're up! It's your turn to pitch!

I have to sign three times before Ethan hops off the bench. He hasn't really warmed up. I wish he'd worked out with Colt. I wish Colt were here now.

Ethan may be the tallest boy on his team, but he looks tiny as he steps onto the mound.

The umpire shouts, “Play ball!” He waves his arm using the universal baseball sign, so I don't have to translate that one.

I stay down by the dugout, where Ethan can see me sign if he needs to. It's loud here. Kids and parents on both sides are screaming.

“Swing, batter, batter!”

“Wild pitch coming!”

Maybe it's a good thing my brother can't hear.

From the bleachers, one voice stands out. My mother's. I don't turn around, but I know Dad will be trying to calm her down. It won't do any good. She has been waiting all year to see Ethan pitch. She's stored up a year's worth of game chatter. It explodes from her now.

“This kid can't hit, Ethan! He couldn't hit the water if he fell out of the boat!”

Only the kid does hit. He hits Ethan's first pitch all the way out to left field.

Mom hollers, “He's off like a herd of turtles! Throw him out!” But the throw doesn't make it in time, and the kid winds up with a triple.

After that, I manage to blot out everybody except Ethan. A kid from the Polo Panthers who hasn't gotten a hit yet slugs Ethan's fastball so hard I'm sure it's a home run. But the outfielder catches it at the fence.

Before Ethan gets the last out, he hits one batter with a wild pitch and the Panthers end up scoring four more runs.

The Hornets win. But nobody goes to the mound to congratulate Ethan.

I meet him halfway.
Congratulations,
I sign.

Ethan smiles at me, but he doesn't look happy.

I feel a tap on my shoulder and look up. The Bear is towering over me. “Will you tell your brother he's got talent?”

“That's nice of you, Mr. Bear,” I say.

He growls at me. “The Bear doesn't say things to be
nice
! The Bear says the kid has talent!”

As fast as I can, I sign it to Ethan.

Ethan signs,
Thank you,
and I pass it to the Bear.

“Don't thank the Bear!” he roars at Ethan. “You've got an arm on you. The Bear could make it throw strikes.”

* * *

Dad brings the Bear to our house for ice cream after the game. Ethan and the old man act like they've known each other forever. Somehow the Bear is able to “talk” to Ethan without my help half the time.

“What did you say to Ethan's coach that made him put Ethan in?” I ask over our second bowl of chocolate chip.

The Bear almost grins. “I told him I was Ethan's pitching coach.”

That night before I go to bed, I try to get Dream to stick her head in my window. She nickers good night to me, but she still doesn't come in. I tell her it's okay. And I tell her good night.

I lie in bed and say my prayers. I imagine God grinning at the way Ethan and the Bear have become friends.

And I wonder if it makes God sad that Colt and I aren't friends anymore. I fall asleep imagining that we are.

7

Whoa!

Saturday morning I'm up before dawn. I open my window and let the cool air finish waking me up. “Dream! Here, girl!”

Dream trots up to the window and stops. We go through our “window dance,” with me trying to coax her to stick her head in. She gets close, but she stops short of doing it.

“That's okay, Dream.” I reach out and scratch behind her ears. She lowers her head for me. “This is a big day for both of us, girl. Our first horsemanship lesson together.”

Over the past three years at 4-H, Mr. Harper has taught me how to ride Western and English. This past year I've ridden English every week, riding one of the three saddle horses he doesn't show.

Colt has never been interested in anything except quarter horses. He likes riding Western. And he'd love to barrel race. That's when a rider competes against other racers and the clock, weaving a pattern around barrels.

For a second I remember the crack Colt made about Dream being one of the barrels. But this time I hear something different behind his words. Colt isn't mean like that. He can act weird, especially when his buddies are around. But he's not mean. I try to picture Colt the last few times I saw him. I think there was something else in his face—sadness.

Colt is sad—really sad—about something. Why couldn't I see that before?

I finger-comb Dream's forelock. “We'll make it up to Colt today. We'll get him out of whatever has him down.”

I get dressed and head out to brush Dream. Mom makes me eat breakfast before I go outside, even though I'm not hungry. I scarf down two pieces of toast with peanut butter.

“I should get going,” I tell Mom.

“Ellie, it's early yet. The roosters are still dreaming.”

“It's going to take me a while to lead Dream out to the fairgrounds.” For the three weeks I've owned Dream, I haven't ridden her because I wanted her to fatten up first. I don't want to risk straining her in any way. But I'm hoping Mr. Harper will give me the go-ahead to ride today. “I'm thinking I'll stop by Colt's to see if he wants to walk with me.”

“Good idea,” Mom says. She's wearing a blue-and-orange shirt with her red jeans. “I'd better get to the fire station.” She slips on her red vest that says
Hamilton Fire Department Volunteer
.

Mom leaves, and I bridle Dream. My horse stands perfectly still and even lowers her head for me. I'm so short, I couldn't reach her ears if she didn't help out. I tell myself that even if Mr. Harper doesn't think Dream is ready for me to ride yet, I can still have fun leading my horse.

But I'm itching to ride. I've imagined riding English on Dream in the Hamilton Royal Horse Show. I'd post up and down at the trot and stick to the saddle like Velcro at the canter. And I've imagined racing barrels with Dream, leaning in so far I could touch the ground. I've imagined riding bareback, too. Mr. Harper doesn't let Ashley ride bareback, but Rashawn and Cassie ride bareback all the time.

I snap a lead rope onto Dream's halter. I leave her halter on in case I have to lead her back home instead of riding her. I've practiced leading Dream every day. Standing on her nearside, the left side, I take hold of the rope with my right hand, about eight inches from the snap. My left hand holds the end of the rope. I know better than to loop the rope around my hand. I just fold it a couple of times and grab the center of the fold.

From my spot at Dream's shoulder, I give her the cue to walk on. “Walk.” She steps out. I don't have to pull or tug or anything.

When we get to the little gate Dad built into the fence, I say, “Whoa.” Dream stops and waits for me to open the gate. I'm fumbling with the lock when Ethan appears and opens it for me.

Thanks, Ethan.
Then I see that behind him is the Bear.

“H-hi, Mr.—” I realize I don't know the Bear's real name. “Um. If you're looking for Dad, I think—”

“The Bear has found what he's looking for,” he says. He follows Ethan into the backyard. They're both wearing baseball gloves. Ethan has his baseball.

“Cool.” I sign to Ethan,
Have fun.
He grins at me.

Dream follows me through the gate. Pinto Cat hops up onto the fence and balances there, watching us.

Behind me I hear the
smack, smack
of the ball going into mitts.

I wonder if Colt heard about the Bear showing up at Ethan's game. I've determined not to argue with Colt. Or ask him why he let Ethan down. Or why he's been acting weird. I just want things to go back to the way they were.

Dream and I cross the street to Colt's house. Dream follows me into the Stevenses' yard and around to the kitchen door. I hold the lead rope with one hand and knock on the door with the other.

Nobody answers. But I see lights on inside. I knock again. Louder this time.

The door opens in the middle of my knock. Colt's mother stands there, one hand on the doorknob. Moira Stevens is thin and pretty, in a fashion model kind of way. She doesn't look like a mother. She's wearing reddish lipstick and glittery eye stuff. Her hair is twisted on top of her head. She is not smiling.

“Hi, Mrs. Stevens,” I manage.

She makes an ugly face at my horse and closes the door halfway like I'm planning to bring Dream inside. “Yes?”

“Would you tell Colt I'm out here, please?” I ask.

“Colton isn't here.”

“He isn't?”

“No. He's not.”

“Ah.” I'm smiling so hard I think my lips could drop off. “Okay, then. Thanks.”

She nods. I think she smiles, but I'm not sure. Then she shuts the door.

Dream and I set out for the fairgrounds by ourselves. Stupid me. I should have called Colt and told him to wait for me. He's probably already there. Mr. Harper promised Colt he could start riding Galahad, one of their quarter horse geldings. Colt's pretty excited about that. I'll bet he couldn't wait to get started. Maybe riding Galahad will help him not feel so bad about not having a horse of his own.

On the walk to the fairgrounds I have time to think. I remember the day Colt and I became best friends. It was the first day of kindergarten. Already I felt like I didn't belong there. At recess our teacher made Colt and Larissa team captains for some kind of game. I don't even remember what game it was. I do remember Larissa making a big deal out of who she planned to pick—Ashley first. Me, not at all.

After Larissa picked Ashley, it was Colt's turn. I'd already imagined the whole thing—everybody getting picked for a team except me. Then Colt hollered out, “Ellie!”

I never asked him why he picked me first that day. But I never forgot it.

I have to get us back to being best friends.

“One week from today is Colt's birthday,” I tell Dream. I tune in to the steady clip-clop of her hooves. The morning is already warming up. When I stroke Dream's neck, the hairs feel warm to the touch.

“I'm Colt's best friend, whether he likes it or not,” I continue. “That means I have to come up with the best birthday gift.” It makes sense. “Only, what can I get him, Dream?”

Again, the clip-clop of her hooves plays like music in my brain.

“Colt has all the baseball and sports gear he could ever want. I don't even know the names of all his games and electronic devices.”

Dream bobs her head up and down without losing stride. Her black-and-white tail flicks a fly off her rump.

“Colt has everything, Dream.”

She huffs out a tiny sound. A sneeze or a whicker.

My cloudy brain clears. “Everything except a horse.” I stop. Dream stops beside me. I throw my arms around her neck and kiss one of her black spots. “That's it, girl! I have to get Colt a horse for his birthday!”

8

Horsemanship

As soon as I see the fairgrounds, I take off at a jog. Dream trots easily beside me. I don't know what I'm more excited about—the possibility of riding my horse for the first time or the thought of surprising Colt with a horse for his birthday. I just hope I can keep it a secret.

I'm not stupid. I know horses cost money. And I know I don't have much of it. But I do have some. And maybe I could borrow the rest from my parents and pay them back a little at a time.

“Ellie!” Rashawn shouts across the field. She looks tiny sitting on Dusty. We're not sure what breed Dusty is, but she's a dapple-gray plow horse. Or at least her parents were plow horses.

“Rashawn!” I wave at her. Next to Rashawn, Cassandra is on her little black pony, Misty. They're both riding bareback. “Cassie!” I holler.