Cowboy Colt (3 page)

I stop outside his open door. I can't help spying on him. Ethan's teacher, Mrs. Edwards, has the big classroom map pulled down. She's talking about the states next to Missouri. But it doesn't look like the second graders care. Most of the kids are whispering to each other. Some are laughing or trying not to.

Except Ethan. Ethan's chair is the only one in the back row. His tutor, Mr. Hatt, is standing next to him, signing. Ethan glances from Mr. Hatt's fingers to the map and back again. My deaf brother seems to be the only one who is listening.

I walk back to my classroom and whisper to God, “Please give my brother a good friend. Ethan would make anybody a great best friend.”

Thinking about best friends makes me think of Colt. And that gets me angry all over again. He had to know our teacher was asking me to name the president from Missouri. I knew the answer too: Harry S. Truman. All Colt had to do was sign the question. After all, didn't I get
him
out of trouble with the flying invitations?

All morning I try to catch Colt's attention. But he won't look at me. At lunch he sits at a table with Dylan and Brooks and Nick. He doesn't even come over and say hi to Rashawn, Cassie, and me.

“Give it up, Ellie,” Larissa says. She and Ashley plop down across from me.

“Give what up?” I ask.

“Colt. I see you looking over at his table.”

“So?”

“So,” she says, plucking a fry from Cassie's plate, “Colt might have been your
buddy
when you were younger. That doesn't mean he still is. People change.”

“You don't know what you're talking about, Larissa,” I say. But inside, I wonder if she's right.

* * *

After school I wait outside for Colt. We almost always walk home together. Even when he's meeting the guys on the ball field after school, Colt and I usually walk that far together. Then I go on home.

I wait until the school yard empties. No Colt. He must have run out of the building before I even made it to the hall.

I need to talk to him. I can't stand feeling like this. Maybe I did something that made him mad at me. I try to think what it could be.

Then I get an idea. What if Colt is jealous about Dream? What if he's upset because I got a horse and he still doesn't have one? For years we've both wanted a horse. We talked about having our own horses and going on long rides together. Now I have one. And he doesn't.

Why didn't I think of this before?

I'm almost to the ball field when I spot Colt. He's sitting alone on the curb across from the field.

“Colt!” I take off running. This is my chance. Colt can act funny when other guys are around. I get that. He doesn't want them to tease him about me being his girlfriend or anything. We're definitely not that. But we
are
friends.

Colt doesn't look at me until I sit down on the curb next to him. When he finally turns my way, his sour frown makes me feel like my nose has turned into a giant snail.

“We need to talk,” I begin. “I think I know why you didn't sign when I needed you in class.”

“It's not my job to bail you out of everything. Let your mommy or daddy come to your rescue. Or just pay attention yourself.”

“Yeah. I know. I shouldn't daydream in class.” I don't like his crack about my parents coming to the rescue, but I let it go. I don't want to fight with him.

He shrugs and looks away.

This is harder than I thought. “Something's bothering you, Colt. And I think I know what it is.”

He wheels on me. His brown eyes narrow. If he were a horse, his ears would be laid flat back. And I'd be dodging so I wouldn't get bitten. “
Nothing
is bothering me! And if it were, it wouldn't be any of your business!”

“Yes, it would. We're friends. What bothers you bothers me.”

He puffs through his nose and turns away.

I try to hold myself together. “I'm not mad about today.” At least, I'm trying not to be mad. “I just . . . well, I wondered why you were acting weird. And I think I know. It's about Dream, isn't it?”

“Dream?” He says the word like it tastes bad.

“You feel sad because I have a horse and you don't. But what I want to say is that we can share. You can ride Dream whenever you—”

Colt busts out laughing. But it's not a funny laugh. It's the least funny laugh I've ever heard. “Dream? You think I'm upset because I don't have a nag like Dream?”

That hurts. I try to tell myself he's covering up. “You know you've always wanted a horse.”

“Right. I want a quarter horse. I want a horse I can race barrels with. Not a horse that could stand in for one of the barrels.”

That does it. I'm on my feet, heart pounding. “Colt Stevens, stop being mean!”

Colt jumps up. He's a head taller than I am. He glares at me. “I'll stop being mean when you stop being short!”

Somebody laughs behind me. I turn to see Dylan, Brooks, and Nick.

Colt's words sting. I know I'm short. I've never really thought of it as a bad thing. People are always telling me I'm “cute.” I guess I thought being short was part of being cute, when I thought about it at all. But the way Colt said it makes me wish I could look down on him the way he's looking down on me.

I want to come up with something that will sting back. But my words are clogged up in my throat. And I don't want these boys to see me cry.

I turn and run toward home. I think Colt calls out something after me. But I can't hear him because of the roar in my ears.

Larissa was right. Colt
has
changed. He's not my best friend.

Well, fine. I don't need Colt Stevens. And I don't need a best friend.

4

Advice

By the time I get home, I've given up trying to hold in tears. They flood my eyes, my cheeks, and my neck.

I must have been crying so loud that my mom heard me. There's a tap on my bedroom door, and when I open it, she's standing there.

I throw myself into my mother's arms. I guess it's more like throwing myself into her legs. My mom is taller than most dads. Her jeans are a red blur through my tears. Mom never wears plain old blue jeans. She loves colors too much.

She reaches down and folds me into her arms like she did when I was a little kid and skinned my knee. This time it's my heart that feels skinned.

“Land o' living, gal! You look like death eatin' a soda cracker. What's got your goat, sweetheart?” She strokes my hair without letting me go.

“I . . . I . . .” I'm sobbing too hard to get words out.

“Tell your mama what's troubling you.”

I look up at her. Crying makes me madder than ever. “I'm never talking to him again!” I vow.

Mom sits cross-legged on the floor, right there in the hallway. She nearly squashes Squash, our lazy cat, who refuses to move. Mom waves her arms, and the sleeves of her frilly blouse look like flags of all nations, with stripes of every color.

Our dog, Munch, noses around my feet, sniffing my sneakers. Even he can sense something's seriously wrong. He doesn't jump up on me like he usually does. Instead, he plops next to Mom and stares at me like he's waiting for an explanation. He's nearly as big as I am. He eats more than I do. Ethan says if Munch keeps growing, we'll have to move to a bigger house.

“Come sit here and tell me what's got your dander up, Ellie,” Mom says. “Who aren't you going to talk to again?”

I sit beside her. “Colt Stevens.”

“You and Colt have been best friends a long time,” Mom says. With one hand, she's stroking Munch's head. With the other hand, she strokes mine.

“Well, we're not best friends anymore.”

“Did you and Colt have a disagreement?”

“You can say that again.” I can almost hear him shouting that I should stop being short.

“Friends don't always agree,” Mom says.

“It's not that. Colt is acting weird. He won't walk home from school with me. He won't sign. He won't even look at me!” I can't make myself tell Mom everything Colt said.

Mom is quiet for a minute. “Did you ever think Colt might be going through something hard? Maybe you should try to—”

“I've tried!
He
hasn't. And I'm sick and tired of trying. I don't need Colt. I don't need a best friend. I've got Dream.”

“Dream,” Mom repeats. “Dream is a good friend, all right.”

“The best!”

Mom nods like she agrees with me. “Has Dream put her head through your window for you yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Doesn't that make you mad as a hornet at her?”

“No.” I frown because I know what Mom's getting at. I'm patient with Dream. I should be patient with Colt. “Yeah. Okay. I get it, Mom. But Dream doesn't say mean and rotten things to me and make me feel bad.” Tears rise up in my throat. I have to swallow them down.

“I reckon not,” she admits, getting to her feet. “Your granny used to say that sometimes you have to be a friend even when you don't have a friend.”

“Well, I'm still not speaking to Colt,” I say. But it comes out softer this time.

“You know what your granny used to say about giving a body the silent treatment?”

I brace myself for another dose of Granny's wisdom. I barely remember my grandmother. She died when I was little. But she has said more to me than most living grandmothers say to their granddaughters. “No, what did Granny say about giving somebody the silent treatment?”

“She said it was about as helpful as a back pocket on a T-shirt.” Mom walks into the dining room. I follow her.

Dad grins at us from the dining table. This is Dad's office when he works at home. Papers and files are scattered across his side of the table. Dad is always home when I get back from school. He must have heard everything Mom and I said.

“Hey, Ellie!” he calls. “Would you ladies like me to make myself scarce?” Now I know he's been eavesdropping. Dad can't stand arguments. He doesn't even want to hear about them.

I shake my head. “Nope. I was just telling Mom that Colt and I aren't friends anymore.”

Dad cracks his knuckles and studies his fingers like he's trying to discover where the sound came from. “I'm not big on advice and whatnot, but I wouldn't give up on Colt if I were you.”

Dad isn't kidding about not giving advice. This is a lot for him to say.

“How come, Dad?” I guess I never thought of what I was doing as giving up on Colt. I'd never want anyone, especially Colt, to give up on me.

“People . . . ,” Dad begins. “That is to say, humans . . . Things go on in a life and whatnot. And we don't know what.”

“What your father is saying,” Mom explains, “is that it's not fair to judge a guy until you've walked a mile in his moccasins.”

“Huh?” I know I've heard that expression before. But it didn't make sense to me then either.

“As your granny used to say,” Mom continues, “friendship can be as slippery as snot on a doorknob. Sometimes you just gotta hang on and hope the thing turns.”

I trudge down the hall to my bedroom and wonder what it would be like to come home to normal parents.

5

Pitching

It takes me two minutes to change my shirt and go out to see Dream. My horse is in the far corner of our lot. Pinto Cat, Dream's calico buddy, is lying on her back a few feet away.

I stay quiet and still for a minute. I want to look at my pinto, grazing in my own backyard. She has fattened up in the weeks I've had her. My backyard is big enough to give Dream all the grass and clover she can eat. Her spine still sticks up. But you can hardly see her ribs anymore. Her wavy white mane stirs in the breeze. She switches her long black-and-white tail as if she's directing an orchestra only she can hear.

My horse is the most beautiful horse in the world.