Eager Star (14 page)

Thank you, God!
I felt full of praise for the whole world. No way could Star and I lose after this!

“My turn,” I said, taking the reins, expecting him to dismount. He'd had his own victory in a way really. Now it was my time.

Grant frowned. “I don't think so, Winnie.”

I checked my watch. Spidells would be arriving any minute. “Why not?”

Grant looked puzzled. “Too close to race time. Star and I have to get ready. We could keep him here over the weekend maybe. You could ride him tomorrow?”

I stared up at him, my legs feeling like limp carrots. “What about the race?”

“I know. I have to change boots. Dad would flip if I didn't wear spurs. But don't worry. I won't use them or the whip.” He smiled down at me. He wasn't fighting me for the ride. He wasn't trying to get his position back for the race.

“Grant?” My voice cracked, hoarser than normal. “Did you see your dad this morning? Did he . . . talk to you?”

He shook his head. “I guess I avoided him.” He stared out to the road, where cars were pulling in. Spidells' trailer stopped in front of the house. “There's Dad now! Winnie, I don't want to let him down.” He reached back and scratched his horse's rump. “Star and I won't let him down.”

I watched him walk Eager Star to the barn. I ran through all our morning conversations. I'd thought he was helping
me!
He thought I was helping him. He'd figured our training was for the race
he
was running. How could I have been so wrong? Grant had no idea his dad had replaced him!

I ran so fast that I reached Mr. Baines as he was getting out of his car. “Winnie! There's my—!”

“You didn't tell him! Grant doesn't know I'm riding!
I
can't tell him. You have to!”

“Easy there.” He waved to Spidells, who were unloading their horse. “Don't get so worked up. Just get on that horse and win!”

“But you have to—!”

“Spider!” Mr. Baines turned his back on me and joined the Spidells and Pat Haven. He was done with me. “Pat, you come to see me win?”

Mr. Spidell wore a cowboy hat and a blue, fringed shirt that matched Summer's. “Pat, will you tell this loser not to count his chickens before they hatch?”

“No offense!” Pat added, dragging both men, who looked four times her size, by their arms out to the pasture.

Summer followed them, leading her horse, a good-looking chestnut mare. “I hate Western gear . . . ,” she whined. I couldn't make out the rest of the complaint.

I can't stand here and do nothing.

Grant and Star were still in the barn. Catman and Barker had arrived with Pat and were walking out to the pasture with Lizzy and Hawk, who'd ridden over on Towaco. I saw Sal join Summer as she walked her horse over the cloverleaf course.

I had to get ready. I ran into the house and bumped into Dad in the hallway. “Sorry.” My stomach burned, and I felt tears swimming in my eyes.

“How do I look?” Dad straightened his black tie. The suit looked new, but baggy.

I managed to smile. “Great, Dad.”

“Really? Can't believe I used to wear these things all the time.” He examined himself in the mirror. “Guess I've lost weight since . . . since I wore this.”

My mind shot me a photo—Lizzy crying, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of Mom's closed casket. And Dad leaning over her—Dad, dressed in
this
suit, his funeral suit.

Dad sighed. “I really don't want to go to this Ashland business luncheon. But you're right. I need to make a good impression.”

Good impression
. It was the reason I'd tried so hard to break into Summer's group, the reason I wanted to ride Star and win. But who was I trying to impress? Summer? Not exactly my first choice for best friend. Mr. Baines? I had a feeling he was impossible to impress. Dad? Dad was struggling to impress his own herd.

My mind flashed a picture of Granny Barker staring out at the stars and fireflies.
“Jesus cares more about the steps than the finish line. Can't nobody impress God,”
she had said.

A calm washed over me.
God, help me take the right step.

“Winnie, shouldn't you get ready for the race?” Dad asked.

I jumped up and planted a kiss on his cheek. “I'm ready! And you better change out of that thing and into your astronaut suit and get to the pasture!”

“But the luncheon? Those businessmen?”

“They'll just have to eat without Odd-Job Willis. You have a barrel race to watch!” I grinned at my dad, and something happened between us. I knew he felt it too. A kind of relaxing, like Star got from Grant when he'd loosened that rein and said, “Good boy, Star.”

Dad hurried off to change, and I tore out to the barn and caught Grant hugging Eager Star.

“Grant, wait here with Star until Summer races. I'll come get you when it's Star's turn.”

I waved to my cheering section—Catman, Barker, Hawk, and Lizzy. They were lined up on one side of the pasture, opposite Sal, Summer, Mrs. Spidell, and a photographer.

Hawk ran out to me. “Are you ready?”

“I'm not riding, Hawk,” I whispered, glancing toward the barrels, where Mr. Baines and Mr. Spidell were yelling at each other.

“But Mr. Baines said—!” Hawk began.

“I can't do it to Grant, Hawk. He needs to do this. And his dad doesn't know yet, so keep it quiet. Tell Catman and everybody to cheer Grant like they've never cheered before.”

Hawk gave my arm a tiny punch. “Good for you, Winnie.” Then she ran back to my friends.

The two dads were still arguing as I passed by the barrels.

“I said
I
would time the trials!” Mr. Spidell yelled.

Mr. Baines leaned in until their noses touched. “I don't think so!
I'm
timing!”

“Gents! Stop being so bullheaded! No offense! When are you kids gonna grow up?” Pat shouted. “I'll settle this. Jack?”

All eyes turned toward my dad, who was strolling across the pasture as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders.

“Jack, you're our official timer!” Pat announced, leaving no room for further argument.

Mr. Spidell explained the rules to Dad. “Don't start the clock until they cross the starting line. They can touch or even move any barrel. But if one gets knocked over, add a five-second penalty. Got it?” Sunlight lit the top of Mr. Spidell's head, and the dark tufts of his remaining hair stuck out like feathers.

“Summer can go first,” I said.

Mr. Baines scowled, but the Spidells jumped at the chance. Summer waved to Sal. “Wish me luck!” She backed behind the starting line to give herself a run at it.

Mr. Baines frowned at my old jeans and T-shirt, then glanced around the pasture. “Where's Bad Boy?”

“Grant's got him in the barn,” I answered.

Dad raised his hand. “On your mark! Get set! Go!” Down came his hand.

Summer exploded over the starting line, the mare breaking into a gallop and heading for the right-hand barrel. Summer kicked as they rounded the first barrel and headed for the second. Her dad screamed. Sal cheered. Summer yelled as the chestnut took the second barrel and raced to the third. Again and again she kicked, her spurs glinting sunlight like knife blades. The last turn came wide, and Summer swore. She brought out the quirt, a short, rawhide whip, on the homestretch, flicking it and kicking even after she'd crossed the finish.

“Time!” Mr. Spidell shouted.

Mr. Baines ran over to me. “They got a good time. Do whatever it takes to beat it!”

I trotted to the barn, where Grant was waiting by Star's side. “It's time, Grant.”

He nodded, and we led Star out to the pasture, stopping a good ways before the starting line. “Summer made it around fast, didn't she?”

“She did,” I admitted. “But don't think about that. Don't even think about the race. Think about Eager Star. He'll race his heart out for you now.” I turned toward the crowd gathered near the barrels. “Get ready, Dad!”

“Shouldn't I get on now?” Grant gathered the reins.

I waited until I saw Dad lift his arm.

Star hardly moved for the mount. “Way to stand still, Star!” Grant said.

Mr. Baines was running toward us, shouting something we couldn't make out.

“On your mark!” Dad cried. “Get set! Go!”

Star lunged into a canter.

“What are you doing?” Mr. Baines's face was red and sweaty. “He shouldn't be racing! You should!”

“You're going to miss it!” I ran past him as Star took the first barrel easily, leaning farther in than Summer's horse had, cutting off time by staying close to the barrel. He ran fast, but it felt like slow motion to me as I watched Star's legs reach out and grab earth with every stride. Grant leaned forward, his arms high over the horn, elbows out.

“He's . . . he's doing it!” Mr. Baines caught up with me. “They're really moving! Go, Grant! Kick him! Faster! You can do it!”

Spider Spidell stormed up. “What's the big idea telling me this girl was riding. You set me up!”

Grant and Star made the last cloverleaf turn and came around for the homestretch.

“Bring out the whip!” Mr. Baines shouted. “You can win! The spurs, Grant! Use the spurs!”

In that instant I knew Grant heard his dad. His stirrups moved out, ready to deliver a spurred kick. He raised his quirt.

“Do it!” Mr. Baines screamed.

Don't!
I prayed. Punishing Star would go against everything we'd worked so hard for. Eager Star deserved praise.

Grant's legs eased back. He dropped the whip. As they crossed the finish line, he leaned forward and hugged Star's neck.

By the time they came to a stop, we were all there to cheer for them. Lizzy was crying. Hawk hugged me. Barker and Catman and Pat stroked Star and congratulated Grant.

Dad announced, “Grant did it in more time than Summer did. Does that mean Summer won?”

“You bet it does, Willis!” shouted Spider Spidell. “Right, Baines?”

Lizzy shouted, “Yea, Grant!” and did a cartwheel.

Barker and Hawk cheered for Grant.

Catman snapped his fingers, shouting, “Far out, man!”

And Summer and her dad looked at us like we were crazy.

Dad came over and whispered, “Winnie, do you and your friends know that having the most time means you lost?”

I put my arm around him, not remembering the last time I'd done that. “We know, Dad.” I'd lost half of my fee, money we needed. But it felt okay, worth every penny.

Grant's dad pushed his way through the cheering crowd and stood at Star's shoulder. “All you had to do was use that whip and your spurs! Instead, you're the loser.”

“Only at the finish line,” I said, grinning at Grant. “They won every other step.”

Mr. Baines shook his head and left.

Lizzy and Dad invited everybody in for brownies. Grant and I cooled down Star, then joined the others inside. We sat around the kitchen table, laughing, going over the race, talking about school, about everything, about nothing.

One by one they left. Finally, Grant and I went out to the barn. He'd decided to leave Star overnight and pick him up in the morning.

“Winnie, want to go for a ride?”

He didn't have to ask twice. We both rode bareback, letting our horses walk side by side under the green, lacy leaves of the willow trees down to the pond. I stole glances at Grant, who seemed more content than I'd ever seen him. Maybe he was seeing it too—that it wasn't so bad not to come in first. I'd started seventh grade wanting to be the most famous horse gentler in the world. Maybe for now I'd be content with the steps along the way, helping each horse, each person, as if only that mattered and not what people thought about it.

A flock of geese flew over in a crooked
V,
honking their own praise as the sun slipped lower in the sky.
Way to go, God! Good job!