Friendly Foal (14 page)

We watched the foal for a while, even though I knew the last minutes of good daylight were slipping away. I starting thinking about Sal's mom and dad and wondering why I'd never seen them at school, even though Hawk said they both lived in Ashland.

“When are your parents coming back, Sal?” I asked.

She shrugged. Then she kind of huffed a hard laugh. “It's a good thing my mom's out of town. Yesterday Gram picked up the mail and opened a letter from school.
Another
note from Treadwater.”

Mr. Treadwater is our math teacher. He's short, with a face that would fit right in on Mount Rushmore. He's pretty boring, but he loves numbers so much you have to like him.

Sal continued. “I intercepted the first note a couple of weeks ago: ‘Salena is often rebellious and disrespectful. We hope to see improvement next semester. Signed, C. Treadwater.'” Sal did a pretty good impression of him, making her voice flat and bland. “So, of course, I threw that one away. Then I wrote one of my own to his wife: ‘Mr. Treadwater is often dull and boring. We hope to see improvement next semester.'”

“Sal!”

“Yeah. He wrote back. And that's the note Gram opened. But she's cool. She probably won't even give it to Mom.”

I couldn't even imagine what my dad would do if I pulled something like that.

Amigo pawed from his stall.

“You sure that horse is tame now?” Sal asked.

“I didn't say that,” I admitted. “But he's better. He just needs to know he can trust you.”

We moved down to Amigo's stall. He turned his back on us but let me walk up to him. I led him over to Sal. “See how calm his eyes look?” The white rim of fear around his pupils had vanished, and his neck was relaxed.

Until he saw Sal. He stopped short and laid back his ears. I hoped Sal didn't read horse language. Amigo definitely didn't trust her.

I scratched his chest and felt him relax again.

Sal eyed the Falabella. She's so tall that Amigo's head didn't come to her waist. “So what am I supposed to do with it?” she asked, taking a step backward. “I can't ride it. Are you positive it won't grow?”

I moved my fingers to the sides of Amigo's mouth and got him to open for me. “His baby teeth are gone. He's got a full mouth, but no Galvayne's groove. That's the deep groove on a horse's upper incisor. It shows up at about 10 years old. I'd say Amigo's about five. He's done growing.”

“Great,” Sal muttered sarcastically.

It took a lot of coaxing, more for Sal than for Amigo, but finally Sal was able to at least pat her horse. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

“We've got time for a short imprinting lesson, Sal. It will help you and Amigo bond.”

She looked skeptical, but she didn't bolt from the barn. Mom believed in imprinting, or at least touching, nervous horses no matter how old they were. She said it was good for the horse and good for the owner.

“I hear a car,” Sal said, pulling her hand away and trying to peer up the stallway.

“It's probably just Madeline.”

Sal started to come back to Amigo, but there was the sound of another car outside, louder than the first one. The engine raced.

“Is your dad having a party or something?” Sal asked.

“Nope.” Whoever it was, I hoped they'd stay out of the barn. Sal was so close to giving Amigo a try.

Amigo looked up with his big doe eyes. How could anybody even think about sending him away?

Snow crunched. The barn floor creaked.

“Who's there?” I called.

“There you are!” Summer Spidell came down the stallway, watching every step as if I'd laid land mines for her, which, I admit, was sounding like not so bad of an idea.

“Summer!” Sal called, leaving her horse . . . and me. “How did you know I was here?”

“I called about napkin colors. I can't decide without you. Your grandmother said you'd be here.”

Summer has dozens of horses at her stable. She owns the most expensive horse in the county, maybe in all Ohio. Her dad's Stable-Mart costs a zillion times more than my barn. All she ever does is make fun of me
and
my barn. Why couldn't she just stay at her own place?

“Look, Summer. Sal and I are in the middle of something here. Do you mind?” I knew I sounded like Summer usually did, mean and snotty. But I'd had it with her.

“What?” she asked, all innocent-like.

“Stop it, Summer! We all know why you came by tonight.”

“My goodness, Winifred,” she said, glancing at Sal, like she didn't know what to say to crazy Winnie. “Why do you think I came by?”

“To horn in! To drag Sal away again. To mess up my life more than you already
have
messed it up!”

Amigo trotted away from me. I stopped talking. I was so angry I was shaking.

Summer turned her big blue eyes and pouty lips on Sal. “I don't understand. I just came by to invite Winifred to my New Year's Eve party.”

“Right,” I said. No way Summer Spidell would invite
me
to her party.

“Don't you want to come?” Summer asked, faking hurt.

“Sure . . . ,” I said, waiting, expecting the axe to fall. For Summer to laugh at the idea of me at her house, her party.

“Good then,” Summer said. “It's settled. Tomorrow night at seven. Don't be late.” She was taking this too far.

“Maybe Lizzy can make candy or cookies,” Sal suggested.

Summer whirled around on her. “Mother has it all catered, and—” she stopped herself, took a breath, then turned back to me—“that would be . . . nice . . . if your sister wants to.”

I frowned at Summer. “Let me get this straight.
You
are inviting
me
to your New Year's Eve party.”

She smiled, and if I hadn't known her so well, I would have bought it. She was that good.

“So when I show up tomorrow night at seven, nobody's going to call the police? No water balloons?”

Summer laughed. “It's New Year's Eve, not April Fool's Day.”

“It'll be so tight, Winnie!” Sal said. “Tons of guys are coming. Brian's having his brother drive us and everything.”

Summer smiled sweetly again.

I couldn't trust Summer. On the other hand, Sal had heard her invite me. It would be pretty hard to uninvite me.

“You really want me there?” I asked, one more time.

“Of course we do!” Summer said.

“Okay then. Thanks.”
I
was going to Summer Spidell's party?

“Now,” Summer said, checking her watch, “if we're going to be ready in time, I really do need Sal's help. We have to decorate tonight. Do you mind, Winnie?”

I
did
mind. Amigo was too important to put off for any party, even a real New Year's Eve party. “I don't know, Summer. Sal needs time with her horse.”

“Could she do it tomorrow instead?” Summer asked.

Sal shivered and hiked up her red boots. “I'll come at 11. For real, Winnie. If I don't, you can come over to Gram's and drag me out by my hair.”

What could I say? They were going to work on a party
I'd
just been invited to.

“It's a deal. Go. But be here by 11 or I'll take you up on that dragging-you-out-by-your-hair offer, Sal!” But I was already talking to the wind.

Lizzy and Geri couldn't believe it when I told them Summer had invited me to her party. But I still had to ask Dad.

Dad was in his easy chair, with Madeline sitting on the broad arm of the chair, even though the whole couch was going to waste. I started to remind Dad about the no-sitting-on-the-chair-arm rule, but I didn't want to spoil his mood before he gave me his permission to go to the party.

“Sure. You can go,” Dad said when I asked him. “But we'll miss you here, Winnie. Madeline and Mason are coming over to welcome in the new year.” He turned to Geri. “You'll come too, won't you, Geri?”

“I'll ask Mom, but I'm sure it will be okay. Thanks, Mr. Willis,” Geri said.

“I'll be glad to help you with your hair, Winnie,” Madeline offered.

“Thanks,” I said, wondering how much help that would be. Hair isn't one of her best features.

“I'm sorry about the way I stormed the barn yesterday, Winnie,” she said. “Mason said I scared that little colt.”

I didn't think this would be the right time to correct her.
Colts
are males.
Fillies
are females.

“That's okay,” I said. “Mason and the foal were awesome, though. Right, buddy?”

I said the last part louder because, since I'd come inside, Mason had been sitting cross-legged beside the old couch, staring unblinking at the armrest. He's fascinated with splotches, and I think I'd spilled root beer there about 100 years ago (when the couch was only 50).

Mason grinned over at me. I was relieved he hadn't gone off somewhere in his head.

Madeline brushed something off Dad's sleeve. “So what did you name that colt?”

“That's Mason's job,” I answered, winking at him. “He's still going over all his options.”

They stayed for Lizzy's spaghetti and pepperoni. Then we popped popcorn. And finally it was time for them to go.

“Do you think you could bring Mason over tomorrow morning?” I asked as they moved toward the door. “I'd love to get him together with his filly again.”

“I want to pet my filly,” Mason said as plain as day. He's like 10 different people, and you never know which of them will speak up. I love them all.

I reached down and ruffled his wispy hair, making it stand up with static electricity.

Lizzy helped Mason with his coat. “But you have to come early, Mason,” she said, “because Winnie is going to a big party and has to get all dressed up, like Cinderella at the ball.”

Mason stared up at me through his thick glasses. “Are you famous?”

I shook my head. “If you only knew, Mason.”

But after they left, I did feel kind of famous. Not really. But not totally unpopular, at least. I was going to a real New Year's Eve party. Summer herself had invited me.

Note to self: Life is a mystery.

Dad and Lizzy went to bed, but I waited for Hawk to call. She wouldn't believe that Summer had actually invited me to her party. But I knew she'd be happy for me.

When the phone rang, I got it before the first ring was over. “Hawk?”

“Winnie!” Hawk sounded excited too. “Did Summer ask you to her party yet? She better have asked you. It's the only way I said she could take over my party and have it at her house. My mother wanted to have the party as soon as I get home. But I told Summer
she
could have the New Year's Eve party . . . as long as she invited Winnie Willis.”

Note to self: Mystery solved.