Friendly Foal (5 page)

I couldn't help wondering if anyone had ever broken
all
of her New Year's resolutions before it even got to the new year. Or maybe they didn't count until New Year's Day?

Annie Goat's beady eyes locked onto me as she pawed the ground.

“My
baby horse!”

I hadn't even seen Mason behind Madeline and Dad. He's small for seven, and his voice is as thin and wispy as his angel-blond hair.

I took my gaze off Annie to look over my shoulder for Mason.

Big mistake.

Annie charged.

Madeline shrieked.

“Stop that goat!” Dad shouted.

Bam!
Amigo kicked
his
stall door.

Mason ran under my outstretched arm, stumbling past Annie and toward the foal.

“Don't, Mason!” I cried, jumping between Annie and Mason.

Mason lunged at the foal. He was just trying to hug her, but Friendly didn't know that.

Neither did Nickers. She snorted and flattened her ears back, warning off anybody who threatened
her
baby.

“Mason!” I yelled.

He bumped into the foal.

The foal, knocked off balance, plopped backward onto her rear end.

Nickers reared.

“Mason, get out!” I screamed. Forgetting all about Annie Goat, I ran after Mason.

Annie charged past me.

Stamping and shuffling went on behind me.

“Madeline!” Dad screamed.

I turned in time to see Annie and Madeline crash into each other like two battering rams. Annie won. Madeline's feet left the floor. She tumbled backward, flying into Dad. They both went down.

“Go, horsey!” Mason cried, as if he and the foal were the only ones in the barn.

The foal sat in the middle of the stall like an overgrown dog.

Mason stood on one leg next to the stunned foal.

It took me a second to figure out what he was doing. He was trying to mount. He wanted to ride Friendly!

Nickers, teeth bared, wasn't about to let that happen.

“Mason!” I shouted as loud as I could, “Get out of the way!” I grabbed for him. Missed. My elbow caught his shoulder.

He lost his balance.

And I shoved him away as Nickers raced beside the foal.

Mason plopped down in the straw bedding, just like the foal had done.

“You can't ride a baby horse, Mason!” My heart was pounding. My hands shook, and so did my voice. “You could have been hurt! You shouldn't have—!”

I stopped. The barn had grown silent, except for my screaming.

And Mason was still.

I peered through his thick glasses at blue eyes that had turned to ice. He sat perfectly motionless, his little legs sprawled in the exact position as when he'd landed.

I glanced up at Catman, who was biting his lower lip and staring down at Mason.

Nobody moved in the stallway. Even Amigo kept quiet in the next stall.

“I'm sorry, Mason,” I said. “I know you didn't mean anything.”

Mason didn't look at me. He didn't look at anything. His eyes were locked on nothingness. And he wasn't there.

“I-It's okay, Mason,” I muttered. I knew better than to yell at him. It can take days—months even—for Mason to get over stuff. I'd worked hard to get him to trust me. My throat burned, and I wanted my words back.

The foal struggled to get up. It took two tries for her to push herself up on her wobbly hind legs. She and Nickers took off for the rear of the stall.

“See, Mason? She's fine.” I squatted next to him.

Blank eyes stared out. He'd made his own escape.

“Is he all right?” Madeline called. It sounded like she was struggling to get up too. “I'm coming, Mason!”

That was the last thing I needed—Madeline Edison. She's more afraid of horses than Lizzy is.

“Come on, Mason,” I said, lifting him off the ground. He's lighter than a sack of feed, but he felt stiff as a hay bale. It was like he didn't even know I was holding him.

Catman came over and took Mason from me. “Hey, little man. Let's split this scene.” He hoisted Mason onto his shoulders and slipped out of the stall.

I took a deep breath and followed them.

In the stallway Dad was brushing straw off Madeline's pink ski pants.

She ran to meet Catman. “Are you all right, honey?” She lifted Mason from Catman's shoulders. Madeline Edison is very strong for somebody so skinny. Her stocking cap fell off, freeing bright red hair to sprout around her face. “You're safe now, Mason.” Her voice trembled. “You didn't get hurt, did you, sweetie?”

Mason didn't answer. Now he stared toward the foal. He was shivering, his eyes wide as a frightened stallion's.

I glanced back at the foal.
She
was shivering,
her
eyes wide too, as she stared back at the little human who had tried to ride her.

They were squared off at each other, like boxers gone to separate corners to wait for the next round.

Madeline put Mason down, but he didn't go anywhere.

“I was afraid this whole business was a bad idea, Jack,” she said to Dad, as if I weren't there.

“Well, we're all pretty rattled now, Madeline,” Dad said, pulling a piece of straw out of her tangled red hair. “Why don't we go inside where it's warm, and we can talk about this calmly?”

Dad reached down and patted Mason on the back. “I'll bet we can talk Lizzy into making us hot chocolate. What do you think, Mason?”

Mason didn't answer.

“It's all my fault,” I said. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell. I just didn't want—” I stopped myself before I said
didn't want Mason to get hurt.
I knew that was exactly what Madeline worried about every single day—that Mason
would
get hurt.

I couldn't blame her.

Mason has a lot of problems. Something happened to him when he was a baby, something Madeline won't talk about. And whatever it was hurt his brain. Neurological damage, Dad calls it. He says Madeline is trying not to be overprotective, but it's not easy.

“I know you mean well, Winnie,” she said. Her mouth twitched. I think it was her way of trying to smile. She wiggled her nose, like she was about to sneeze but couldn't. It made my eyes water. “It's just that I can't have Mason around wild animals if—”

“Yeh-eh-eh-eh!”
Annie let out a cry from somewhere outside the barn.

“Annie!” Between Mason and the foal I'd forgotten the crazy goat.

Dad stood by Madeline and Mason, looking like he was ready to fend off dragons.

I dashed out of the barn, around the corner, and—
whack!—
smack into Eddy Barker.

Barker had a squirmy black puppy in one hand and the goat in the other. “Lose something?” he asked.

“Barker!” I cried, taking Annie by the collar.

Eddy Barker may be the nicest person in Ashland, maybe in all Ohio. His wool mask was pushed back on top of his head. Thick black hair pushed through the eyes and nose holes.

“Your granny's goat is something else, Barker,” I said, struggling to hold on to her.

Catman appeared. “Hey, man!” He lifted the dog from Barker's arms and held the puppy against his cheek. “Irene's?”

Barker nodded, meaning the puppy was one from Irene's litter. Barker had trained the chocolate Lab for his little brother Mark. When Irene had puppies, Mark got to keep one.

“Mark named him Zorro,” Barker explained. “We're trying to get him used to people. Whenever he's not with Irene, one of us is holding him.”

I elbowed Catman. “See? That's like imprinting. Getting him used to people.”

Dad and Madeline wandered out of the barn with Mason between them.

“Hi, Mr. Willis! Ms. Edison! How are you doing, Mason?” Barker called.

Dad and Madeline waved at him, then made their way over to us.

Annie jerked to get away from me, but I held tight.

Catman showed Zorro to Mason, but Mason didn't even seem to notice the puppy.

“The little fella looks healthy, Eddy,” Dad said, scratching Zorro's head.

“He's doing fine,” Barker said. “I'm headed over to Pat's Pets to noseprint him.”

“Did he say
noseprint
him?” Madeline asked Dad.

Catman gave Barker the dog back. Zorro wagged his little tail and licked Barker's chin.

“I take imprints of all our dogs' noses. Each noseprint is unique. No two alike. Like snowflakes.” Barker stared up at Madeline. “What happened to your chin?”

I looked, and there on Madeline's chin was a big Snoopy Band-Aid. I couldn't believe I hadn't noticed it before. I must not have looked up far enough.

Catman slipped his arm around Annie's shoulders and stooped down to a frog position. “Chill, hairy dude. I'll escort you to your pad.” Catman frog-walked Annie to the barn.

“Thanks, Catman!” I called after them.

I moved in for a better look at Madeline's Band-Aid.

She fingered the Band-Aid as if she'd forgotten it was there. “My invention.”

“You invented the Band-Aid?” I asked. She didn't seem rich. Someone who invented Band-Aids should be rich.

“The trampoline suit,” Dad said, as if that explained everything.

Madeline's eyes got glassy, sort of like Mason's. “I've almost got it. A whole-body suit made of a synthetic I've come up with—bounceon. My manufacturing slogan is ‘In the trampoline suit, falling is half the fun!'”

“It looks like a scuba-diving suit, but the bounceon makes you bounce. I've seen Madeline fall backward off a stepladder and bounce back to the first rung!” Dad was whispering, like this was top-secret stuff.

Madeline paced, dragging Mason along with her. She reminded me of a nervous American Saddle Horse yearling.

“I never should have gotten injured,” she muttered. “Not from a frontal fall.”

“Maybe if you made the bounceon thicker?” Dad ventured.

Madeline fingered her Snoopy Band-Aid as if she hadn't heard Dad. “I've got it! The bounceon! I need to make it thicker! And wear a better helmet with a chin strap.”

It made me mad that she acted like thicker bounceon was
her
bright idea.

A horn beeped. I recognized the
ba-ru-ga
 of the Barker Bus, an old yellow van that Mrs. Barker drives around, filled with Barker boys and dogs.

I wondered if Madeline knew my dad had invented the dog seat belts in that van.

Mrs. Barker waved and
ba-ru-ga-
ed again. She's so patient though, that even the horn honk sounded nice. Both she and Barker's dad teach at Ashland University—exotic courses like art and African-American literature. But she still finds time to drive her kids to everything.

Catman returned from the barn. “Pat's?” he asked Barker.

“Sure,” Barker answered. “We can work on the help line. She's open late tonight—holiday hours.”

I hadn't been to Pat's Pets since before Christmas. “Tell Pat I'll come in early tomorrow for the horse e-mails.” Sal wasn't coming until 11, so I'd have time to answer e-mails first.

Catman, Barker, and Zorro headed to the Barker Bus.

“I better go too,” Madeline said.

“But . . . but I thought we were going in for hot chocolate,” Dad stammered. “And you said you'd take a look at the golf buddy.”

The golf buddy was Dad's latest invention. It was supposed to send out smoke signals so bad golfers wouldn't have to hunt for their balls. But judging by all of the charcoal golf balls lying around our house, Dad hadn't quite worked out the kinks yet.

I was just glad this invention didn't have the potential to make my personal life miserable—unlike the backward bike, which I pedal backwards to school and still get teased for. Or the singing watch that wouldn't take “off” for an answer, even during my English final. Or the self-tying shoelaces that wrecked my gym career.

Madeline leaned down and tightened the chin string on Mason's hood and stared at it, as if she'd never seen a hood before and was thinking of inventing one.

“Madeline,” Dad started.

“Tomorrow morning. I'll come first thing. Right now I have to move on the new bounceon formula. You understand, don't you?”

“Well, I suppose—”

“Less cotton. More gel . . .” She was muttering to herself. She picked up Mason and jogged toward her van, with Mason staring back at us over her shoulder. She overtook Catman and Barker.

“Early, Madeline! Be here by eight!” Dad called.

“Will do!” Madeline yelled back without turning around.

Dad took giant steps to our house as Madeline and Mason piled into their van.

Catman and Barker climbed into the Barker Bus. Mrs. Barker rolled down her window and waved to me before pulling away from the curb.

I waved back as they made a U-turn in the street.