Made That Way (9 page)

Tanya says, “Well, I'm not surprised, but go get her anyway.”

Dr. Cleveland has told me that I'm teased at school because the kids notice that there's something unusual about me—my height, my fingernails, my ears. But I can't see what's so unusual about Brooklyn that would make the other horses not like him. Then I remember Tootsie, the hermaphrodite pony in England. Tootsie looked normal on the surface, but the other horses wouldn't accept him/her. They knew that underneath, things weren't right. I suppose it's too much to hope that Brooklyn is a hermaphrodite. At least hermaphrodites can be fixed with surgery, unlike unicorns.

Kansas takes the halter to the pasture. Hambone, Photon and Electra have heard the whip cracks and are watching her with interest. She collects Electra and brings her back to the ring. Electra balks when she spots Brooklyn loose in the ring. He whinnies at her, a high-pitched asthmatic bugling sound. Electra looks to Kansas as if to say,
Is he kidding? What kind of a whinny is that
? Kansas shakes her head. “Takes all kinds I guess,” she says.

Tanya has been checking text messages on her phone while Kansas was gone, which is fine because I'm too angry with her to make conversation.

“What now?” says Kansas.

Tanya says, “Lead Electra up the outside to the far end of the arena. Get her as close to the fence as you can.”

Kansas does as she's told. When Brooklyn sees Electra at the end of the arena he puffs up and trots towards her.

“You can let them sniff noses, but just for a second,” shouts Tanya. “Then bring Electra down to the other end.”

Electra is reluctant, but eventually moves close enough to Brooklyn to touch noses. Their necks arch. Electra squeals. Brooklyn screams and strikes. Kansas leads Electra away and trots down the long side. Brooklyn trots along beside them inside the fence. In comparison to Electra, his stride is kind of short and choppy.

Tanya is killing herself laughing.

Suddenly it's obvious to me. “He's not limping,” I say. “He was pretending.”

“Ponies like this are one in a million,” says Tanya wiping tears from her face.

Kansas is glowering at us. I expect she thinks there's some sort of conspiracy afoot: first Declan, now Tanya. I don't mind though. One in a million sounds pretty good to me. I'm actually feeling happier about Brooklyn than I've felt since he arrived.

And then Tanya says, “But there's something else you should know about him.”

My heart sinks.

Tanya says, “I don't think he's pure horse.”

Oh no. The examination of his forehead. She knows he's a unicorn.

“I think he's a hybrid,” says Tanya.

Or part unicorn? This is a nightmare. I know what's coming, but as if there's some point in delaying things, like a complete idiot I say, “You mean like Dr. Cleveland's SUV?”

Tanya looks puzzled for a moment, but then she gets it. “Interesting,” she says with a smile. “But not that kind of hybrid. I think he's a hinny.”

“I knew it,” says Kansas, then she looks at me sadly and says, “Well, I was pretty sure. But I didn't know how to tell you.”

I don't know what a hinny is. I've never heard the word before, despite my basically memorizing the Pony Club manual and doing all my research on Wikipedia. But I'm afraid to ask, in case a hinny is a cross between a horse and a wayward unicorn.

I feel my life dissolving in front of me into something strange and inconceivable.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I'm sitting at the dinner table still kind of stunned and unsure how much to talk about recent developments.

Mom and Dad have been exchanging stories about their days at the office. Mom saw five clients and she thinks her practice is picking up. Dad saw six clients but talked to twenty more on the phone. He says he'd love to be back in those early days before his client load built up and he didn't have to work flat-out all the time. Maybe it's time he hired an assistant. That's when Mom asks me how my day went.

“Well, the vet came out,” I say, hoping to lead up gradually to the more startling news about Brooklyn being a hybrid but apparently this was the wrong starter because Dad's fork drops on his plate with a clatter.

“The vet? Already we have vet bills? The horse just got here.”

“Dad, I told you. He needed his teeth done. And his vaccines.” I decide not to say anything about the biopsies since Tanya won't be charging for them. Or the fact that he's not exactly a horse.

Mom reaches over and pats my hand. “I remember, Honey. What was that like?”

Dad grabs a slice of bread from the plate in the middle of the table and asks for the butter dish.

“The dental work was really gross,” I say. “The vet gave him a shot of tranquillizer then used something like one of Dad's power drills with a really long attachment and she ground off all the points and sharp edges from his teeth. There was smoke coming out of his mouth.” Kind of like the smoke coming out of my dad's ears right now, I think, but I don't say that of course.

“I'll bet Brooklyn didn't like that, Honey,” says Mom. “I hope you were well out of the way.”

“Mom, he was tranquillized. He could barely stand up. And they had this metal thing holding his mouth open so he couldn't . . . .” I stop myself before I say “bite” because I don't want to remind them about what Brooklyn did to the driver. I want to keep my parents' opinion more on the positive side of the whole equation. “So he couldn't close his mouth. But this was after Kansas lunged him,” I carry on quickly, having skirted dangerous ground. “She lunged him when I was in the hospital and she thought he was lame.”

Dad has been spreading butter on his bread and the knife breaks through and scrapes his plate. “Lame?” he says.

“Oh Honey,” says Mom.

“But he wasn't lame. He was pretending. Dr.Bashkir thinks he's one in a million.” I'm almost there, I'm almost telling them, but then Dad says, “And what does your friend Kansas think?” His tone is ironic, probably because he thinks Kansas is a know-it-all since she has challenged his opinion on a few riding-related matters, like how my riding helmet is not “still perfectly good” since the accident and I have to buy a new one before I can ride again. Plus she put that hand-print on his shirt. Maybe he's still mad at her about that.

I am totally aware how fragile my new life with my own pony is. If the situation becomes too expensive, too risky, too anxiety-provoking, too anything, I'll be back to lesson horses and dreaming of one day owning my own, perhaps when I'm an adult with a job of my own, something that leaves me with lots of money and time for riding. Like when I'm forty maybe, and too old and stiff to ride. I guess I've made some progress from a few days ago when all I wanted was for Brooklyn to go back where he came from. “Oh, Kansas thinks he's great,” I say.

Mom frowns, puzzled. “I thought you said Kansas wanted you to get an honest horse, especially for your first one.”

“Well yeah,” I say, “but just because Brooklyn pretends to be lame doesn't mean he's dishonest. I don't think.” Really, I'm not sure.

“What the hell is an honest horse?” says Dad. “You ever see a picture of a horse brain? It's about the size of a walnut.”

“Dad, it is not.”

“Hardly big enough to think up ways of being deceptive,” says Dad.

“Tony, I didn't know you'd studied comparative brain morphology,” says Mom.

“I'm speaking metaphorically,” says Dad. “You two are always anthropomorphizing.”

“We are not,” say Mom and I at the same time.

“Just a minute,” says Dad raising his hand. His other hand dives in his pants pocket and comes out with his BlackBerry.

“Tony, not at the dinner table.”

“I'd turned the ringer off, it was on vibrate. It's okay. This is important,” he says reading the display. He pushes his chair away from the table and heads to the family room. “Hey, Phil, did you get that FAX?”

Mom has that look on her face that means she's either going to cry or blow up like a volcano.

I hold out my empty plate to her. “Can I have more casserole please, Mom? It's delicious.”

She serves a small spoonful. “I'm saving the rest for tomorrow,” she says.

“Declan really likes Brooklyn too,” I say, needing to talk about something, anything, even Kansas's private life if necessary. Talk of boys always grabs Mom's attention. She's ever-hopeful that I am taking an interest.

“And who is Declan?”

“He's the farrier. I think Kansas likes him. Her voice goes deep and mushy any time she talks to him or about him, and he's the only person that can tell her what to do.”

Mom sighs. “Well. Your time will come too, Honey.”

“I don't think so, Mom.”

“You might be surprised what happens when you start the hormone treatments.”

This reminds me of the Premarin. I put down my fork. “Mom, I've been thinking about that. I'm wondering if I could start right away.”

The initial look of surprise on Mom's face is quickly passed by one of pleasure. She is so excited at my request that it's all I can do not to change my mind. I have to force myself to keep smiling. She leans forward and rubs the back of my hand. “Eager to get into adolescence?” she says.

I swallow hard and nod, though of course it's not true. From all I hear and see, adolescence is nothing to look forward to and, in an ideal universe, it would be outlawed. If my cousins are anything to go by, adolescence is nothing less than a long period of temporary insanity. I'm not interested in the estrogen. All I want is to ingest enough mare urine to feel like a boss mare like Electra.

“We'll have to check with the pediatrician of course. But won't it be exciting to have secondary sexual characteristics at last!” She is glowing, almost like Dr. Cleveland when she saw Braveheart coming down the ramp from the transport truck.

“That'll be great!” I say, but I can see my mom drawing breath and I know she's about to launch into one of her favourite educational talks about the joys of human sexual development. I quickly throw another subject-change at her. “Mom, have you heard how Taylor is doing? Is she out of hospital?”

“I don't know—I was at work all day. You could phone her later. Now Sweetie, I wonder if you remember what I told you before about what you can expect when—”

“Can I phone her now, Mom? It's a good time, because she won't have gone back to sleep yet.”

Mom casts a disapproving look into the family room and sighs. “Why not?” she says.

I take the cordless phone into my room and close the door, partly because I want privacy but also so I don't have to listen to the argument when my dad comes back to the table.

Taylor is at home in bed, still groggy but now from Tylenol 3's.

“I can see why people become drug addicts,” she says.

“Really?” I say. “I feel so much better now I'm not taking that stupid growth hormone. I don't like drugs. Though I'm going to start taking Premarin soon I hope.”

“I just can't worry about anything when I'm on this stuff,” says Taylor, apparently not hearing whatever I have to say. “I'm not even worried about dancing. Isn't that weird? Though Stephanie says to not give up on the idea, she thinks I could still have a career as a lap-dancer.”

“That's disgusting,” I say. Though I'm not surprised. Taylor's older sister is always coming up with shocking ideas.

“Yeah, probably. But even Stephanie can't upset me right now. Do you think I'm a junkie?”

“No way.”

“One thing I do worry about is what my boyfriend will say about dating an amputee.”

“You have a boyfriend?” Taylor has never mentioned a boyfriend before. Of course why should she? She is a year older than me and therefore my opinion matters about as much as a flea's. Likely she wouldn't be saying anything to me now if the medication wasn't loosening her lips.

“Of course I have a boyfriend. He's away for the summer. His name is Franko. Franko Losino. Isn't that just the most perfect name?”

Losino? Before I can stop myself I find myself asking, “Does he have a younger brother named Logan?”

“Franko mentioned he has a bratty little brother.” She pauses for a long time as the information slowly seeps into her drugged brain. “Oh Sylvia! Do you like him?”

I don't know how to answer this question. Sure I like Logan well enough, but not in the way that Taylor is implying. Last year he gave me a piece of gum, and he always seemed to be there at just the right time to distract Amber and Topaz and keep their band of loyal followers from tormenting me. I've had two months of freedom from thinking about my life at school, and I'd rather not be thinking about it now.

Taylor misinterprets the silence. “Ooooh,” she says, “Sylvia has a boyfriend!”

“I do not. No way. I have a horse. Well, not exactly a horse . . . ”

“Maybe when you start taking estrogen you'll be more interested in boys. Maybe you'll want to trade in the horse and find yourself a really good boyfriend.” Taylor giggles. I don't think she's making much sense. Taylor is sounding even sillier than she does when she talks about angels and spirituality.

“Why would I want to trade in the horse?”

“I'll tell you something very private,” says Taylor. “Thinking about boys is even better than thinking about dance. So why wouldn't it be better than thinking about horses and riding?”

“Oh I don't think— ”

“Don't you ever think about boys? I mean, I know your ovaries are wrecked from that Turner Syndrome, but don't you think about how great it would be to have a boyfriend, to have someone who loves you more than anybody else? Someone to hold your hand, to kiss you, don't you ever think about that stuff? I know I did when I was fourteen.”

I look around my room at the horse posters, the horse figurines, the horse books, my scuffed riding helmet that I haven't replaced yet, my freshly polished Ariat Junior Performer paddock boots. “Oh sure,” I lie. “All the time. I just didn't want to say in case my mom found out. You know how keen she is for me to enter my next developmental phase.”

“I knew it,” says Taylor. “Stephanie says you're a eunuch but I knew you weren't.”

A
yoonick
? What is a
yoonick
? Or have I got the spelling wrong again? Maybe it's
unic?
Could a unic be half a unicorn? I'm not going to ask Taylor, not now when she's treating me almost like an equal. This is not a good time to let her think that I'm a moron, better for her to think I'm stupidly obsessed with boys, even if I'm not. I'm obsessed with horses. And I like being a horse-nut because that puts me in good company with Kansas and Dr. Cleveland.

“Logan Losino is so cute,” I say.

And Taylor hangs up before I can tell her about Brooklyn being a hinny.

Mom and Dad are in the kitchen with the door closed when I get off the phone. They're having one of their intense discussions which always take a long time and then when they're done they usually go to their bedroom. So I know I have lots of time to myself on the computer in the family room.

I Google
hinny
.

Just like Tanya told me, hinnies are hybrids. They are a cross between a female donkey and a male horse. There's lots of really interesting information on Wikipedia, though more about mules which are hybrids of a female horse and a male donkey. Mules are more common because female horses and male donkeys aren't so fussy about who they mate with, including other species. Female donkeys and male horses are more particular. I like the idea that Brooklyn's parents were choosy about who they mated with. I think it's important to have high standards.

I find some sites that are full of technical information, including facts that Tanya didn't tell me about, but she'd only ever seen one hinny before in her life so she couldn't tell me as much as I needed to know. Or maybe I didn't hear everything she had to say because I was so relieved to hear that hinnies were a horse/donkey hybrid and not a horse/unicorn hybrid.

We'd studied genetics at school of course, but I can tell from my reading that as usual the teachers have left out some important facts. For example, no one ever told us that it made a difference which parent contributed what chromosome. Mules tend to look more like donkeys because coat colour and texture are passed on by the male donkey. In hinnies, the male horse provides the coat and also the gait, which explains why hinnies appear and move more like horses—except for the ears, which tend to be long-ish, like Brooklyn's, though not as long as a donkey's fortunately.