Me & Jack (5 page)

chapter 9

R
ay and I braked all the way down the hill and turned left at the bottom. We rode for a couple of blocks, passing Mrs. Puchalski's house. I followed Ray when he turned left onto a hard dirt road lined with trees. The road curved around and opened up to a huge brick two-story house that looked like a mansion. The yard was fancy, with rosebushes and a water fountain with a statue in it. The lawn rolled up toward the woods and even they were cleared of underbrush, like a park.

I heard the whinny of horses and saw a barn that was bigger than my whole house. A couple of horses and a pony trotted within a corral. I'd never been this close to horses before. The two big ones were a deep chocolate brown, and their manes were almost black.

Prater was rich.

“Man,” I said. My eyes widened.

“Yeah, I know,” Ray said.

We cut over to a small path that circled the corral. A breeze mingled the sweet, grassy smell of hay and the scent of horses. Prater came out from the barn, hooked a rope onto the pony, and led it to the fence by us.

Up close, the pony's coat shone. His mane was darker than his coat, and it was combed over to one side. Even though he wasn't as big as a horse yet, his legs were well muscled and he walked proudly.

“Hi,” Prater said. He looked at Ray.

“All done?” Ray asked.

“Yeah, let me just comb him down and rub his legs.” Then he turned his weasel eyes on me and said, “Didn't bring your dog, did you?”

This wasn't starting out well. I tried to think of something good to say, something funny or cool, but all I came up with was “Nice pony.”

“He's not a pony, dummy,” Prater spat. “He's a foal. Don't you know anything?”

The muscles in my face tightened.

“Come on, Alan,” Ray said, shaking his head. “You knew what he meant.” Then he turned to me. “Most people call baby horses ponies, but they're really called foals.” He smirked at Alan and then looked at me. “Don't ever make horse mistakes in front of Alan.”

Prater laughed.

I nodded. Anyway, who cares? I was just trying to be nice.

Prater rubbed the foal's nose. His eyes filled with pride. He reminded me of myself with Jack. “You're looking at a future champion,” he said.

Without meaning to, I nodded my head in agreement. The foal was beautiful, so dark its coat almost shone blue. No white spots anywhere.

When I looked up, I caught Prater watching me. He tilted his head toward me. “You ever touch a horse before?”

I shook my head. Prater pulled the foal closer and stroked the side of its neck. “Like this,” he said. “Not too close to his eyes.”

I brushed my hand down the horse's hard and muscular neck. His mouth quivered and he ground his jaws, revealing big square teeth. I snatched my hand back.

My eyes darted toward Prater, but he didn't laugh. “He's just chewing against the bit.”

“What's his name?” I said.

“Shadow.” Prater patted the horse's neck. The look he gave the horse was gentle. Maybe he did have a heart.

“Look at this.” He thrust his left arm to me, the one sporting the leather wristband. Holding the band so the etching was on top, he tapped it lightly. “See? It's Shadow. I made it with my leather kit.”

I took a close look. Though it could have been any horse, Prater made him look majestic, his front legs raised in a buck, mane flying in the wind. I liked it. “Pretty cool.”

“Thanks.” Prater looked back to Ray. “Let me put Shadow up. You guys can go on back if you want. I'll be right there.”

Okay, that went all right. If the rest of my time at Prater's passed this easily, I could handle it.

Ray leaned his bike against the fence, so I did the same. We headed up the lawn, toward the woods. A few large trees stood here and there, separating the barn area from the rest of the yard. One tree had uprooted and fallen over; its base was taller than my dad.

“Is this still his yard?” I asked.

“Yeah, the yard even goes into the woods.” He pointed to the left. “That's where I think if you cut through and kept going, you'd end up in your woods. They own a hundred acres.” The yo-yo came out and he started flipping it around.

I leaned against a huge oak tree. The trunk split into a Y about fifteen feet up and boards had been nailed across the thick limbs, forming a floor. A couple of guns lay in the grass at the foot of the tree. Prater was still in the barn. Maybe we'd never even get to the guns.

“So, are you guys best friends?” I asked.

“He's my cousin.” Ray sat down. “Well, not my cousin exactly, but my mom and his mom are cousins, so I guess we are, too.” The yo-yo whirred around Ray's fingers. “Eiffel Tower,” he said, gesturing with his hands. He'd woven the string into an exact outline.

“Wow.”

“If you want, I can show you how to do some of this stuff,” he said. “Alan thinks it's stupid.”

That's probably because he can't do it
, I thought, but I didn't say that. What I really wanted to know was why Prater was scared of dogs. I leaned forward, the question forming in my mouth—

“Joshua! Joshua!” A pink flash darted out the back door of the house and up the hill to where we sat. Breathless, CeeCee collapsed in front of us. “Guess what?” Her eyes were full of a secret, a not-too-secret secret, because it was obvious she wanted to tell.

I played along. “What?”

She squinched her eyes and tipped her face up at me, big smile. Very big smile.

“You lost a tooth!”

Pleased with my answer, she tucked her legs under and leaned over to me. “I'll get a dollar tonight!” she said. She opened her palm to reveal a tiny tooth. “See!” She stood up and danced a little jig. “The tooth fairy's coming!”

Part of her dance involved fluffing Ray's hair around. He lifted an eyebrow, then tried to grab her without looking. She dodged his arm and kept fluffing and singing.

“Go on, Cee-monster,” Ray said. “Quit bothering me.”

She laughed and paraded around the oak.

Then Prater trudged up the hill holding the paper targets. I had hoped it would get too dark before he finished with Shadow, but it looked like there was no way out of it now.

“You guys ready?” he asked.

“Ready! Aim! FIRE!” CeeCee hollered, leaning out from behind the oak.

“CeeCee,” Prater said. Same gentle voice he used with the foal.

She pursed her lips. Her arms folded and snapped against her chest.

Shaking his head, Prater laid the targets on the ground and led CeeCee away from the oak and toward the house. “You know you can't stay when we're shooting targets.”

She whirled out from under his hand. “No fair! Daddy lets you play with guns.”

This had the sound of an ongoing argument.

Sure enough, Prater sighed. “I'm older than you are. Besides, the guns are too heavy. You could shoot your own foot, and the kick might knock you down.”

Her face puckered. “I might knock
you
down!”

She ran over and kicked his shin. I stifled a laugh—she looked so tiny against her brother. He easily captured her, turned her toward the house, and pretended to yell. “D-a-d … CeeCee's trying to shoot guns with us!”

“No, I'm not!” She squirmed in his arms. “Let me go!”

He let her go, then raised his eyebrows. “Then get back to the house or I
will
tell.”

“Anyway,” Ray said, “it's hot out here. I wonder if someone could make us some lemonade.”

She stared at him to see if she was being played. Then she glanced at all three of us and broke into a big smile. “I'll make it for Joshua! Mommy will help me!” She ran down the hill and disappeared into the house.

Ray smirked at me. “Someone's got a crush on you.”

My face heated up.

“Shut up,” Prater said. He grabbed the targets. “Let's see if we can hurt these things.”

Interesting choice of words.

I glanced toward the house and barn, but I didn't see his father anywhere. Prater was making his way up the lawn, getting ready for the big shootout. Lagging behind, listening to Prater talk with Ray about stuff I didn't know, I got the feeling I wasn't even there, or maybe I just didn't
want
to be there. Where in the heck was Mr. Prater? “I thought your dad was going to be here.”

“He is.” Prater shrugged. “He's in the house.”

Great. Now Prater could act any way he wanted. Plus, Dad only let me come because he thought Mr. Prater would be here with us. But it would be all right; Ray and Prater had done this lots of times. Nothing bad would happen.

Ray stood at the bottom of the tree and looked up. The yo-yo was out of sight. “Man, this tree house is going to be great.”

Prater walked up beside Ray. “Yeah, wait till it's done.” Then he glanced at me. “Did Ray tell you about it?”

When I shrugged, he went on. “It's going to be like a little house. And on this side”—he motioned with his hand—“there'll be a window but with no glass. Dad's planning to mount a pulley with a line for targets.” He pointed to the fallen tree. “It'll be hooked up to that tree. Then I can sit in the tree house and practice shooting from a stand.”

Ray nodded. He knew what Prater was talking about. I'd ask Ray later.

Prater walked past us and nailed a poster onto the overturned tree. A bunch of black circles inside of each other and a bull's-eye right in the middle. I sighed.

Ray dropped a block of wood on the grass. “This is where you stand.”

Prater grabbed one of the rifles, loaded it, and stepped up to the block. He cocked the gun, brought it to his eye, and fired. It was loud, but not as loud as I thought it would be.

“Ha!” Prater said. “Look at that.” A hole showed through one of the rings of the target.

“Good one!” Ray said.

Ray took a turn, hitting the white part of the paper outside the target.

“Pretty good,” Prater said.

It was my turn. My hands felt shaky as I took the rifle from Ray. The barrel was warm. The gun was long but not too heavy. I tried to shoot like they had, but the rifle just snapped.

Prater laughed through his nose. “You have to load it first.”

I glanced at him and then at the rifle. I scanned the barrel trying to remember exactly how they had done it.

He snorted and grabbed the gun from me. He took a shiny brass bullet from a box beside the block. “Like this,” he said. He pulled the lever down, and the casing from the used bullet popped out. Then he dropped the new bullet into the same compartment and snapped the lever closed. “You can carry the gun around like this 'cause it can't shoot. Then if you see something—” He spun toward the target, pulled the hammer back, and fired. Another neat hole inside the target.

He held the gun out to me. “Try again.”

I gave him a sharp nod and took the rifle from him. The barrel was even warmer. Bending down, I took a bullet from the box and stood up. Prater's tiny eyes watched everything I did. The lever was easy to pull down, but the casing popped out and startled me. I almost dropped the rifle. Prater huffed. I slammed the lever shut.

“Hey, be careful!” Prater said. “That gun used to be my dad's.”

I acted like I didn't hear him.

The hammer was hard to pull back. I had to use both thumbs. Slowly, I raised the gun and tried to steady it, but I couldn't hold it perfectly still.

“Come on, already,” Prater said.

My eyes darted to him and quickly back to the target. I took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and squeezed the trigger. I expected to feel the power of the gun, maybe even be knocked back a little, but it was just kind of a loud
pop.
A wisp of smoke trailed out of the end of the barrel.

“Good try,” Ray said.

“Yeah, right,” Prater said.

There were still only three holes in the target. “Did I hit it?”

“No!” Prater grabbed the rifle. “Just watch me.” He loaded, cocked, and fired.
Blam!
It tore a fourth hole into the target, this one even closer to the bull's-eye. He turned to me, smug. “That's how you do it.”

Ray took a turn, hitting an inside ring, and then it was my turn. I was determined not to mess up again in front of Prater. I couldn't care less if I hit the target or not, but Prater cared—this had become a test I had to pass in order to be friends. I popped out the casing, loaded the bullet, and tried to pull the hammer back with one thumb like they did, but it was too hard. Again, I had to grip the rifle with two hands and use both thumbs to cock it. This time when I raised the gun, I steadied it against my shoulder, squinted, aimed, and squeezed the trigger.

Prater clicked his tongue in disgust. Still five holes. Heat seeped into my face.

He grabbed the rifle from me and exchanged it with the other gun. “Here,” he said, thrusting the new gun at me. “Maybe you can use this one. It's a BB gun. BB for babies.”

“Geez,” Ray said.

“What?” Prater asked. “Just joking.”

I pushed the BB gun back to him. “Naw, I think I'm done shooting. I'll just watch.”

“Okay, little baby.”

“Alan,” Ray chided.

Prater rolled his eyes. He raised the BB gun and fired toward the target. A neat little circle appeared near the bull's-eye. “Ha!” he shouted victoriously. He sent Ray to the barn to get another BB gun, and then he asked, “Hey, kid, ever go hunting?”

I looked at him. This was some sort of trap, something he would make fun of me for. “Why?”

“Just wanted to know.” Prater lifted the BB gun up and got ready to fire. I turned an eye toward the target.

Pop.
He cranked the gun again, aiming up a tree to the right of the target.
Pop. Pop.
What was he doing? I looked through the branches. A squirrel clung to the branch, staring at Prater.