The lady stood in the kitchen, moving swiftly as she cut the vegetables. Her apron swayed when she shifted her weight, and she made piles of the lettuce. The door opened and she turned around to see a boy standing in the corner. His small shadow appeared on the wall, and his eyes darted around the room. “Ben, I’ve asked you not to surprise me like that,” she said. Another woman, Ben’s mother, stood off to the side, nodding in agreement. He looked at them for a moment and murmured, “Sorry, Mom. Sorry, Mrs. Smile.” “It’s OK. Come in,” Mrs. Smile apologized, reminding herself about Ben’s shyness. She frowned, remembering how talkative the boy had been, but that was before. . . She shook herself and tried to calm the frightening memories. Stop thinking about the accident, stop it, she thought. But Ben’s happy words, “I’m going to Florida!” stayed in her mind, along with his smiling face talking to her son, Joe. If only the plane hadn’t left, and the ten-year-old had not gotten on it. Debby Show, her good friend and Ben’s mother, had changed because of that plane ride, too. “Are there really new puppies?” Ben interrupted. “Yes, go on back,” Mrs. Smile replied, noticing the excitement in the boy’s eyes. “Joe is in the back room.” Ben ran toward the small porch where Joe greeted him, picking up a puppy and handing it to his friend. “She’s the runt,” Joe said, scratching the yellow dog’s ears. “My dad’s going to put them in the store soon—just two weeks.” Ben stared at the dog, which was wiggling in his arms. “I wish I could have her.” “You know your mom is allergic,” Joe said. He reached toward the litter, scooping a puppy into his cupped hands. Two others pawed, whining, at the topless, metal cage, and another one lay across the newspaper. The boys stood together, not speaking, their eyes wandering around the room. The next day, Ben ran down the street and stopped at a building which had a sign that said, in big, red letters, “Alphabet Hobby Store.” As he stood at the door, he remembered the beginning of the long, terrifying flight. He reached toward the litter, scooping a puppy into his cupped hands He had waved good-bye to his father, and his mother led him aboard the plane. She counted the rows until seventeen, and helped Ben settle comfortably near a window. The attendant’s voice came over the loudspeaker: “Welcome aboard flight 187 with nonstop service to Orlando.” She explained the safety directions, motioning to the exits. The plane began to rise and his mother leaned over him, whispering in his ear, “Chew your gum.” He nodded, looking out the window at San Francisco. Now Ben opened the glass door, listening to the bells ring. “Joe?” he called. This store is so strange, he thought. He wandered among the overfilled shelves, looking at things he had never noticed before. The only shelves that weren’t crowded were the ones containing food. “Joe?” he said a little louder, his eyes darting down the aisles. He stopped and stared at a pile of pans, each marked with different prices on big green tags. The rows of colorful cups seemed wonderful, and he studied especially the shades of blue. He could still see his mother flipping through magazines that she had pulled out of pockets in front of her. He played with a Game Boy, pressing the buttons quickly. The attendants gave him soda and lunch, which he ate slowly. Then he heard it. The thud. It sounded like thunder crashing to the ground. Ben walked into another room, looking at the parrots who spoke to him, and the cats, who slept peacefully. Bags of dog food were laid in a pile, and he bent by an empty puppy cage. Remembering where he was, Ben called, “Joe? Joe!” “Yeah?” his friend appeared from a doorway, his straight hair bouncing as he walked. His faded jeans had holes in the knees and his oversized shirt was splattered with paint. “Sorry, I didn’t go to your house. My dad wanted me to help him with the new shipment. We’re also painting.” Ben nodded. “It’s OK.” The boys wandered through the store, with Joe pointing at new supplies. He picked up a clock, opening a latch. A small, wooden bird popped out of the door, saying, “Cu cu.” When he walked home later, Ben kicked the dust on the sidewalk carelessly. A truck passed him and blew its loud horn, making him jump. The sound of bouncing inside the truck reminded Ben of luggage shifting on the plane. The thumping noise surprised him again. “We’re pointed down!” somebody shrieked, and the passengers began to scream. Their voices filled the plane, and Ben’s heart pounded. Tears ran down his cheeks and his mother reached over, jerking at his seat belt, tightening it. When he looked over, she was weeping, her mouth moving in a cry for help. Ben shook his head, trying to control himself. He entered his house, forcing himself to think of other things. Running up the stairs, he leaped on the bed and closed his eyes. A week later Ben went back to the store. Joe sat on the floor, his back turned from the door. “Joe? What’s wrong?” Ben cried. Joe slowly crawled in a circle and faced his friend. He wiped tears from his eyes with a muddy hand, ignoring his messy hair. “The store is going out of business,” he managed to whisper. Ben stopped, shouting, “No! It can’t be!” Joe nodded. “It is.” “Your Alphabet Hobby Store? That’s impossible.” Sadly, Joe looked down. He picked up a small toy airplane, twirling it in his hand. “Calm down, everyone,” the pilot said over the loudspeaker. His voice was shaking. “The flight attendants will help you prepare for the crash landing.” Ben held his breath and tightly closed his eyes. He turned away from the
Friendship
Robbie
“Here we are then,” said Mother happily, at the same time tipping the cab, hoisting our luggage out of the trunk, and brushing her hair aside impatiently. “Go on in and set yourself up, darling . . . I’ll be a minute.” I nodded, then skipped up to the door; it looked about to fall off its rusting hinges. Pausing for a minute, I grasped the cool metal doorknob as I glanced hurriedly around. The grass was a pleasant shade of green, patched in some places with a prairie yellow. To the far left, I spotted a small creek, chuckling as though sharing a private joke with itself. There were bushes lining our new home, if you could call it new. The white paint was peeling, and most windows had only one green shutter (I wondered idly where the others were). And then there were the trees. Scattered haphazardly among flower beds and grasses, they seemed so energetic and alive I expected them to pull up their roots and run joyously down the twisting, dusty dirt path. Pausing for a minute, I grasped the cool metal doorknob as I glanced hurriedly around Shaking myself, I turned the doorknob and stepped into the damp, refreshing air of the house. The wooden boards underfoot creaked as I moved slowly to my new bedroom. The bed had been made up in lavender sheets; in the far corner stood a sturdy desk and, next to it, an empty bookshelf. A slight breeze ruffled the drapes by the window, and I turned my attention to it. Walking over, I leaned over the windowsill and found myself . . . staring into the eyes of a boy. For some reason, I was not in the least surprised, and could not tear my gaze away from his eyes. They were wild, and mischievous, glowing greener than a thousand emeralds. His black hair was askew, flying in all directions, but somehow managing to leave his ears sticking straight out from his head, in plain sight. Quite unexpectedly, he grinned at me, wrinkling his already hilarious features into an absurd expression. I found myself grinning back—for some reason I liked him. “What’s your name?” he asked abruptly. “Patricia,” I replied. “OK, Patch,” he said, grinning again. “Well, what’s your name?” I asked him, a little put out at my new nickname. “Robbie.” For no reason at all, we both broke into giggles, laughing so hard that Robbie almost fell off the windowsill. I laughed harder. When at last we had quieted down, I asked him why he had been at my window. “I heard tell someone was movin’ in; I’m the curious type” . . . here he blushed . . . “so I thought I’d, y’know, check it out.” I nodded slowly, accepting his explanation. We were quiet for a moment, until he said mischievously, “Y’know, if you push the window up more, you could jump out real easy. Not far to the ground.” I caught his hint, smiled slowly, went up to the window and vaulted straight out, landing with a thud in some grass. Robbie laughed as I got up and brushed myself off; I scowled at him, and he tried to turn the laugh into a cough. “Well, what now, Patch?” he asked. “I dunno. I’m new here. Why don’t you show me around?” “Follow me,” he replied, and dashed off toward the woods. I sighed, picked up my skirts, and hurried after. * * * By the end of the day, I was a complete mess. I had sap on my hands from climbing numerous trees, grass-stained knees, twigs and leaves in my hair from crawling through a secret passage of bushes Robbie had made, smudges on my skirt and bruises everywhere. It was painful to walk, even. Mother took one look at me and started filling the bathtub with water. As I was attempting (unsuccessfully) to rub the grass stains off, I told her about my day. When I was finished, she nodded, then disappeared into the hallway. Presently she returned, holding a beaten-up pair of pants. “I think it would be best, Patricia . . .” “Patch,” I corrected automatically. “All right then, Patch. I believe it would be best for you to wear these” . . . holding up the pants . . . “from now on.” She ruefully gazed at my ripped dress. “OK, Mother,” I said happily, wrapping a towel around myself and skipping off to my room. Quickly, I put on my favorite pajamas with clouds on them, then ran into the kitchen for a hurried dinner. Soon after I was in bed, with Mother kissing me goodnight. “See you in the morning . . . Patch,” she whispered. I giggled as she left the room. Today had been the best day of my entire life. I had done so many things I never even knew I could do—but, more than that, I had made a true friend. In the city, I can’t count on anyone for anything. But I knew I could trust Robbie. * * * I awoke the next morning to a .1. world wreathed in rosy shadows. I slipped out of bed, shivered in the cold air once or twice, and then practically jumped into my new pants. Not wanting to wake Mother, I lowered myself cautiously out of the window and then tiptoed away to meet Robbie at the creek. When I arrived, he was making boats out of weeds and grass, then sending them on their way along the twisting water. ” ‘ello,” he greeted me, jumping to his feet, and before I could say anything, he ran off, yelling over his shoulder, “C’mere. I wanna show you something.” Smiling to myself, I dashed after him. It wasn’t far. Just beyond the first few lines of trees, past an abandoned flower bed, and around three berry bushes was a very tall tree. Lichen covered it (along with ivy) from head to
Flaming Sunset
ONE The chilly wind blew up spirals of dry leaves, but the sun still shone merrily. The faded blue paint was peeling off the porch on the old farmhouse. A short, red-haired girl lay on the porch with her chin propped in her hands. Stretched out on the steps was another girl, with brown hair. They were both five, but there the resemblance ended. Sarah was over a head taller than Elizabeth. Her short, light brown hair blew around her head in the breeze. Her eyes were also brown, the color of chocolate. Elizabeth, the redhead, had energetic, dancing, bright green eyes that mirrored her personality. Both had their attention fixed on the toy horse Sarah was holding. It was bright orange, with a blue mane and tail. “His name’s Flaming Sunset,” Sarah explained. “I just got him.” Elizabeth nodded. The two girls were extremely close friends, tied together by their love of horses. Sarah had recently moved into the house next to Elizabeth’s. They were already inseparable, spending their afternoons wandering about the farm down the road from their houses. Their favorite place was, of course, the horse barn. As soon as they had finished admiring Sarah’s new toy, they set off to feed carrots to the horses, with Elizabeth’s large black dog trailing at their heels. TWO The stars intently watched the scene below from their perch in the velvet-blue night sky. At Fairweather Horse Farm a small crowd had gathered around one stall. Inside stood a small bay horse. The dim light from the dusty bulb overhead was enough to show that his coat was flaming red. His silky black mane streamed from his arched neck, and his black tail billowed out behind him like a cloak. The star on his face seemed to shine brighter than the electric lights. His feet rustled in the thick straw as he inched forward to inspect his visitors. Holding the opened door in one hand with a carrot outstretched in the other was a smiling, red-haired ten-year-old girl. Holding the opened door in one hand with a carrot outstretched in the other was a smiling, red-haired girl “Wow, Elizabeth, he’s really pretty.” “What’s his name?” “How old is he?” “Where’d you get him?” “Can I pet him?” “Yeah, me too?” Questions poured down on Elizabeth. Suddenly the horse reached forward and took the carrot from her hand. He was starting to relax. “OK, you can come in,” she agreed. As half of her Pony Club rushed into the stall, Elizabeth noticed that Sarah was hanging back. Elizabeth felt a sharp stab of guilt. She hadn’t talked about a thing in school except Surprise, that horse that lived up to his name on her tenth birthday. She hadn’t had any time for her friend. “Hey, Sarah!” she called. “I have another carrot in my pocket. Want to give it to him?” Sarah opened her mouth to reply, but no sound came out. Finally she nodded her head weakly, gave a shaky smile, and headed into the stall. THREE “And now on course is number 17, Elizabeth Green.” As she entered the ring Elizabeth could feel the crowd’s eyes on her. However, there was one pair whose expression she was unaware of. The owner of those eyes looked upon Elizabeth as a rival who would threaten her quest for the ’96 Regional Pony Club Jumper Cup. The owner of those eyes realized that Elizabeth would likely win. The owner of those eyes used to be Elizabeth’s best friend. They belonged to Sarah. Sarah sat on top of her chunky gray gelding looking outwardly calm, while her boyfriend Pete dusted one of her boots and her friend Margaret the other. Margaret was wearing a belly-short tank top, bell-bottom jeans, two-inch platform sandals, and an unhappy expression. “It’s too dusty here, Sarah,” she whined. Sarah ignored her and turned to Pete, who had begun talking. “I don’t know, Sarah, she looks pretty good,” he warned. “In this class looks don’t count, it’s speed.” “I understand that, but look how fast she’s going.” Elizabeth was dashing through the ring on the jumper she had trained herself: the little bay Surprise. Though he was barely larger than a pony, he soared over the jump as though he was winged. This horse and rider would probably win. “Why don’t you go check your course?” Pete suggested. “I know my course,” Sarah replied through clenched teeth. “Well, now it’s your turn to go in,” he said. When she exited the ring again Sarah’s scowl was larger than before. She knew that she had lost the Cup. Since she had finished her course Elizabeth’s Pony Club friends had been helping her cool out her horse, and a friend from school brought her a soda. The ringmaster’s voice suddenly sounded out: “Would the following contestants please enter the ring in the order your number is called. 17, 163, 84, 22.” Sarah tried not to hear the excited cries coming from Elizabeth and her friends. She tried not to see the tricolor ribbon pinned on Surprise’s bridle, or the gleaming silver trophy Elizabeth held. As she exited the ring she stuffed the yellow third-place ribbon in her pocket, embarrassed to be seen with it. Right then and there she vowed to never be friends with Elizabeth again. “Nice job,” Pete congratulated. Sarah ignored him and whiny Margaret too. She wanted to be alone. FOUR Elizabeth sat on her tack box looking at her collection of trophies. Finally her gaze rested on her first Pony Club Jumper Cup. She remembered how excited she had felt when her number was called. She then turned her eyes toward Surprise. He was three years older than he had been when they won that Cup, but you wouldn’t know it to look at him. His coat still glistened, his neck still arched, and his ears still pricked just as much as they had that afternoon. Surprise was all tacked up and ready.
