Shannon took a deep breath and then opened the door. Tiny brass bells that hung on the inside tinkled merrily until she closed the door behind her and ran her hand swiftly through almost completely brown hair. She let her breath out, and then inhaled the smells of the Animal Rescue Thrift Store she was now standing inside. Another girl at the counter looked up from the cash register, and grinned. Halley was a full fifteen years older then Shannon, but they could talk together as if they were the exact same age. “Hi, Shannon!” she called. “Hi!” Shannon replied. There was a loud and throaty meow from near her sneakers, informing Shannon that Jenny was making her presence known. “I won’t forget you,” Shannon said, kneeling so that she could pet the pure white cat that had been in the shop for as long as she could remember. Jenny purred, rubbing her head up against Shannon’s shoe, rolling on the gray carpet. “Come to pick up a form?” Halley asked, carefully sorting the money into equal piles. Shannon’s mouth was suddenly dry, and she stood, ignoring Jenny’s pleas for more petting. “Yes.” She nodded. “Hold on,” Halley said. The front counter was always a mess of labels, pieces of paper, things on sale, and things that Halley needed to put price tags on. Halley rummaged around in a drawer for several minutes, and Shannon stood as if frozen in the same spot. “Ah! Got one!” she called. “Come to pick up a form?” Halley asked Shannon walked to the counter, and Halley passed over a piece of paper on the clipboard. Shannon took them and bit her lip. “Isn’t the kitten room open?” she asked. “I think I can let you in. There is a new batch of kittens that I just put flea ointment on, so I don’t want kids petting them too much. Go ahead.” Halley turned to help a customer. * * * Shannon slipped inside the kitty room and made sure the door was firmly closed behind her, and locked. If there were new kittens that meant that they wanted out of the room above all else. As she turned around, she realized that she had been right—live kittens bounded toward the door hopefully. One tabby, two Siamese and two sandy-colored. Shannon bent over . . . and they scattered, finding shelter under the metal file cabinets, cages, and cave made from just-washed blankets warm from the dryer. “Better get used to me,” Shannon said, looking around. “I may work here, you know.” No response from the kittens. They didn’t stick so much as a whisker out from their hiding places. Shannon sighed. Well, she wasn’t about to go crawling around after them now, scaring them half to death. She sat down in one of the rocking chairs and looked at the form. It was hard to understand the first time she read it, but then she read it again, and began to fill it out. The last question was the simplest for her. “Why do you think working in the kitty room would help? Why do you like kittens?” Shannon paused, and carefully wrote her answer. “Because these kittens don’t have any homes, they don’t have any mothers to go to. I know I couldn’t be a mother, but I’ve always loved kittens—I may never know why. It could be because of trust.” Surprised that she was done, she looked down at her lap. There was a sandy-colored kitten sitting on it. When Shannon reached down, it hopped off. Shannon shrugged, and opened the kitty room door, then slipped out. Halley was standing there, and Shannon handed her the paper. “I know the director will let you in, even though you’re only eleven,” Halley said, putting the form on the director’s desk. “She’s seen how those kittens love you.” “Need any help?” Shannon looked at the messy desk quizzically. “No, thanks though. Isn’t it time for your dinner?” Shannon sped out the door, calling, “Thank you!” * * * “Was it accepted?” Shannon was excited, jumping up and down at the counter. Halley smiled. “Of course. I told the director you have experience with cats so you know what to do . . .” “When do I start?” “Nobody’s in there now” Halley said. “You won’t be getting paid, you know.” Shannon nodded. “Yes—I know.” * * * The kitty room hadn’t been cleaned in several days, so Shannon had her work cut out for her. The cleaning closet was full and cluttered. Shannon started dusting right away. Dust fell off the tops of the shelves and the file cabinet, cascaded down from the cages. Sneezing, Shannon dusted the rest and went to the dishes full of food. Except that was the problem. They were empty. It took her a good ten minutes to find the wet cat food. She dumped it into a new not-dusty bowl and set it on the tray. Time to wash the dishes. She opened the screen door, and closed it behind her, balancing dish soap in one hand, and a plastic box full of dishes in the other, and was nearly bowled over by a blur of gold fur. “Benny. Down!” Benny, a golden retriever, rolled in the dirt, and Shannon began to wash the dishes on the grass. She went inside again and dried them, put them on the correct shelf, and looked around. It didn’t look much better. She grimly clamped her mouth shut. She would make this place shine—or else. * * * TWO MONTHS LATER The director, a red-haired woman with glasses, looked into the room. “You did this?” Shannon nodded, embarrassed. Instead of scolding, Ms. Lanburn put her head to one side. “Very good. Excuse me—it is time for our meeting. There’s somebody coming in about ten minutes who I think you should meet.” “Who?” Shannon asked, tugging at one of her braids. “She wants to volunteer. I’m sorry but I really
Animals
The 54th Rider
Sandra looks out into the crowd. Her face is firm, her lips set in a straight line. This is it—the moment she’s been waiting for for nearly ten years. She pulls her hat brim down over her eyes and pulls on her gloves, worn from the hard labor back when she helped her father on the ranch. She pats the pockets on her old jeans and straightens her favorite blue shirt. Then she turns and walks to the pen where the bulls are kept. She climbs on the bull—with help from the rodeo clowns—and begins to tighten the rope around her hand. She looks up and as she does so, sees her brother-in-law, Roger, wave at her from the crowd. She doesn’t smile, just nods, and lets her mind wander to the day this all began. * * * It had been a splendid day; the sun was up and shining down on the red dust that carpeted the ranch and everything on it. She had risen early, wanting to get her chores done so she could have some time to herself. Sandra had breathed in the deep smell of desert, soaking in the lovely hues of the place everyone called wasteland. Her home had never been that to her—it wasn’t the middle of nowhere at all. On the contrary, it was right smack in the middle of Mother Nature and all her other children. Sandra knew she’d never leave—Arizona was much too beautiful to ever leave behind. Sandra knew shed never leave—Arizona was much too beautiful to ever leave behind Sandra talked to the horses as she shoveled out their beds of hay and stocked their trough with oats. Her favorite was an amber mare brought in from the wild a few years ago. She had taken to Sandra and Sandra had eventually given her a name—Dawn. “An’ how you doin’, Ms. Dawn?” Sandra had asked, giving her a loving pet on the nose. Dawn whinnied in reply. “Yes, I reckoned you’d say that,” Sandra replied, looking out the window of the barn. “It sure is a lovely day.” Sandra had been twelve then, just barely blooming into a young lady. She loved flowers and kittens, horses and little children, too. But there was one thing in her life she lived for—bull riding. Technically, it wasn’t bull riding yet—Sandra had barely been a year at riding calves. But someday she would graduate to bulls—if her sister didn’t stop her first. Sandra had just finished her chores and was taking out her favorite calf—Little Yellow Jacket—when her father and Roger appeared at the corral. Sandra didn’t mind them—they often came out to the corral to talk about something or another. Sandra seated herself on Little Yellow Jacket and bent down to whisper to him. “Give me your worst, Little Jacket; I’ve ridden you every time.” With that, she gave his hindquarters a jab with her spurs and they set off in a whirlwind of dust and kicks. Sandra held her hand high, trying her best to stay on. Most calves went into a wave motion when spurred, so that all the rider had to do to stay on was to move with them. Little Yellow Jacket was different—he’d twist and jump, curving his body into impossible angles and jerking to the sides when Sandra least expected it. Somewhere in all the melee, Sandra heard Roger say to her father, “Whoa! She’s good! You teach her?” She heard her father reply, “No, she did that all by herself. She is awfully good, isn’t she?” Sandra could hear her sister, Diane, her elder by ten years, yell from the house, “Oh, you boys! Don’t encourage her!” Diane had been the girly-girl, the one who loved cooking and wanted to stay inside all day. Sandra had never been like that—she had always loved the smell of the wind in the evening and the color of the Arizonan dust on her black boots. After awhile, Sandra was finally bucked from Little Yellow Jacket’s back. She got up slowly as her dad led the calf away. She dusted the red from her pants and turned to go back to the house. On the way there, Roger stopped her. “You’re good,” he said. “So you say,” she answered. She was tired and her throat was aching for a glass of water. “Would you like to go to the Championships one day?” he asked. “Yeah, one day.” She turned to go back inside when Roger called out to her. “You could, you know!” She slowly pivoted on her heel. “What are you saying? That I could go to the Championships?” He smiled, a bit gap-toothed, his face sweating beneath his rusty orange hair. “That’s what I said.” “But no woman has ever made it to the Championships.” “How would you like to be the first?” Sandra was silent for a moment. “You really think I could?” Roger’s smiled widened. “Sure do.” “How? I don’t even have a trainer.” “Sure you do.” Sandra looked around, as though expecting to see a trainer magically appear from behind the crates stacked against the stables. “Where?” “Well right here!” Sandra almost giggled. “A funny-looking man like you being my trainer?” “Yes,” Roger nodded. “I don’t think Diane ever told you this—I think she might be embarrassed by it, don’t know why—but I used to be a bull rider.” Sandra cocked her head. “Really?” “Yes, I almost made it to the Championships, but,” he shook his head, “I got out on the qualification rides. I got paired up with a really old bull—I reckon he had been all ridden-out years before.” “Ah.” Sandra scuffed the dirt with the heel of her boot. She understood. Riders were not only judged on their ability to ride, but also by how healthy and hard-bucking their bull was. “Could we start tomorrow then?” “What?” Roger looked slightly bewildered. “Tomorrow. Could we start training tomorrow?” “Sure.” Roger and Sandra walked into the house together, discussing her
Oreo
The barn was dark, but a warm and welcoming darkness. The hay piled up for the horses smelled sweet and soft. The barn door was slightly ajar, just enough for a small bedraggled traveler. The horses snorted in their sleep, but the hay was inviting and the traveler was soon asleep, breathing in the fresh-cut smell. * * * Molly was homesick. She had been at camp for two days, and really missed her parents. She decided to go to the farm, where she could play with the kittens and wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. When the first-period bell rang, she walked down the road to the farm, absorbed in self-pity. Outside the barn was a kitten. Molly bent down to pet her and went inside. There were a few people in the barn, holding kittens. Molly spotted a small black-and-white kitten, who wasn’t being held. She scooped him up and looked into blue-gray eyes like her own. She petted the kitten’s black ears and he shut his eyes in contentment. She had made a friend. A week later, Molly had made lots of friends in her cabin, but still visited the kitten a lot. He was christened Oreo. She had completely fallen in love with him. Eventually, she called her parents. “Mom, can I pleeeeeease have this kitten?” On the other end of the phone, her mom sighed. “Maybe.” Soon, maybe turned to yes, and Molly was very happy. Camp would end soon, and Molly would spend the rest of her summer in Nova Scotia. At the end of the summer, when she came back from her summer house, they would pick Oreo up. She was prepared to wait as long as it took to get Oreo. A small black-and-white kitten woke up in his bed of hay Camp ended, and Molly hugged Oreo, telling him to wait for her. In their summer house in Nova Scotia, Molly patiently waited for the summer to be over. One night, a week from getting Oreo, she had a dream. Oreo had run away from camp. He had forgotten that she was going to adopt him, so he ran away. In her dream, Molly chased after him for a long time. Finally, he remembered who she was, and he stopped. She caught up, and he jumped into her arms. The following day, a phone call came from camp. “Hi, Molly. Are you still getting this cat?” “Oreo? Yep.” “Well, I have some very sad news. Oreo ran away. He’s been away for two weeks, but we couldn’t find your phone number.” “Oreo?” Molly said, her voice faint. “Th- the black-and-white male? Are you sure?” “Yes. Can I talk to a parent?” Numbly, Molly handed the phone to her dad and collapsed onto the couch. * * * A small black-and-white kitten woke up in his bed of hay. He was quite big now, and catching mice. He had just vaguely remembered someone, a girl, who had loved him so much . . . He felt a shadow of remorse at leaving her, but it was soon swallowed up by kitten dreams and thoughts, and he had forgotten it in the morning. Molly Ostertag, 12Milan, New York Evan Mistur, 13Troy, New York
