Stealing Our Way Home Page 19

  “I missed it,” I say now. “I was thinking about my Mom.”

  Shelby smiles at me. “Guess what?”

  “What?”

  “I got a phone call this morning.”

  I look up. “From who?”

  “My mom.”

  “You did?”

  She nods, taking an enormous bite of potatoes. “She’s feeling so much better. She’s coming up in two weeks.”

  Something plummets in the bottom of my stomach. “To take you back to Texas?”

  “No.” Shelby shakes her head. “Just to visit. I’m going to stay here for the rest of the year and she’ll visit when she can. It’s the best thing right now. For both of us, I think.”

  “That’s great, Shelby.” I reach down for her hand and squeeze it hard inside my mine. “I’m really happy for you.”

  “Thanks,” she says, beaming. “I am too.”

  “You sure you’ll be okay if I hang out at Ben’s this afternoon?” It’s April, and Jack takes my hand as we make our way across the middle school parking lot and into the high school. “It’s really fine if you want me to stay. I mean it.”

  “No, I’m fine.” I twist out of his grip as we enter the building; it’s full of teenagers, and I don’t need any of them thinking I’m some kind of a baby. With its enormous glass windows and vaulted ceilings, the high school always makes me think of some kind of outer space museum. Kids of every shape and size swarm around us. A girl in tight blue jeans and a yellow gingham shirt is holding a boy’s hand just by the pinky finger, and two guys off to the right are laughing and pushing each other against the wall. It’s hard to believe Jack will go to school here in just over a year. And then me.

  “You’re sure?” Jack asks again.

  “Yes,” I repeat. “Geez, Jack, you’re starting to sound like Mom.”

  The comment catches both of us off guard, mostly because I’ve never said anything like that before, and because it’s true—Mom used to fret exactly like this—but I’d forgotten it until now. For a split second, our eyes meet, and then we both smile.

  “Not a bad thing,” he says finally, weaving me in and around another cluster of high school kids. “Okay, here we are.”

  Inside her classroom, Nibs is wrapping her green scarf around her neck, even though it is sixty degrees outside, and shoving papers inside a small satchel. “Hello, my darlings,” she says. “You’re right on time. Ready to go?”

  “I’m catching a ride home with Ben,” Jack says. “Remember?”

  “Of course I remember,” Nibs says, looking at him fondly. “You’re going fishing, right?”

  “Right.” Jack reaches over and squeezes my hand. “I’ll catch one just for you, Pip,” he says, giving me a wink. “I’ll bring it home and gut it right on the deck, eyeballs and everything … ”

  “Bye!” I start laughing as I push him out of the room, then stand and watch as he races back down the hall. Four months ago, he would have never done such a thing. The first few weeks after Dad got sentenced to jail for a year, Jack barely let me go to the bathroom without him. It didn’t matter that Nibs was the one in charge and that he was her responsibility now just as much as I was. He guarded me like a hawk, like a mother bear watching her cub. He still does, honestly, although he’s loosened up a little, thank goodness. Now, even when we go visit Dad on weekends, he doesn’t make me sit in the back of the car with him or hold his hand the whole time we’re in the visiting room.

  “You ready to get dirty?” Nibs puts her arm around me as we walk out of her room. “I’ve got a whole garden just waiting to be dug up this afternoon. What say we put on a pair of overalls, get ourselves nice and filthy, and then have a cookout for dinner?”

  “Can Shelby come?”

  “Of course she can come.” Nibs nods toward her car. “Go ask her yourself.”

  Shelby is leaning against Nibs’ car, the way she always is every afternoon at this time. She waves as I run to her, and it occurs to me that maybe this is how life works sometimes: A sudden stumble interrupts the regular walk of your life. Maybe even throws you off course. But then it gradually picks up again, and slowly, finally, you settle into a new pace. A new routine. And it’s the new routine that can be tricky. You have to figure out different rules, navigate new terrain, look in different mirrors if you want to see yourself again. But it’s not impossible if you have the right people to do it with. Having the right people with you makes all the difference.

  Having the right people with you, as Mom would say, is everything.

  First thanks goes to my Spartan warrior of an agent, Stacey Glick, whose enthusiasm and encouragement remain an unfailing source of inspiration. My brilliant editor, Jenne Abramowitz, takes my books from chrysalis to butterfly and then cheers as they take flight. I couldn’t do it without you, friend. Thank you to all the amazingly creative people at Scholastic, for the beautiful book cover and for everything you’ve done to bring this one out into the world. Final thanks to my children, who continue to redefine the word love for me, each and every day.

  CECILIA GALANTE is the author of books for children, teens, and adults. Her first novel, The Patron Saint of Butterflies, won a NAIBA Book of the Year Award and was an Oprah’s Book Club Teen Reading Selection, a Book Sense Pick, and a Bank Street Best Children’s Book of the Year. In addition to teaching eighth-grade English, Cecilia also teaches fiction writing at Wilkes University’s graduate creative writing program. She lives in Kingston, Pennsylvania.

  Read on to sample another heartwarming story by Cecilia Galante,

  The World from Up Here!

  Silver came home a little while later, throwing her blue and silver pom-poms on the kitchen counter. Russell sat up straight as she came into the living room, and looked her over before turning his attention back to the TV. She was dressed in old sweatpants and a T-shirt, and her hair had been pulled up into a ponytail. It swished back and forth behind her head like a very clean, very blonde mop.

  “Hey,” she said, plopping down on the couch next to me. “What’s up?”

  “Not much.” I was still in my pajamas. After the conversation with Dad about Momma, I’d gone into the living room and sat down on the couch. I hadn’t gotten back up. Now, I tucked my bare feet under my legs, praying that Silver wouldn’t bring up the underwear issue. But maybe she was waiting for me to thank her. Or to tell her if they fit.

  “Your mom went to paint?” I asked instead.

  “Oh, yeah,” Silver said, leaning her head against the back of the couch. “She’s doing a mural or something for a friend’s wall. She loves to paint.”

  “What kind of painting does she do?” Russell asked, without taking his eyes off the TV. He’s a bugger, my brother. You can never be sure if he’s concentrating on his show, or eavesdropping on one of your conversations.

  “Watercolors, mostly. Although she’ll do just about anything.” Silver pointed to a picture that hung on one of the walls across the room. The reflection of a crescent moon shimmered along a stretch of dark ocean water. Tiny waves curled at the tips with white foam, and if you looked very carefully, you could make out a porpoise fin in the far right-hand corner. “She did that one last year. Down in Florida.”

  “It’s pretty,” I said, although I didn’t think it was pretty at all. I thought it was spooky looking and a little bit creepy, too.

  Russell got up to study the painting. “It’s dark,” he said after a minute. “How’re you supposed to see anything in the dark?”

  Silver shrugged. “I guess she saw it in her imagination. She says that’s where all her ideas come from.”

  Russell scowled. Jackson lifted his head as my brother rearranged himself on the floor and then lay back down again.

  Silver straightened her legs in front of her. They were as smooth and slender as a deer’s. “I don’t know if I’m going to stick with cheerleading. I’m not sure if I really like it.” She turned and looked at me. “Have you ever been a cheerleader?”

 
“Me?” I pointed to my chest, trying not to laugh. “No. I’m not exactly the cheerleading type.” It was out before I realized what I had said. “I mean … ” I stammered. “I didn’t mean for that to sound the way—”

  “No,” Silver said. “I think that’s exactly what I don’t like about it. Because it does make you a type. And I don’t want to be a type of anything. You know?”

  I nodded, a little dumbfounded. Didn’t Silver know that her beauty and popularity already made her a type? And not just any type, but the highest, most prized type you could be in middle school?

  “Although not wanting to be a type makes you a certain type anyway, doesn’t it?” Silver sounded thoughtful. “Sort of an anti-type, I guess.” She blinked. “Do you consider yourself any kind of type?”

  I shrugged, reaching for Momma’s bird necklace. “I never really thought about it.”

  “She’s a dork type,” Russell said, without moving.

  I ignored him, zipping the medallion along the silver chain.

  Silver giggled. “You’re definitely not the dork type.”

  Really? She didn’t think I was a dork? I wondered what type she did think I was.

  “I think I’m an animal type,” Silver said. “Especially when it comes to horses. I just love them. I think they’re amazing.”

  I didn’t say anything. Secretly, though, I thought she was right. Silver did have an uncanny way with animals. The run-in with the wasp in Mr. Tunlaw’s room was a perfect example. And I’d never seen anyone ride a horse the way she had last night. It was almost magical.

  She stood up and stretched, arching her perfect body into an impossible curve. “You know, the only way Mom could finally convince me that leaving Florida wouldn’t be the end of the world was when she told me about Roo and Manchester. She understands how much I need to ride.” She pulled a strand of hair between her fingers and studied the ends of it. “Well, I’m going upstairs to shower. And then I’m going to take Manchester out. Why don’t you come with me this time? You and Russell can get on Roo together, so it’s not so scary. I’m telling you, she’s super sweet. Then when we get back, we can all eat that ziti casserole I saw on the counter. My mom makes killer ziti.” She pulled the elastic from around her ponytail and shook out her hair. She sounded as if she was making plans to go to the beach.

  “We don’t really ride horses,” I said. “Russell and me, I mean.”

  “You said that yesterday,” Silver said. “But do you think you could just try it? I wouldn’t lie to you, Wren. Roo is a total angel. Seriously. Manchester’s a little wilder, but Roo is about as relaxed as they come. All she cares about is eating. She’ll just walk real slow with you. Come on, it’ll be fun!”

  My brain started skipping around like crazy. A little part of me felt like I owed Silver because of the whole underwear situation. But the other—much bigger—part of my brain flashed like a red neon stop sign. DON’T GO, it blared in my head. RUN!!!

  “Well,” Silver said, grabbing the staircase railing. “Like I said, I’m going to take a quick shower. Just think about it.”

  I looked over at Russell as Silver disappeared up the stairs. He would be my out. All I had to do was tell Silver that he was afraid of horses again, and being outside in strange places …

  “What do you think, Russell?” I said.

  “Let’s go!” Russell said, scrambling to his feet.

  I stared at him, aghast.

  “We can go on the old fat one!” Russell yelled. “She doesn’t have any teeth!”

  I groaned and slumped down on the couch. I’d just lost my only out. Now I had to go, or risk looking like a chicken in front of Silver.

  “You’re annoying,” I said, poking Russell with my toe.

  “And you’re a butt,” Russell replied.

  I’ll take being a butt, I thought, staring out the window. It’s better than being a chicken.

  At least for today.

  I stood on the opposite side of the barn as Silver led Manchester out of his stall. She spoke softly to him the whole time, cupping his pink nose into her palm. I wondered how she had learned to get animals to trust her like that. Had she ever been afraid of them? Or had she been the type of person that always loved them right from the start?

  The top of Silver’s head came just to the middle of Manchester’s neck, and he stood motionless as Silver saddled him and pulled the belt taut around his waist. He really was a beautiful animal. His honey-gold coat gleamed against his shoulder blades, and the black tuft of hair between his ears looked as soft as butter. Thick muscles rippled in the span of chest above his legs, and his tail flicked back and forth like a switch. Silver slipped the harness over his head, and then moved over to the opposite stall, where Roo stood, munching on a wad of straw. Her head hung low between her front legs, and her salt-and-pepper coat was dull. Manchester’s eyes were wild and glossy; Roo’s had a rheumy quality that gave her an exhausted, worn-out appearance.

  “We’re gonna ride this one, right?” Russell asked, peering into Roo’s stall.

  “Yup,” Silver said.

  “She looks kinda sick today.” Russell sounded worried.

  I nodded silently in agreement.

  Silver laughed and put her lips close to one of Roo’s ears. “You hear that, girl? They think you look sick. How ’bout showing them a little bit of the Roo I know?”

  At the sound of Silver’s voice, Roo lifted her head. Silver stroked the side of her neck and continued talking softly to her. The horse’s gray ears perked forward. She stomped one of her back legs, as if just awaking from a dream. And then she lifted her head toward Silver, and nuzzled her neck.

  “See? All she needs is a little love,” Silver said. “A little extra love and attention. Just like everyone else.”

  I watched in amazement as Silver moved through the barn, grabbing reins, another saddle, and a pair of stirrups. She could probably find her way around this place blindfolded, I thought. When she was done prepping the horses, she snatched two riding helmets from a corner in the barn and held them out to us.

  I took one skeptically. “I thought you said Roo was just going to walk. Why do we have to wear these if she’s going to go slow?”

  Silver shook her head. “Those are the rules, whether you’re walking, running, or sitting. If you’re up on a horse, you have to wear a helmet.”

  Russell pulled his on and snapped the elastic strap around his chin. “Awesome!” He stuck both thumbs up in the air. “I look like Captain Commando!”

  “You do not,” I said, already irritated. “Captain Commando wears a mask, not a riding helmet.”

  “It’s the same thing,” Russell said, jabbing me hard in the ribs. “Besides, who asked you?”

  Aside from the fact that Russell sometimes made me want to pull my hair out, I was glad to be riding with him. His body might have been small and crammed tightly into the saddle in front of me, but it made me feel less frightened. I tried to keep my eyes looking out in front of us, because every time I looked down at the ground, I thought I might throw up. I gripped the reins between my fingers the way Silver showed me, kept my knees squeezed against both sides of Roo’s belly, and concentrated on keeping Russell’s hair, which was sticking out like a cactus plant, away from my mouth.

  “Now, just follow me.” Silver turned all the way around in her saddle, resting her hand on Manchester’s haunches as she spoke. She looked so relaxed, so free up there, that for a moment, I almost forgot I was sitting on top of a horse as we started to amble out into the field. Then Roo stumbled. It was a small, jerking movement, probably her foot just tripping over a stone, but it jostled Russell and me in the saddle.

  “Whoaahh!” Russell shouted, as I clutched the reins. The horse neighed, startled by the loudness of his voice, and picked up her walking pace.

  “Okay now, Russell.” Silver waved her hand in his direction. “Remember what I said about making loud noises. Roo gets scared, just like you would if someone shouted in your
ear. You have to try not to yell, all right?”

  Russell nodded. He was taking this seriously. He had the same expression on his face he got when a brand-new episode of Captain Commando came on.

  “And Wren?” Silver went on. I looked up, my mouth set in a tight line. “You can let go of those reins a little. Roo’s not going to be able to breathe if you pull back like that.”

  I let go of the reins an inch or so.

  “Good,” Silver said. “You can rest them in your lap, too, you know. You don’t have to hold them all the way up against your chest.”

  I lowered the reins another inch.

  Silver grinned. “Okay.” She turned back around in her saddle. “Looks like we’re all set.” She sat up straighter and made a clicking sound with her mouth. Manchester threw his head up in the air and began to trot.

  The high yellow grass in the pasture came up past the horse’s legs and brushed the soles of our sneakers. Above us, the sky was pale blue, dotted with cobblestone clouds. The hot sun hung heavy as a pendulum and the air was still as church. This made taking deep breaths a little harder, but I did it anyway. In. Out. In. Out.

  “You’re breathing on my neck!” Russell said, twisting to glare at me.

  I clutched again at the reins. “Russell. Don’t turn around in the seat like that. You’ll fall.”

  “Well, quit breathing on me!” Russell said. “It feels like a dragon back there.”

  We plodded on, making it about halfway through the pasture without anything terrible happening. Every few minutes or so, Roo would give an irritated, exhausted-sounding snort beneath us, but she didn’t try to run. She probably didn’t have the energy. In front of us, Manchester pranced gaily along, as Silver lifted herself neatly in the saddle. Every so often, as Manchester picked up the pace, Roo’s haunches would quiver, almost as if she remembered doing such a thing a long time ago. But then she would drop her head, reaching out to nibble a passing stalk of grass, and meander forward once more.