Free Gift Horse by Dandi Daley Mackall Page B

small suitcase I’d brought from Wyoming. I could hardly wait for school to be out for Christmas so Dad would let me start spending nights in the barn.
    There were more reasons why I couldn’t wait to get out of school. Summer had made a sales chart and posted it big as life in Ms. Brumby’s room. Each day we had to record how many rolls of wrapping paper we’d sold. I tried not to let it bother me, but I was the only one with all zeros.
    Just to get Summer off my back, I decided I’d try to sell a couple of rolls. Then, if we really did raise enough money to go to Cedar Point, I wouldn’t have to feel guilty.

    On Friday I stomped snow off my boots and headed straight for Pat’s class before school.
    She acted glad to see me. “Winnie! I was just praying for you and that horse. Did you come by to bring me those assignments?”
    I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten about them . . . again. I shook my head. I should have done them. And I should have gotten Barker’s notes too.
    I changed the subject. “Pat, our class is selling Christmas wrapping paper. Would you—?”
    She laughed. “ ’Fraid you’re barking up the wrong tree, no offense! I made that mistake already—all that money for that little bit of paper on the roll! Mighty pretty, but whoo-ee!”
    â€œYou already bought paper . . . from someone else?” I’d never even thought of that. She must have known I’d be selling too.
    â€œLet’s see here . . . Brian, Barker, and a roll from Summer. Wish I’d unrolled the paper before unrolling my bankroll.”
    â€œBut I haven’t even sold one single roll, Pat.”
    â€œSorry! Must’ve had me a dozen or two kiddos try to sell me paper this week alone.”
    Kids streamed into the classroom. One of them edged between us and asked Pat something about the final.
    I wandered off to Ms. Brumby’s room. Couldn’t Pat have bought one roll from me? Would it have killed her?
    Instead I had to trail into Ms. Brumby’s room just as the bell rang and get in the “reporting line.” Ahead of me, Kaylee wrote a 1 in her box. Grant wrote 6. When it was my turn, I filled in the square the way I’d filled in every other square—with a big fat goose egg. No offense.

Saturday night Hawk called from Florida. As soon as I heard her voice, I wanted to say a million things—that I missed her, that Mason and Nickers and I missed Towaco, that I wished she’d come home and help me with Gracie.
    Instead I said, “Hi, Hawk. Having a good time?”
    â€œI miss Peter Lory,” she said. “He would love this balcony.” Peter Lory is her favorite bird, a red chattering lory she named after an old actor, Peter Lorre. I’ve never seen him, but Hawk loves him in black-and-white crime movies.
    â€œHow’s Towaco?” I asked, imagining the Appy with a Florida sunburn.
    â€œTowaco and I prefer Ohio,” Hawk admitted.
    I tried to fight feeling happy about that. But as soon as I’d stopped worrying about her trailer in the snowstorm, I’d started worrying that she’d love Florida and want to stay there. I was glad she liked cold, snowy Ohio better.
    Neither of us said anything. I could hear her breathing and birds chirping out on the balcony.
    Finally Hawk asked, “How are you, Winnie?”
    I started to say fine. I’d played it safe with Hawk since the first time we met, when she was known only as Victoria Hawkins. She’d been guarded too. But we’d started breaking through that stuff. It was no time to go backward. “Not so good.”
    â€œTell me everything,” Hawk said.
    So I did. I told her about my gift horse and the mysterious Topsy-Turvy-Double-U. I told her about what the vet said and how Dad was acting, never missing an opportunity to remind me that Gracie wouldn’t make it. I talked about Mason and how