Free Unhappy Appy by Dandi Daley Mackall Page B

Hawk explained. “Mason can ride Towaco. Lately, my Appaloosa will not do anything but walk. He can be barnsour with me and trot back to the barn whether I am ready or not. But you can trust him.”
    â€œYou can trust Nickers too.” I knew my horse would be just fine with Mason if Madeline weren’t there.
    â€œHawk’s horse is that other one in the barn,” Dad explained. “Mason did seem to like him.”
    â€œI don’t know, Jack.” Madeline Edison looked like she’d rather ride lions than horses. “Could Winnie work with that one?“
    â€œSure!” Dad exclaimed.
    They still hadn’t looked my way, even though I was all of five feet away from them. Maybe I really was invisible.

“What do you think, Mason?” Dad asked, squatting down by the couch to Mason-level. “Want to ride that pretty, spotted horse?”
    Mason smiled, but his gaze went past Dad to our worn-out carpet. He scooted off the couch to touch an old carpet stain, staring at it as if it were the most wonderful thing in the world.
    Dad stood up. “So we’ll try again tomorrow! This time with Towaco?”
    Madeline sighed and nodded.
    Dad drove Madeline and Mason home after Lizzy fed us toasted tuna sandwiches.
    â€œShe seems nice,” Hawk said after they’d gone.
    â€œI like Madeline,” Lizzy threw in, picking up plates and disappearing into the kitchen.
    â€œYou like everybody,” I muttered.
    Hawk yawned. “It is nice that your dad has a friend.”
    Something twisted inside me. “Dad doesn’t need her for a friend! He has lots of friends.” I imagined them together in the green van right then. I didn’t like it. This whole Madeline-Dad thing was out of control, like a runaway horse.
    â€œBut, Winnie,” Hawk reasoned, “your dad must get lonely sometimes. She seems like a nice friend. That is all I was saying.”
    A nice friend? Her? “You don’t know her at all. Madeline Edison is . . . is . . .” I scrambled for something—anything. “She’s . . . divorced! And I feel sorry for Mason.”
    Hawk got up from the couch. “I need to call Summer.”

    She was still on the phone when I got out of the bathtub.
    We settled in for the night, Lizzy and Hawk in the beds and me on the floor between them. “I can sleep on the floor,” Hawk offered for the tenth time.
    â€œHonest, Hawk,” I assured her, “I love your sleeping bag. Besides, even Peter Lory agrees this is the best spot.” The bird had fluttered around the bedroom before selecting the foot of the sleeping bag as his bed.
    When we’d all gotten quiet, Lizzy whispered, “Hawk, it’s fun having you here. I love the flowers your parents sent. And doesn’t Mason rock!” She rolled over onto her back. I couldn’t see her, but I knew she’d still have her eyes open.
    â€œSo God, thanks for letting Hawk stay with us, and for making flowers smell like that, and for that little dimple in Mason’s cheek when he looked at my lizard. Oh, and I love the webbed feet on Geri’s favorite frog. And thanks for having Robert say hi to Alan so they’re not mad at each other anymore. And it was super when—”
    I glanced at Hawk, hoping she knew Lizzy well enough to know the prayers weren’t for show. I’ve been eavesdropping on Lizzy’s prayers my whole life, and I don’t think anything of it when she switches over from talking to praying. But I didn’t want Hawk to think it was weird.
    Hawk stared at the ceiling, her hands behind her head. When Lizzy finished, Hawk turned on her CD. Soft night sounds filled the room, recorded crickets and dozens of birds. It reminded me of Madeline’s bathroom, but I didn’t say so.
    After a few minutes Lizzy was making her little snoring sound. Hawk rolled on her side and looked down at me.