Free Made That Way by Susan Ketchen

“Apparently the big toe is very important for dancing.”
    I press deep into my pillows and close my eyes. “Poor Taylor. That would be like me not being able to ride.” I cover my face with my arm.
    â€œShe has to go off the growth hormone?” asks Dad. Now it’s his turn to act as though I’m not there. “They told us there weren’t any side effects.”
    â€œI’ll look into it,” says Mom. “I did bring the injector though, in case I needed to give her her medication.”
    â€œDon’t you dare,” I say.
    â€œYou don’t mind if you stay short, Munchkin?” says Dad.
    â€œWhat’s so bad about being short, compared to being lame forever?” I sniff.
    â€œHoney, don’t talk through your arm,” says Mom, “we can’t hear you.”
    I flop my arm onto the bed and glare at my parents. I’m so ready to hate them, but then I see their concern and feel their pain on top of my pain and it’s too much so I have to close my eyes again. I hate being a kid. This will be the worst part of staying short—people will continue to treat me as though I’m six. I have to find a way of dealing with this or I’ll go out of my mind.

CHAPTER NINE
    Kansas is sitting on my bed. Mom and Dad have gone home to “freshen up”, but the way they were looking at each other I think they were ready for one of their “making up” sessions that happen after they’ve had an argument. Whatever. At least I won’t be at home pretending I don’t notice anything.
    Kansas and I are whispering because Taylor is back from surgery and we don’t want to wake her. She’s hidden behind the curtain which is fine with me, I don’t want to see her foot or what’s left of it.
    I can see that Kansas isn’t comfortable in the hospital. Her shoulders are scrunched up around her ears and she jumps every time an announcement is made on the loudspeaker. Plus her eyes are shifty, which never ever happens at the barn.
    I know she’ll be more comfortable if she can talk about horses, so I ask her how Brooklyn is doing and she looks even more uneasy and she thinks a long time before she opens her mouth to say anything.
    â€œI think he’s very smart,” she says, and when she sees my big smile she adds, “which isn’t always a good thing.”
    â€œIt’s good in people,” I say.
    â€œIt took me fifteen minutes to get a halter on him this morning,” she says.
    â€œWhat field was he in? Was he out with Electra?”
    â€œHe was in his stall.”
    I can’t imagine Kansas chasing a horse around a box stall for fifteen minutes. She won’t be feeling very good about herself. I don’t know what to say.
    â€œThen I lunged him,” says Kansas. “I swear he was sound at the beginning but after two minutes he was so lame he was almost falling over. Then I put him back in his stall and run-out paddock and he was sound again.”
    â€œOh no. I thought Declan fixed him.” There is that small matter of the unicorn horn stuck in his foot that I don’t want to talk about.
    â€œThat’s what I thought. But we have to get the vet out to do his teeth anyway, so maybe she can have a thorough look at him. Probably he’ll be fine. He’s just got a bruised sole.”
    She doesn’t sound convinced. I’m more and more sure she doesn’t even like him.
    I feel like I’m going to cry. Nothing is going right.
    â€œAnd Taylor lost her toe,” I say, sniffing. “She’ll never dance again.”
    I reach for Kansas’s hand. I’ve never held her hand before. It’s rough and calloused and strong, not like my mom’s or even my dad’s hand but maybe like my grandpa’s. For a second I think she’s going to cry, too. She stares at me like I’m an orphaned kitten. “Oh, Sylvia,” she says.