Free Taming the Star Runner by S. E. Hinton Page B

book.”
    â€œWhat book?”
    â€œI wrote this book and sent it to a publisher and it’s going to get published. So I was trying to celebrate.”
    Ken looked skeptical. “Sorry, kid, I haven’t gotten the impression you could write a compound sentence. You wrote a book?”
    â€œYeah, I write all the time. I’m really good at it too. Want to see the letter they sent me?”
    He pulled the crushed envelope from his back pocket. A little mashed since he’d slept in his clothes, but still in one piece.
    â€œYou wrote a book all by yourself?” Ken scanned the letter quickly.
    â€œYeah, and I talked to Mrs.—Ms. Carmichael yesterday and she’s coming here to talk about it.”
    â€œWhy didn’t you call me? I’d have joined you in a light beer or something. This is great!”
    Finally there was someone to get excited with him. “I tried to, but you were in a meeting or something. And Mom wasn’t home. Nobody was here. I just wanted to move for a while.”
    â€œYou could have left a message—you haven’t signed anything yet?”
    Travis shook his head as he lit up a cigarette.
    â€œDon’t sign anything until I read it.”
    â€œOkay. But I want to talk to the publisher by myself, when she gets here.” Travis looked for an ashtray for his match and ended up stuffing it in his pocket.
    â€œSure. Sure. I can’t believe this! I wonder if it’s some kind of record, at your age? Call your mom.”
    Ken paused, then said, “You know, you could be dead from those things by the time you’re fifty.”
    â€œHopefully,” Travis said, in a very good imitation, “I’ll be too senile to care.”
    â€œFlirting with death,” Ken said. “I remember doing that.” But he didn’t sound mad.
    Travis remembered, on his way to the kitchen phone, that he’d meant to let Ken know he was sorry about last night—he was, too, because in a funny kind of way he cared about his uncle now, more than just as someone who was keeping him out of a juvenile home. Somehow, he thought he had, though nothing had been said.
    He called Mom and listened impatiently to her dazed exclamations, and spent more time than he should have on a call to Joe, who mainly wanted to know how much money he would get, would he sell it to the movies, would Travis get to be in
People
magazine?
    Although Travis had asked himself the same questions, he hung up peeved and restless. Nobody, absolutely nobody, seemed to grasp what this meant. It meant he really was a
writer
.
    Well, hell, he thought,
he’d
known that since second grade.
    He got cleaned up and went down to the barn—he was anxious to see Casey (he still half thought, maybe half hoped, he wasn’t in love with her)—and he was anxious to get away from Christopher, who was nagging him to play trucks. Ten minutes of playing trucks was all Travis could stand.
    He wasn’t surprised to see that the Star Runner was still in his paddock, in spite of the rain—in his stall he kicked the walls until the rest of the horses were nervous wrecks. Casey kept putting him in the stall to eat, she said he had to be stalled at the shows so he had to get used to it, but it had to be pretty bad weather for her to bring him in for a long time.
    God, he’s big, Travis thought, hurrying by him. The Star Runner stood staring over the top of the gate. You didn’t notice how big he was until you stood next to him, because of his proportions. Nothing gangly, or too heavy—a perfectly streamlined horse. Only big.
    He finally noticed Travis, whirled, and flashed across the paddock, splattering mud.
    â€œThanks a lot,” Travis muttered, brushing off his jacket, then wiping his hands on his jeans. He jogged into the barn and almost bumped into the white pony.
    â€œHey, Silver Hawk, what are you doin’, wandering around loose?” He looked around,