Gee Whiz Read Free Page A

bareback bronc riding—I like saddle broncs myself, but Beebop is more quick and limber than he is strong, so he’s good at this. I think it’s easier on him, too.”
    He pointed to the third picture, the one where Beebop was arched upward practically like he was going to break in two. He said, “He got the high score that time. He’s good.”
    I said, “Do you ever ride him?”
    Jerry laughed. “No way on earth. Never been on him once.”
    I wondered how you could have a horse and not want to ride him.
    Another interesting thing about Jerry was that he talked to parents just like they were regular people. After supper, we went into the living room the way we always did, and Danny didn’t leave to go home, the way he always did. The two of them sat down easy as you please. Mom picked up her knitting and everyone kept talking about this rodeo season and others gone by. It got so boring that I went to my room and read the book we were assigned in English class, which was
Spoon River Anthology
. It wasn’t very long, but it was all poems, and the poems were all spoken by dead people in the cemetery. Dad would not have liked this book at all, but I thought it was spooky and interesting because it seemed like it was about people who finally got to say what they had always wanted to say after years of saying only what they were supposed to.
    It was my job that night to check on the horses before bed. Rusty, our dog, was sitting on the back porch, and walked along at my side. First, I went to the geldings. It was cold enough for me to wear my jacket, so they were standing in a group under the trees, their tails facing northwest, because that was the direction the breeze was coming from. I openedthe gate and went over to them. Their manes were ruffling and their coats were fluffed up. Marcus and Lincoln stayed where they were, but Blue and Jack came over, and I snaked my fingers into Blue’s coat, which had a soft, warm feel. I gave everyone a couple of pieces of carrot and a scratch around the ears. Jack sniffed my pockets but wasn’t pushy. I didn’t mind if he was curious, just if he showed bad manners. The mares were farther away—not even visible, down in the hollow above the creek, taking shelter from the wind there. I didn’t call them. I just went through the gate and looked down the hillside. Dark, quiet shapes, maybe a tail swishing back and forth in the night. Rusty stayed beside me. I knew if there was anything suspicious down there, she would take off and check it out, but she only sniffed the breeze. Then I went into the barn and looked at Beebop. He was standing quietly in his stall, having finished all of his hay. While I was looking at him, he blew air out of his nostrils, sighed, and shifted his weight. Then he flicked his ears toward me in a friendly way and made a low nicker. It was hard to believe that this was the wild horse in the pictures. I did think he needed a carrot, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to hold my hand out to him, so I tossed it into his feed bin.
    Even though they had gone to Danny’s place the night before, and Danny’s place was a twenty-minute drive, Danny and Jerry were sitting at the table when I got up for breakfast. It was barely light outside, and they were already wolfing down scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. Danny pushed a plate toward me. I said, “Where’s Mom?”
    Danny said, “She’s still sleeping. Jerry cooked.”
    I tried to pretend this was no big deal.
    Jerry said, “Dan made the toast.”
    “That’s why it’s burned, then.”
    Danny said, “I like it that way.”
    Well, maybe.
    The point of their coming early was that in order to introduce Beebop to Blue, Jack, Lincoln, and Marcus, we were going to set out eight piles of hay—very nice, delicious piles—and Blue, Jack, Marcus, and Lincoln would consider themselves so rich in hay that they would not mind another gelding joining them for breakfast. I couldn’t help thinking of those pictures of