Trickster #3 Read online

  Hello!

  Horses were always something that I admired from a distance. To be honest, they scared me. They were so big and had big teeth and big hooves, and … yes, I know it sounds silly, but I always figured horses were out to get me.

  I had a lot to learn.

  I started with a horse barn near my house where the owners were very patient and kind to me; just like they would be with a skittish horse. I learned how to approach a horse, how to make friends, and, eventually, how to ride. It wasn’t scary at all. It was like flying.

  In this book, David already knows about horses, but he has a lot to learn about responsibility. That’s something that most of us struggle with while we’re growing up. If you are going to work with animals, you have to be responsible and kind and willing to try new things. It is always worth the effort.

  Laurie Halse Anderson

  THE VET VOLUNTEER BOOKS

  Fight for Life

  Homeless

  Trickster

  Manatee Blues

  Say Good-bye

  Storm Rescue

  TRICKSTER

  LAURIE HALSE ANDERSON

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thanks to Kimberley Michels, D.V.M., and Judith Tamas, D.V.M. Special thanks to Lynn Willoughby and Glen Michalak of the Delaware Valley College Equestrian Center of Doylestown, Pennsylvania, who run an amazing barn.

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Young Readers Group,

  345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto,

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  Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

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  (a division of Penguin Books Ltd)

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  (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd)

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  Registered Offices: Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  First published in the United States of America by Pleasant Company Publications, 2000

  Published by Puffin Books, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 2007

  6 7 8 9 10

  Copyright © Laurie Halse Anderson, 2000, 2008

  All rights reserved

  CIP DATA IS AVAILABLE

  ISBN: 9781101562888

  Printed in the United States of America

  Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  For my husband, Greg, who makes me laugh

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter One

  One waiting room—totally swept,” I announce, parking the broom against the wall of the clinic. “Can we go now?”

  Brenna Lake turns around at the front door. “Duh, no, David. We can’t go until Mr. Quinn calls.” She sprays window cleaner on the messy nose prints left by a Saint Bernard. “Keep sweeping,” she orders. “I can see dog hair everywhere.”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask. “I did a perfect job.”

  “Yeah, right,” Brenna says.

  We’re on cleaning duty today at Dr. Mac’s Place, the veterinary clinic across the street from my house. I always knew I’d end up working here. I’m close by, I’m great with animals, and people love me. It took a few years of pestering Dr. Mac, the vet, but she finally caved in.

  There are five volunteers: Brenna, Zoe, Sunita, Maggie, and me. Dr. Mac—also known as Dr. J.J. MacKenzie, Maggie and Zoe’s grandmother—brought us together a couple of months ago. The clinic was overrun with sick puppies, and she was desperate. We’ve been regulars ever since.

  We help her with all kinds of cases—real emergency room stuff like surgery and day-to-day things like checkups and shots. The medical details are cool, but sweeping floors is the pits. I try not to clean too much. It’s bad for my health.

  A few more minutes and we are out of here. Today we’re taking a road trip.

  Brenna sprays the next pane of glass. “I don’t know why you’re so excited. All we’re going to do at Quinn’s Stables is shovel manure and bounce along on old horses. What’s the big deal?”

  “What’s the big deal?” I stare at her. Did she really say that? “We’re going to be with horses. That’s the big deal! We’re going to ride, and groom, and—and—everything!”

  My broom falls to the floor with a bang, and Sunita looks up from the receptionist’s desk. She’s been entering addresses into Dr. Mac’s computer. Sunita is the quietest of all of us. She’s probably the smartest, too.

  “Brenna’s teasing you, David,” Sunita says. “I think she’s as excited as you are.”

  “Am not,” Brenna answers.

  “How can you not be excited about riding a horse?” I ask.

  “Look, I’ve ridden before,” Brenna says, rubbing the window harder. “It was the most boring half hour of my life.”

  Brenna is one of those natural kind of girls: old jeans, work boots, save the whales, that kind of stuff. She was the only one who wasn’t totally psyched when Dr. Mac told us we’d be helping out at Quinn’s Stables for a few weeks. I’ll fix that.

  “You had a slowpoke, that was the problem,” I tell her. “You need a good horse. Mr. Quinn has tons of them. But you can’t ride the quarter horse, the one he’s picking up in Maryland today. He’s all mine.”

  “The horse cost a quarter?” Brenna teases.

  “No—it’s a kind of breed. Quarter horses are strong and fast. You’ve probably seen them on TV. They use them in rodeos for roping and barrel racing. Has to be a smart horse to do that.”

  “Mr. Quinn won’t let you ride a fast, expensive horse,” Brenna scoffs. “Not with your history.”

  “What history?” Sunita asks.

  “Didn’t you hear what he did?” Brenna puts down the window cleaner and paper towels. “It was in the newspaper last year. David was riding with a bunch of people at Quinn’s Stables and took off from the group. It took half the police force to find him.”

  “That was you?” Sunita asks. “No—even you wouldn’t do something like that.”

  It was a little more complicated than Brenna makes it sound. It happened at the end of fourth grade. Fourth grade stank. I wish I could sweep up the whole year and throw it in the trash. My dad left when I was in fourth grade.

  Dad was the one who taught me how to ride. He went to high school with Mr. Quin
n, and they had been good friends ever since. Dad had me up on a horse before I learned to walk. Riding was our thing to do together.

  I had been thinking about Dad during that famous ride, the one that got me in trouble. He and Mom had separated a few months earlier. He kept promising to visit me, but he hardly ever made it. He promised lots of things that never happened.

  Mom was the one who took me to Quinn’s that day. She knew how bummed out I was. The split was hard on her, too. I wasn’t planning on getting in trouble. I must have lost track of what I was doing. I was just thinking about all the things I wanted to tell Dad, and the next thing I knew, my group had vanished. It really wasn’t my fault that they left me behind like that. I tried a couple of shortcuts, but they didn’t work like I thought they would. We ended up at the mall, of all places. I couldn’t do anything right that day.

  When Mr. Quinn arrived with the police, he didn’t want to hear my side of the story. I should have paid attention, blah, blah. I didn’t listen, blah, blah. I wasn’t responsible, blah, blah, blah. And that was the end of horse riding for David Hutchinson.

  Until today.

  Dr. Mac said the magic words, and Mr. Quinn is giving me another chance.

  I really want to make a good impression. The stable is shorthanded because it’s final exam time at the high school. This is my chance. If Mr. Quinn sees how hard I can work, he might let me ride there again. That would rock.

  Brenna starts on the window next to the front door. “If you don’t sweep the floor properly, the only thing you’ll be riding is that broom.”

  “That’s so funny, I forgot to laugh.”

  I sweep the fur balls behind the potted plant. No one will see them there.

  “Is it safe to come out?” a voice calls from the kitchen.

  Zoe peeks through the door that connects the clinic to Dr. Mac’s house. “Is that rat gone?” she asks.

  Zoe’s a little high-strung, but she’s cool. She’s hanging here for a while so her mom can move to Hollywood. Her parents are divorced, and she never sees her dad. I can relate to that. Zoe was raised in New York City—excuse me, Manhattan—and living here has been something of a shock for her. Like when a ferret came in earlier, she freaked.

  “A ferret is not a rat. It’s not even a rodent,” Sunita explains with a sigh. “Ferrets are related to weasels. Relax, Zoe.”

  “It has little beady eyes,” Zoe says. “I hate those.” She eases into the room and closes the door behind her. “Your mom called again, David. That’s the fourth time. You really should call her back.”

  “She probably wants me to take out the trash,” I say. “I’ll call her later. Hey, Zoe, what do you get when you cross a horse with the house next door?”

  She rolls her eyes. “I don’t know, David, what?”

  “A nei-ei-ghbor!”

  “How funny. Did you think that up by yourself?”

  The door to the Doolittle examination room swings open.

  “The rat! Yikes!” Zoe dashes back into the house just as her cousin Maggie walks out. Close behind Maggie is a college-age guy named Erik holding Rascal-the-ferret’s carry cage. Dr. Mac brings up the rear and motions for the owner to go to the receptionist’s desk.

  “How’s Rascal?” I ask.

  “He’ll make it,” Dr. Mac answers. “No broken bones. No internal bleeding. He is one frightened ferret, though. That was quite a fall he took. It’s a good thing he landed on a hammock.”

  Maggie peeks in the cage. “Don’t be such a knucklehead,” she cautions the ferret. “Next time you’ll really get hurt.”

  “He went right through the screen window,” Erik explains as he writes out a check. “He just flew. Sometimes I think he has more energy than brains. What am I supposed to do—keep the windows closed all the time?”

  Dr. Mac takes the check from him and hands him a brochure.

  “This will give you some tips on how to make your apartment safer. Make sure there are no openings around the pipes under your sink, or he could squeeze in and get trapped in the wall. Don’t let him chew on rubber toys, because rubber bits can block his intestines. And he needs a collar with an identification tag and bell, too. That way you won’t accidentally step on him.”

  “Sounds like work,” Erik says as he folds the brochure and sticks it in his pocket.

  “It’s worth it,” Dr. Mac assures him.

  As Rascal and Erik walk out the door, Dr. Mac glances at the clock. It’s almost four. “Where’s Lucas? It’s a long drive to Maryland and back, but knowing him, he started before dawn.”

  “He’s probably at the stables wondering where we are,” I suggest.

  “No way,” Maggie says. “You know Mr. Quinn. He’s not the kind of guy to stand around waiting for anything. He said he’d call when he got back.”

  “We’ll be patient a little longer,” Dr. Mac says as she comes out from behind the counter. “I imagine you’re excited about riding again, David.”

  “Don’t get him started,” Brenna warns.

  I have to grin. “Excited? Try excited times a million! Thanks, Dr. Mac—you know, for talking to Mr. Quinn for me.”

  Dr. Mac rolls down the sleeves of her shirt and buttons the cuffs. “He didn’t take too much convincing. He told me you were one of the best young riders he had ever seen. I hear that you can even ride bareback.”

  He told her that? “A little. Mr. Quinn taught me. He was teaching me how to jump, too, when I, uh, took that little side trip.”

  “That’s in the past,” Dr. Mac says firmly. “Use your head, be responsible, and Mr. Quinn will be glad to have you around.”

  Brenna squints and peers out the front window. “Excuse me, Dr. Mac?” she says.

  “What, Brenna?” Dr. Mac answers.

  “Does Mr. Quinn drive a blue pickup truck with a big dent in the side?”

  “A blue truck, yes. But I don’t recall a dent.”

  Brenna points toward the parking lot. “Then someone else just pulled in towing a horse trailer.”

  I race to the door. “It looks like they were in an accident!”

  The truck and horse trailer are a mess. There is a long crease running down the side of the truck and along the side of the shiny silver horse trailer. The small glass window on one side of the trailer is smashed to bits, and the fender over the wheel is just about flattened.

  I open the door and run outside. Mr. Quinn is already out of his truck. He looks worried.

  The horse in the trailer neighs, a high-pitched scream for help. It sounds freaked out, or hurt, or both. Loud bangs rattle the trailer. The horse is kicking the walls of the trailer—hard.

  “Get the doc!” Mr. Quinn shouts.

  Chapter Two

  We got hit on the turnpike,” Lucas Quinn explains to Dr. Mac. “A car swerved, clipped the side of my truck, and got the trailer, too. Darn fool took off. Didn’t stick around to see what happened.”

  “At least the trailer didn’t flip over,” Dr. Mac says.

  “It leaned pretty hard, though. Knocked the horse around.”

  We hear more loud bangs from inside the trailer. The horse sounds like he’s about to burst through the walls. He’s whinnying loudly.

  “We have to get him out,” Dr. Mac says. “He’s panicking. Did you unload him after the accident?”

  Mr. Quinn shakes his head. “No, I checked and he seemed fine. I wanted to take him straight home, but then he started to tear it up in there. So I decided to come straight here. He’s going to need a sedative. You’d better take a look at him.”

  “I bet he feels trapped,” I say. Both adults turn and look at me. “He might be afraid something else is going to hit him, the way the car did.”

  BANG! BANG! I hope the walls of that trailer are stronger than they look.

  Dr. Mac points to the far side of the house. “Back the trailer up to the gate over there,” she says. “We’ll unload him into the backyard, where it’s fenced. He’ll feel better if he can walk on grass instea
d of the driveway.”

  Mr. Quinn gets in the truck and carefully maneuvers the trailer backward. It rocks back and forth as the horse shifts nervously, snorting and stamping his hooves. When the end of the trailer is up against the gate, Mr. Quinn cuts the engine and gets out of the truck again.

  Dr. Mac glances at the five of us. “You all go through the house and wait on the deck. Horses are unpredictable, and I don’t want you too close. If he’s spooked or in a lot of pain, he may lash out with his hooves and cause some real damage.”

  “You mean we can’t watch?” Brenna asks.

  “You can watch, but you have to stay on the deck.”

  By the time we sprint through the house to the deck, Dr. Mac and Mr. Quinn are in the backyard. Dr. Mac’s cat, Socrates, joins us to watch the show. He climbs onto the wicker rocking chair near Sunita.

  “I’ve untied his halter from the ropes in the trailer,” Mr. Quinn tells Dr. Mac. “As soon as we open the back gate, he’s free to come out.”

  “What do you think the horse will do?” Sunita whispers to me.

  “He’s going to come out of there like he was shot from a cannon,” I reply.

  “Let’s do it,” Dr. Mac says.

  Mr. Quinn unlocks the back gate, lowers the loading ramp, then quickly gets out of the way.

  The scared horse stops stomping and whinnying for a second, then he cautiously backs out of the trailer. As soon as his hooves touch the grass, he twists in the air and gallops at full speed to the end of the yard—awesome!

  His coat is chestnut, a rich brown color, and his mane looks like someone combed fudge through it. Powerful leg muscles ripple under his shiny coat as he runs, and his black hooves shine in the sun.

  I really want to shout at the top of my lungs. This is the most amazing horse I have ever seen! But I bite the inside of my mouth to keep quiet. No sense making the doc and Mr. Quinn angry at me. “I’m going to ride that horse,” I vow under my breath.

  “What did you say?” Maggie asks.

  I shake my head. “Nothing.”