Made That Way by Susan Ketchen Read Free Book Online Page B

down for a nap. I hope I don’t dream, I don’t have the strength to deal with the unicorn right now. I wake up when I hear my mom’s car clanking into the garage, followed by voices on the front walk. My head still aches. I don’t want company, but I recognize the sounds of Auntie Sally, then Taylor. Slowly I lever myself off the bed. I open the drapes, blink hard to focus, hear Taylor tapping at my door and tell her to come in.
    â€œYou okay?” says Taylor.
    â€œI just had a little nap.”
    â€œA nap? What are you—four?”
    I’m surprised to hear Taylor sounding sarcastic like her older sister Stephanie. Perhaps sarcasm is something that occurs naturally in mid-adolescence. I’ll know soon enough: as soon as I officially enter puberty my mother will provide all the information I never wanted to know about my next developmental stage. Maybe there will be scientific studies showing the link between estrogen and sarcasm. A shiver goes through me. Estrogen treatment is the next phase, once the growth hormone has done its job. Who knows what side-effects will come with that.
    Taylor does one of her highland dancing stretches while surveying my room, or perhaps it’s a ballet move. She’s wearing shoes that look like ballet flats, little canvas things with thin soles. She lifts on and off the points of her toes and spies the horse stickers on my light switch. “Oh I like those—where’d you get them?”
    â€œThe Dollar Store,” I say.
    â€œDid you notice if they had any angel things?”
    I try to remember. All I ever notice is horse things. “I guess.”
    â€œIt’s not far from here is it?”
    â€œFive minutes on my bike.”
    â€œDouble me,” says Taylor.
    â€œI’m not allowed to double,” I say, much too weakly. I know how this is going to go. Taylor is a year older than me and difficult to resist at the best of times, and this is not the best of times. On the other hand, I still feel guilty about drawing Taylor into the dream with the unicorn so if I can help her redecorate her bedroom it will go a long way towards making amends.
    â€œNo one will know,” says Taylor. “Our moms are having a glass of wine on the patio. We’ll be back before they notice.”
    Taylor takes me by the arm and drags me out to the garage. This would be a good time, I think, to start acting like a boss mare. Kansas has told me all about herd dynamics. Hambone rules by being a bully; Kansas says the mares go along with him but deep down they resent it and eventually they’ll make him pay. When Hambone is not out in the pasture, Electra is the boss mare, but she’s subtle about it, so Photon wants to follow her around. I can’t imagine Taylor wanting to follow me around. If I stand up to her, she’ll escalate and treat me like a baby. Electra has more indirect methods for being a boss mare, but for the life of me I can’t imagine subtlety diverting Taylor. She is clearly on a mission. She has already seated herself astride the carrier behind my bike seat. “Giddee-up!” she says.
    It takes a while for me to get used to the extra weight on the back of my bike and then there’s the backward pull from Taylor’s hands on the top of my shoulders, but Taylor says she’s ridden this way a million times with no problems. In my peripheral vision I can see Taylor’s legs spread out to the sides, toes not pointed for a change, but turned up to stay off the road. The bike wobbles a few times, but despite my headache, I get the hang of it and by the time we reach the Dollar Store everything seems to be under pretty good control.
    I lock up the bike and follow Taylor into the store. I tag along, feeling like a puppy. I’m not pleased with myself. It’s difficult to be a boss mare. Even difficult for Kansas under certain circumstances it seems, and she’s had years of experience. I