Castaway Colt by Terri Farley

minute before the tardy bell.
    Ann gave her a thumbs-up as Miss Day entered the room.
    Darby fanned her face with one hand while she dug for her homework with the other.
    Racing in that close to the bell was embarrassing. She didn’t want her teacher to think she was always behind.
    But Miss Day seemed pleased when Darby turned in her writing sample. And later, Darby managed to make a good point in history class when her teacher called on her.
    She didn’t even stare when her cousin repeated yesterday’s milk-chugging exhibition during Nutrition Break, because she and Ann were talking about horses.
    â€œWe train therapy horses,” Ann was explaining.
    Darby heard a note of pride in the girl’s voice that hadn’t been there when they talked about soccer or school.
    â€œFor kids with disabilities, or personal problems?” Darby asked, thinking of the HARP program Sam Forster had told her about.
    â€œKids or adults who need horses,” Ann said. “Wekeep it vague on purpose so we just have to be picky about the horses, not people who get them. We mostly use rescue horses—any age, any breed—with ‘kind eyes.’ That’s how my parents decide whether to take them in.”
    â€œIs that what you guys did in Nevada, too?” Darby asked.
    She couldn’t think of a much better profession than helping horses and people at the same time.
    â€œNo, we raised cattle— went broke raising cattle, according to my dad. It was half my grandpa’s ranch. He made the mistake of selling Shan Stonecrow a horse, too,” Ann reminded Darby of Hoku’s last owner. “Anyway, when we left Nevada, my parents were so burned out, they thought they’d never want another ranch.
    â€œBut being full-time tourists didn’t last long, and with the money they got from our old place—which Toby, my little brother, and I didn’t approve of selling, by the way—they bought a house and a little spread and we started training horses.”
    â€œThat is so cool,” Darby said.
    Â 
    The rest of the morning went smoothly, and Darby felt satisfied with her second day of school. At first.
    It was only when she was on her way to P.E., without Ann, that Darby realized she’d somehow ended up trailing behind her cousin and her friends, just like she had yesterday.
    Darby hung back, hoping for invisibility.
    When they reached P.E., she’d have to stand right beside the big girl, again.
    Darby told herself not to be intimidated. If she really was the feisty flea that could make a big body squirm, she’d use yesterday’s roll call mistake and call her cousin not Dew shell , but Duckie.
    She dropped back a few steps, resolving to do just that, but only in the privacy of her mind.
    Darby’s determination to remain unnoticed worked until she heard a word she couldn’t ignore.
    â€œAll Babe cares about is finding that horse ,” Duckie scoffed.
    Stormbird! Her cousin must be talking about the lost white colt.
    Darby closed the space between them with a few long steps.
    â€œShe should never have offered a reward,” Duckie went on. “I mean, all these strange people are calling and showing up like bats out of a belfry.”
    It took Darby a second to realize what her cousin meant. Wasn’t the expression, Bats in your belfry ? Meaning you were crazy?
    She shrugged to herself. So what if Duckie got the phrase wrong? Darby decided she couldn’t very well blame Duckie for that, when she often did something similar. She sometimes mispronounced words that she’d read but never heard.
    And now one of the girls walking ahead wasasking about Yawn. Jan, Darby corrected herself.
    It wasn’t easy to tell from the back, but Darby thought she remembered calling that girl’s name yesterday. Selena. Darby thought it was because the girl appeared as dark and sleek as a seal.
    â€œI’d love it if we could all hang around