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must be as excited as I am to get this race going. She paws the ground and jerks her head up and down.
    Brooks, a fourth grader and one of Colt’s best friends, is the official starter. “Horses to your marks!” he shouts.
    â€œIt’s not auto racing, Brooks,” Colt teases.
    â€œStart your engines!” Brooks yells.
    â€œNot funny!” Larissa whines.
    â€œGo!”
    Dream and I explode from the starting line. Most of the thundering hooves I hear are behind me. Bullet and Colt have already dropped back. Larissa must have had trouble with her high-strung horse because I can’t even see her in my side vision.
    For the first quarter of the arena, Rashawn takes the lead. Dusty’s strides are so long he barely has to trot to stay ahead. After that, Dusty wears out and slows to a walk.
    The two bay mares are running neck and neck. They’re even with Cassie and me until their riders start bumping into each other.
    â€œMove over, Aiden!” Kaitlyn shouts.
    â€œ You scoot over!” Aiden shouts back.
    Their squabble makes them drop back in the race.
    That leaves Cassie and me in the lead coming around the curve to the home stretch. Little Misty’s legs move so fast that I see a blur when I glance at them.
    Dream is fast, but I think she’s fading. She tosses her head and snorts. When I try to settle her down, she gets even more restless. She’s acting like she’s tired of racing.
    We drop farther behind Cassie and Misty. Kaitlyn’s bay mare whizzes by me. Then Aiden’s horse.
    â€œFirst place!” Brooks yells. “The winner is . . . Cassie Bennet! And her pony, what’s-its-name.”
    â€œMisty!” Cassie shouts.
    Kaitlyn gallops across the finish line. “Second place!” she cries. “At least I beat Aiden.”
    The rest of us trail in one by one. I think Aiden comes in third, but it doesn’t really matter to me. Only first place counts. The winner.
    And the winner isn’t Dream.
    Some of the other fourth graders have come out to watch. They cheer and shout out Cassie’s name. “Cassie! Cassie! Cassie!”
    Colt rides up on Bullet. He’s wearing a cowboy hat, and he tips it at Cassie. “Mighty fine race, Miss Cassie,” he says in a lousy cowboy accent.
    Cassie is laughing like it’s all just a fun game to her. She does a fake bow from Misty’s back. “Thank you, thank you! But Misty is the real winner. Not little ol’ me.”
    Larissa storms up on foot, dragging her million-dollar horse behind her. I don’t even know what happened to her. “I cannot believe Phony Pony won this stupid race.”
    â€œDon’t take it so hard, Larissa,” Cassie says. “Who knew ponies were so fast? Hey! Maybe that’s why they called it the Pony Express.”
    I laugh at her Pony Express joke. Then I congratulate Misty and Cassie. I’m really trying to be a good sport. I even tell Larissa she ran a good race. She growls something under her breath and storms off.
    Everybody else thanks me for starting such a cool race. Several third graders have shown up. They claim they’ll faithfully carry on the wonderful tradition of the Fourth-Grade Horse Race.
    But inside, all I want to do is go home.
    Dream lost the race. I wanted everybody to see how fast she is. And instead, I’m right back where I started. I am a loser. And even though Dream could never be a loser, everybody thinks she is.

9

    Tricks
    Once I’m home, I brush Dream and cool her off. She’s sweatier than usual, so it takes me a long time. I tell her that I love her and that she did great. But I know nobody else is thinking about how great my horse is.
    Pinto Cat tries to hop up onto Dream’s back like she always does. But Dream shakes her off.
    That’s a first.
    â€œSorry, Pinto Cat,” I say.
    The calico struts away, tail high and switching like she’s scolding her friend.
    I