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muck out the yard and fertilize bushes and trees. We have the healthiest trees in town.
    When I’m done, I walk the fence again, checking posts and planks. Even when I’m feeling down, I love being around my horse. I feel better simply being close to her. And I think more clearly when I talk to Dream.
    I pick up a soft-bristle brush and go back to grooming Dream. Right about now in every house with a fourth grader in Hamilton, families will be talking about Cassie and Misty winning the race. The other kids will fuss over Misty at horsemanship tomorrow. And I’m glad. At least, part of me is glad. I’m happy for Misty and for Cassie. I really am. If Dream and I couldn’t win that race, I’d want Cassie to.
    But I can’t stop wishing people were talking about Dream and how special my horse is.
    Maybe I could teach Dream a few tricks. I read a book once on how to get your horse to say yes and no, to count, and to bow. Stuff like that.
    I’m still brushing Dream when I hear the back door slam. I expect to see my brother, but instead it’s Colt.
    He lifts a hand in a half wave. “Hey, Ellie.”
    â€œWhat’s up?” I can tell something’s wrong. Colt and I have been best buddies since kindergarten.
    He shrugs. “Looks like your family just got bigger this weekend. I have to stay with you guys. Mom’s going out of town on business. And she can’t find a house sitter on short notice. She even tried Dad, but he’s not answering the phone.”
    Since Colt’s parents split up, Colt is supposed to go to his dad’s in St. Louis every other weekend. But I don’t think that’s working out.
    â€œCool. You can help me teach Dream a couple of tricks.” I nod for him to come over. But when he does, Dream sidesteps out of the way.
    â€œI don’t know what’s gotten into Dream. She’s not herself today. Don’t take it personal. She just shook off Pinto Cat.” I scratch Dream’s withers and under her jaw. That always calms her down and can even put her to sleep. But not today. She won’t hold still.
    â€œMaybe it’s a full moon,” Colt says. “Weird things are happening over at our place too. Somebody—or some thing —must have broken into the barn really early this morning. Then whatever it was disappeared into thin air.” He says this in his bad imitation of a monster’s voice. “It ate more grain from the bin. I mean a lot of it, too.”
    I glance up at the sky. It’s pretty dark. Only a sliver of the moon is filled in. “Somehow I don’t think we can blame the moon, Colt.”
    Mom finally gets home from the cat farm and calls us in to dinner. Ethan is so psyched that Colt’s staying over, he barely touches his fried chicken. His fingers are too busy signing about the game tomorrow. Ethan says he gets to pitch.
    â€œSo, Ellie,” Dad begins. He glances at Colt, then back at me. “Don’t suppose you have those . . . things you promised me and whatnot?”
    â€œWhat things, Dad?”
    â€œYou know. The things . Sings.”
    It’s a bad rhyme, but good enough to remind me that I forgot to come up with a list of rhymes for Dad’s barrel campaign. I guess Dad must be worried that Colt will tell his mother that I have to help with the rhyming jingles.
    â€œUm . . . I’ll get right on those things I bring that sing and ring .”
    Mom is in top form as dinner storyteller. “Wish you all could have been at the cat farm today. I was petting one of those poor quarantined cats”—she pauses to give me a meaningful look because that’s really my job—“and this fella came in dressed to the nines. Shiny suit, ironed shirt, silk tie. ‘Madam,’ he says to me, ‘I would like a kitten for my granddaughter.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘ Now , if you please.’ Well, I told him he’d need