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risky.”
    Colt said, his voice steady this time, “Mrs. Reynolds said nothing’s ever certain. She said I ought to think in terms of probabilities. Like, I probably won’t ever get hurt on Liverwurst because he’s a real calm horse.”
    Audrey nodded at him, and said to Brad, “What do you think?”
    â€œIt’s up to you.”
    She said, “He’s growing up. I think he’s got to try new things. Take a few chances.”
    Brad said, “I think so too.”
    Colt did not yell yahoo or move or smile. It was a serious moment.
    His mother said to him, “You are to keep me informed of everything you do with the horse.”
    He nodded.
    â€œYou are always to have someone with you. You are not to ride alone.”
    He nodded. It was a promise. “You’ll call Mrs. Reynolds and set a time?”
    â€œOn one condition.” But now there was mischief in his mother’s eyes, and satisfaction, because she had him where she wanted him and was going to get her way about something. “Rosie is going to share your room. And that is that. Do we understand each other, young man?”
    Colt nodded.

Chapter Four
    Trundling around his room belly-down on his scooter board, rearranging his stuff to make room for Rosie, Colt indulged in peevish thoughts. Why couldn’t things be simple? Take the scooter board, for instance. It looked simple, a lot like a skateboard meant for him to lie on as he pushed himself along with his hands. Fine, great, no wheelchair, no crutches and braces. But no good way to carry things either. He had to tuck stuff under his chin. And then when he got to the other side of the room he couldn’t reach any high places. If he used his wheelchair instead of the scooter board he couldn’t reach any low places. No matter how he tried to do it, changing his room around was a pain. And it was all Rosie’s fault—for being born.
    Colt considered that he was not yet defeated regarding that large, healthy intruder of a teenager. He had heard that sometimes the best defense was a good offense. And he knew he was good at being offensive. Maybe he could annoy Rosie enough so that he would voluntarily move out again. At the very least he could save his own pride. He could short-sheet Rosie’s bed before Rosie got a chance to short-sheet his. Short-sheeting was the least of what he could do to Rosie.
    Of course, he had to cover his own rear. His mother might take away his horseback-riding lessons if Rosie complained. But if he did things Rosie would be embarrassed to tell about, then his mother would never know.
    Colt sat up on his scooter board and watched as his mother and Brad brought in a studio couch and set it along the far wall from his bed. He watched as they put sheets and a lightweight summer blanket on it (flowered sheets—his mother didn’t own any other kind). After they had gone off to the kitchen, Colt made a quiet trip to the bathroom, then pulled back Rosie’s top sheet and sprinkled Rosie’s bed and pillow thickly with the potent rose-scented talcum powder his great-aunt Letitia, who sold Avon, had given his mother for Christmas. He smoothed down the top sheet again and returned the powder to its place.
    Because he was in training for cross-country running, Rosie was supposed to go to bed early when he could. (This had been quite a problem when he was sleeping on the sofa.) So, as Rosie had the day off from McDonald’s, Colt was able to enjoy the show that evening as Rosie got into his new bed, laid his head on his pillow with a grateful sigh, and then made a strangled noise. Colt lay grinning in his own bed, and when Rosie sat up and gave him a look, he just kept grinning. Rosie didn’t say anything. He swung his long, muscular, very hairy legs out of the sheets, pulled the blanket up, took the pillowcase off the pillow and dropped it to the floor, where it settled with a white puff of talc. Then he