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Mrs. Dudley
about the division of labor. I expect you to set a good example for
our family.”
    He goes back to his books like I’m dismissed
from class. Set a good example! What about a dad who shuts out his
own daughter from the important facts that affect her life?
    Stomping out, I wonder if I can live a month
without shattering into a million pieces. I slump into the barn.
Dancer neighs. I grab a brush from the tack room and go into his
stall.
    “Hey, boy,” I whisper. I brush his silky,
black coat. Dancer turns and pushes into me for a scratch on his
head. Paso Fino horses are beautiful. All colors. Big brown eyes,
long manes and tails, and wonderful personalities.
    I lean my head into his neck. He nickers
softly. “It’s going to be a long month, Dancer.”
    He lifts his head when Scott comes down the
aisle.
    “Brought you some breakfast.” He holds out a
banana and apple.
    “Thanks. I’m starving.” I look at the food
stains on his jeans. “What happened to you?”
    “Daria spilled her breakfast on me. Getting
even, I guess.”
    Scott unfolds a napkin filled with bacon. “I
snitched this when the cook wasn’t looking. She’s pretty put out
you didn’t come in for breakfast.”
    Dancer nudges against Scott. A good sign.
    “Cool horse,” he says.
    I feed the apple to Dancer and eat the rest.
I ask, “Ready for your first lesson?”
    “You bet.”
    Scott looks like a kid at Christmas.
    I get Dancer’s leather bridle. “This is a
snaffle bit, used by those who ride English saddles. It goes in the
mouth like so.” I put my fingers at the side of Dancer’s mouth. He
opens it and I slip the bit inside. He takes it easily, pulling it
to the back of his mouth.
    I pull the bridle over his nose. “This strap
is called the crown piece and goes over his head behind the ears.
The strap in front of his ears is called the browband. The one
under his chin is called the throatlatch. You hook it here at the
side of his head to secure the bridle.
    I grab a helmet. “See if this fits.”
    Scott stares at the black, round hat with a
small brim.
    “That’s for sissies.”
    “Everyone should wear protective gear for
their head. A horse can throw you when you least expect it.”
    “Do I have to?”
    “If you want to ride.”
    Scott straps on the hat.
    “You look like half of an English rider,” I
say. “You just need the clothes. Let’s go.”
    “Hey, wait a minute. Where’s the saddle?” he
asks.
    I laugh. “You don’t get one. Learning to ride
bareback is the best way to feel the horse under you. To learn
balance.”
    “This horse stuff is harder than it
looks.”
    “No kidding.”
    We walk into the arena and I close the gate
behind us.
    Scott, close beside me, says, “I thought we
could go for a ride.”
    Chills. The good kind. “First things
first.”
    David and John stride out from the house and
lean on the fence. John laughs. “How you gonna’ stay on? There
isn’t a handle.”
    “Go away.” Scott glares at his brother. “I
need to concentrate.”
    David adds, “On what? The horse or the
girl?”
    Scott turns pink.
    “Get lost,” I order.
    “We need your help on the big project,
Scott,” says David, “if you have the time.”
    Sweat breaks out on Scott’s forehead.
    I announce, “We’ll be done in an hour.”
    David and John walk over to the hay barn,
laughing.
    Scott is silent.
    Big brothers can be a pain.
    I continue with the lesson.
    “Always be aware of everything around you
when riding a horse. Some horses are skittish at the slightest
noise. Others think there is a lion behind every tree. Dancer is
not like a rental horse that is willing to walk on a known trail
and follow another horse. He is twelve-hundred pounds of muscle
with a mind of his own.”
    Scott looks a little nervous.
    “Don’t worry. Dancer is terrific. Very smart.
He knows what you’re thinking, so relax and you’ll be fine. Hold
onto the mane.”
    I put my hands together to give him a boost
up. “Put