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your left foot in my hands and throw your right leg over
the horse. Glide on gently. Don’t come crashing down on his
back.”
    Scott mounts easily.
    Dancer looks at me and shakes his head. I
know he’s wondering what I’m doing on the ground.
    “Sit up straight. It’s easier to balance. Be
like a clothespin on a line. Keep your heels level with the ground
or a little down. I’ll lead him around.”
    “Don’t I get to hold the reins? I feel like a
baby.”
    “Not yet. I don’t want you yanking on them.
Dancer’s mouth is very sensitive.”
    I walk Dancer around the arena several times,
so Scott can get used to the horse’s rhythm. He’s a natural.
Relaxed, straight-backed and balanced.
    “You could be a good rider.”
    Scott beams. “Thanks. I never thought I’d get
this dream.”
    “All guys want to be cowboys.”
    Scott looks down at me. “I want to be a
horseman.”
    “You’re not like other boys.”
    “No way,” he mumbles.
    What does he mean by that? I decide not to
ask.
    I put the reins over Dancer’s head and put
one rein in each of Scott’s hands. “This is a direct rein. You are
guiding Dancer by exerting pressure directly on his mouth. Always
move your hands forward and backward slightly in rhythm with
Dancer’s head as he moves. When you go left, a very little pull
with your left hand. Right, use your right hand.”
    I put my hands around his to show Scott what
I mean. Touching him sends a shot of hot white fire down to my
toes.
    “Okay, you’re on your own,” I whisper.
    “Giddiyup,” Scott says.
    Dancer doesn’t move.
    “Sorry, I forgot to tell you about the leg
cues,” I say.
    “Thanks a lot.”
    I laugh. “Squeeze both your legs into
Dancer’s sides. Just a little, unless you want to gallop across the
arena and land in the dust. Pressure on the left leg, to go left.
Right leg, to go right. When you get better, you won’t need to use
the reins to change direction.”
    Scott squeezes lightly and Dancer walks
forward.
    “Awesome,” he says.
    The hour lesson flies by. I wonder why
teaching Scott is more fun than teaching my other students?
    We groom Dancer and then go into the
kitchen.
    Weasel and Claire argue in the dining
room.
    I get us some water.
    Claire says, “I already asked Winifred,
Mother.”
    “I don’t like the fact that you didn’t inform
me before choosing your maid-of-honor.
    After all, I am your mother.”
    “You are making all the decisions. This is my
wedding.”
    Weasel answers, “But Claire, think about it.
This is the most exciting day of your life. It must be perfect. I
doubt if that girl has ever worn a dress and heels. What if she
falls? And then there’s her hair and complexion.”
    A rush of blood drains to my toes. I look at
Scott, mortified. I tear out the kitchen door.
    I hear Scott whisper, “Winifred, wait!”
    I keep going, Mrs. Dudley’s words pounding in
my head. “Her hair and complexion.” I knew I was ugly. I didn’t
have to hear it from a stranger and in front of Scott.
    I rush into the stable. Dancer neighs and I
don’t bother to saddle or bridle him. I slip onto his back. Grab a
hank of mane. We jump over the back gate and race away.
    Dry air blows the tears from my face. Fresh
pine fills my nose. My chest throbs like somebody slammed a rock
into it.
    We race for miles through the forest. Dancer
reaches our favorite meadow. Stops dead. I flip into the air. My
butt hits the hard ground.
    “Ow!”
    Dancer whinnies in fear behind me and gallops
away.
    “Whoa, Dancer! Come back!”
     
     

Chapter 10: Monster Crossing
     
    What spooked Dancer? Fear sweeps through my
body like a flash flood, tingling every nerve. Dragging myself up,
I look around for bear or cougar.
    The air glitters with a purple mist. A dainty
hand with a wand floats before my eyes.
    A sweet voice says, “Don’t be afraid. I’m
your Fairy Godmoth ... OOOFFF.”
    Electricity cracks in the air. Chills slither
down my spine.
    The hand disappears in a