“Kaylee,” I whispered, “make a run for—”

But Kaylee barged past me and ran up the stallway, charging the giant. “Where’s that buckskin?” she demanded. “What have you done with him?”

The giant stopped. “You again?”

Kaylee marched all the way up to him. In the light, he might not have been a giant. But he was big. One look at his nose and I knew we were facing Lazy Lenny. I moved in beside Kaylee, figuring two were better than one. Plus, believe it or not, Leonard looked a little afraid of Kaylee.

Leonard hitched up his jeans, which would have made a perfect tent for the state of Rhode Island. Then he turned and glared at me. “If you got money for a ride, pay up. If you ain’t, go home.”

“We’re not going anywhere until I see Bandit!” Kaylee declared.

“Bandit?” he asked.

“The buckskin!” Kaylee shouted.

Leonard stormed down the stallway, with Kaylee at his heels. “He’s in the last stall. You want to ride him or not?” He sounded like his vote was not.

“This is the horse you pawned off on me this morning. This is not Buckskin Bandit!” Kaylee insisted.

I peered into the last stall. “This isn’t even a buckskin,” I said, hating the sound of my voice. I always sound a little hoarse, with a raspy voice Lizzy claims she wishes she had. But I think I just sound hoarse. And the more nervous I get, the worse it sounds.

I cleared my throat and went on. “A true buckskin wouldn’t have this much pigment in the hairs. Duns are duller colored than buckskins. See? This one has the dun factor, dark brown or black on the back and shoulder stripes, besides dark mane, tail, and legs.”

“Whatever,” the man said. “You want to ride or what?”

“Tell me where that horse is or I’m calling the ASPCA!” Kaylee roared.

I’d never seen this side of her. I liked it.

Leonard wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “That’s it. Happy Trails is closed!”

Kaylee and I tried arguing, but the guy shooed us out of the stable and locked the door.

Nickers and I gave Kaylee a ride back to Summer’s.

“Try not to worry about Bandit, Kaylee,” I told her, as she slid off Nickers’ rump at Stable-Mart. “Those pastures are so overgrown, Leonard could hide a herd of elephants on the property.”

“I’ll call the authorities tonight, Winnie. I’ve got the name—American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. They’ll have to send somebody out there.”

Dad was waiting for me at home. I got a lecture on priorities and an inventor’s single-mindedness. He didn’t want to hear about Kaylee and Bandit and Happy Trails. We invented the rest of the night, until I fell asleep with a power drill in my hands. Then even Dad had to admit it was time to go to bed.

Sunday morning was gray, with the threat of rain. I slept in as long as possible, skipping Lizzy’s peanut-butter pancakes and barely getting dressed before the Barker Bus came by for us.

The Barker Bus is really a yellow van, big enough to hold a big family, including the Barker dogs, Dad, Lizzy, and me. The dogs hadn’t come to church with us, so their little seat belts, invented by my dad, hung empty on the floor.

“Thanks for the ride, Mrs. Barker,” I said as Dad, Lizzy, and I climbed over the Barker brothers.

Mrs. Barker turned around from the driver’s seat. “Anytime.”

We exchanged hi’s with everybody, except Granny Barker, who had stayed home with a cold. Dad fastened his seat belt, then turned to talk to Mr. Barker, who was wedged in the far backseat between Johnny and Luke. Mr. Barker used to play football at Ashland University. And even though now he’s kind of this poet professor, he looks like he could still play football for them.

“How’s the invention business?” Barker asked.

“Don’t get Dad started,” I whispered.

Mark, age seven, and two-year-old William were fussing over who got to sit next to Lizzy. My sister settled the feud by moving Mark and sitting between the boys.

“So does anybody know who’s taking Ralph’s place this morning?” Lizzy asked, as Mrs. Barker turned the van around.

“Where’s Ralph?” Barker asked.

“Wedding. In Michigan, I think,” I answered.

We filed into church and took our spots in the Barker pew across the aisle from Pat. As usual, Catman and M made their entrance just as the organ started playing. M’s in eighth grade with Catman. As usual, M was dressed totally in black. He’s a pretty good friend of mine, even though I still don’t know what the M stands for. I don’t think anybody does, even Catman.

When it was time for the sermon, Mr. Barker walked to the front of the church. “I’ve never given a sermon before,” he began.

I glanced over at Barker, who looked as surprised as I was. Mrs. Barker was grinning, though.

“I better warn you that my students think I lecture too long,” Mr. Barker continued. “But I’ll try not to commit that sin here.”

We laughed. I was nervous for him, but he sounded like a natural pastor.

“When Ralph asked me to stand in for him, I had no idea what I’d say. But I finally decided to talk about joy. Being happy. Hey, who can get on my case for that, right?

“Tom Blake, a colleague at AU, was awarded a grant by the university last week. I was truly happy for Tom—” he paused and wrinkled his forehead—“until I started wondering, Why didn’t I get that grant? And you know what? For the rest of the week, even though I knew Tom deserved that grant, every time I saw him, I felt rotten inside.”

I liked Mr. Barker’s stories, but the last couple of nights with so little sleep started catching up with me. I yawned, then tried to hide it by covering my mouth.

“Last Tuesday,” he continued, “I ran into an old high school buddy I hadn’t seen in 20 years. He’d lost 40 pounds and looked better than he did in high school. ‘Way to go!’ I told him. But you know, I wasn’t all that happy for him if you want to know the honest truth. Why?” He patted his stomach. We chuckled.

I closed my eyes. I couldn’t imagine being so old that I hadn’t seen somebody in 20 years.

Mr. Barker’s voice was low, like a bass drum. It made me want to drift off to sleep. With my eyes closed, I tried to listen.

“Ever watch a buddy hit a home run, but you strike out?” Mr. Barker asked us. “How did you feel? Real happy? Your buddy’s full of joy, right? Are you? See, what God’s been teaching me is that there’s a lot of joy in the world. But it may not all start and end in my backyard. I might have to be happy for someone else.”

I could have dozed off for the ending. When I opened my eyes, Catman and M had written their initials all over my bulletin.

On the ride home, the Barker boys gave their dad a hard time about keeping his sermon-giving a secret. Dad, Lizzy, and I kept telling him what a good job he did.

Kaylee was sitting on our front step when the Barker Bus pulled to our curb. “I didn’t know where else to go,” she said. “I didn’t sleep all night, worrying about Bandit. I left a message at the ASPCA, but who knows when they’ll send somebody to investigate.”

Suddenly thunder boomed, and the skies opened. We hurried inside as rain poured down in sheets.

“Sweet!” Lizzy exclaimed, taking Kaylee’s jacket. “Looks like you’ll have to stay for dinner.”

We didn’t get a chance to talk about Happy Trails over dinner because Dad wouldn’t stop talking about the Magnificent Multishower. But as soon as we finished our pistachio pudding, I hustled Kaylee out to the barn. She fussed over Buddy, and she even liked Annie Goat. We went around in circles, though, trying to figure out how we could make Leonard tell us what he’d done with Bandit.

Dad and I drove Kaylee home in our cattle truck when the rain let up. We bounced up the curved driveway and squealed to a stop in front of her house. Before I knew Kaylee lived there, I’d passed the Hsu three-story, brick house dozens of times. And each time I’d wondered why anybody who could afford a home like that would live in a small town like Ashland.

Both Mr. and Mrs. Hsu stepped out to greet their daughter. They must have been shocked to see her climb out of a cattle truck, but they didn’t let on. Instead they walked up to the truck and introduced themselves to Dad.

Dad and I drove back home. And in honor of Sunday, he only made us work on the shower until a little after 10. Then I remembered the invention outline was due in the morning. It took me another two hours to write it up.

Monday morning I raced to first period and slid into my seat as the bell rang.

Barker was already at his desk next to mine. “Made it,” he whispered.

Ms. Brumby, our English teacher, was dressed as spring. Her silky shirt was the green of an oak tree in May. Her skirt, jacket, scarf, and shoes were light green, like spring buds on a poplar.

I still can’t look at our English teacher without thinking of a real Brumby—the bony, Roman-nosed, Australian scrub horse that most people have given up on training.

I watched Ms. Brumby write on the chalkboard in perfect block letters: Title, Introduction, Thesis, How-to paragraphs, Conclusion. I felt an essay—or even worse, a speech—coming on.

Kaylee, in the back row, was wearing khakis and a short-sleeved, red sweater that made her shiny hair look even darker. She whispered something to me, but I couldn’t understand. Summer and her herd were making too much noise.

“What did you say?” I whispered back.

“Winifred? Is there something you’d like to share with the class?” Ms. Brumby roared.

I faced front. “Um . . . no, ma’am.”

Behind me, I heard Summer’s annoying laugh, followed by the giggles of her followers.

“Then let’s begin.” Ms. Brumby’s spring green high heels clicked when she crossed to the stuff she’d written on the board. You would have thought the words had been typed by a giant typewriter. “These are the parts of the speech you will prepare for your science-fair projects.”

Speech? I raised my hand for probably the third time all year in this class.

Ms. Brumby nodded at me. The toe of her pointy green shoe tapped, as if to hurry me.

“Do we—” I cleared my throat—“I mean . . . a speech? I thought we just had to do an invention for extra credit.”

“Well, you do have to prepare a speech, regardless of your participation in the science fair.” She smiled at the rest of the class. “For those of you who will be showing your projects, you will be asked by the judges to explain your invention.” She tapped the board. “This is how you will answer.”

My most hated thing in all of school is giving a speech. I get so nervous, my voice sounds like geese honking.

Even my inventor dad couldn’t help me with this one.