CHAPTER 24

I wake up in darkness, too early, sparrows swooping through my chest. My insides are empty and crowded at the same time, and all I want to do is crawl out of my skin. I’ve never woken up with this feeling before, but as soon as I open my eyes, I remember Sam’s cut, Andy coming back, Sunny running away, the wild horses bringing me home. Memories gather inside like a storm and sweep over every part of me.

When I get downstairs, I find Mom and Dad in the kitchen already, drinking coffee. Mom takes one look at me and comes over, puts her arm around my shoulders. “Claire?” she asks. “Are you okay? You’re trembling.”

I take a deep breath, but even that’s shaky. I feel like my whole body has turned into one big wing that could fly away.

At first I can’t answer Mom. I just shake my head. Dad comes to stand on my other side, and with both of them holding on to me, I feel some of the shakiness pass.

“I’m just really, really… worried,” I finally say. It’s the only word I can put on the feeling, even if it seems like more than that. “It makes me feel fluttery inside.”

Dad gently guides me toward my usual chair.

“You’ve been feeling that way more lately, haven’t you?” Mom asks. “I could tell that day in the car, when I picked you up at Maya’s.”

“Yeah.” I didn’t think she had noticed. “Deep breathing helps. And also, just waiting. Being by myself until it goes away.”

“Hon,” Dad says, “feeling worried is part of life. But sometimes when it gets to affect your body like that, it might mean you’re dealing with something called anxiety. I see it in my students a lot.”

“Do you think some of this might have to do with Andy being back?” Mom asks softly. “I know you weren’t expecting it.”

“Maybe.” Last night with Andy, I left the dinner table early, saying I needed to work on my project—which was true. It just wasn’t the whole truth. The whole truth had a lot to do with not knowing how to feel about Andy.

“The point,” Dad continues, “is that a little bit of anxiety is normal, but a lot can be a reason to get some extra help. Talking to someone can be a good start.”

“Let’s keep an eye on it, okay?” Mom says. “It’s good that you figured out the deep breathing. But keep communicating with us. If it feels like it’s getting to be too much, like it’s happening too often, we can look at next steps.” She reaches out and hugs me twice. “One for love, one for good luck,” she whispers.

“Okay,” I say. That seems fair. Feeling Mom’s and Dad’s hands on me and listening to the air go in and out of my mouth as I breathe and talk, I can tell it’s getting a little better. For now.

In the afternoon, Maya and I set up our presentations right next to each other.

“Are you nervous?” she asks. She knows I am—she’s just trying to keep me talking. “Want to do another quick run-through with me?”

“No, thanks.” I’ve practiced enough in front of my bedroom mirror, so I think going over it again would make me more nervous.

I turn around to look at my poster, and Maya stands beside me. “It looks really great,” she says.

“Thanks.” I can’t help smiling. My poster has pictures of Jack Hamilton, a blown-up copy of the article, a topographical map showing Cedar Lake and Pine Lake, pictures of logging, sugaring, and farming equipment, and a list of the steps to take to establish an equine therapy business along with some examples of successful businesses in other places. On the table where my poster is propped up, I’ve placed the box with each of its contents labeled, plus a small pile of extra stones, the horseshoe, and a description I added:

THE LEGEND OF THE LAKES

Almost a hundred years ago, Jack Hamilton survived a dangerous fall through the ice on Cedar Lake. Although everyone was grateful he made it out alive, he and his family mourned their team of horses, which fell through the ice and were never found. They had been used in all the important ways horses were back then: for farming tasks and transportation. Losing them was a big deal.

But Jack was convinced they hadn’t been lost at all. He believed his horses had survived. After finding pieces of their harness floating in a different body of water, Pine Lake, he knew they must have escaped somehow. Could a secret underground tunnel connect Pine Lake with Cedar Lake? Did the horses find it, and travel through the underwater tunnel until they came out the other side? Whatever Jack believed, he hung on to it for the rest of his life. Even today, if you’re looking closely, you can find evidence of wild horses in the woods surrounding Pebble Mountain. Maybe they’re descendants of those fallen horses. Maybe Jack was right.

I don’t have the horse I wanted to catch. Still, my project combines everything I’ve learned and believe, and it does what Ms. Larkin said it should do: It shows the past and the future, including my future. How it’s all connected.

But Maya’s project looks even more amazing. She decided to do a Google Slides presentation, and it includes a video she made, reenacting one of Edna Beard’s speeches on the House floor. She also has all kinds of information about how Edna Beard influenced law today, and how she personally would implement Edna’s values in her own career. Maya even dressed up for this, in a long-sleeved black dress with a fancy collar pinned to it. She’s speaking as Edna Beard too, so everyone who comes to look at her presentation can feel like they’re interviewing Edna Beard herself.

Everyone else from our class is spread across the great room in the community center, and Ms. Larkin lets us all take a few minutes to walk around and look at one another’s work.

It’s pretty cool to see what my classmates have done. Cory’s project shows the history of film, with pictures of old movie scenes and explanations of how techniques in film have evolved over time. He even has two versions of Aladdin playing to demonstrate how the same story can be portrayed differently. For her fashion project, Jamila sketched dozens of outfits from different decades. Around the room, there are presentations on cars, cooking, historical figures, and sports.

Ms. Larkin goes to the front of the room and clears her throat. “Okay, students! It’s about time to let that hard work shine.”

I feel my hands shake a little. It’s the sparrows, skittering against my wrists. Shhhh, I tell them.

“The judges will be coming in soon. Remember, they’ll walk around the room looking at projects, and they’ll stop in small groups and expect you to explain the work you’ve done. Be ready to answer questions too!” Ms. Larkin gives us two thumbs-up. “I know you’ll all do great.”

But I don’t know for sure. My face feels hot and splotchy.

When Ms. Larkin opens the door and the first judges walk in, Maya nudges me. “Don’t twist your hands so much,” she says. “Keep them behind your back.”

She’s right. I was squeezing my fingers together so hard my knuckles turned white.

There are about twenty judges altogether, and they spread themselves out across the room. I see three people making their way to my poster. I know one of them: Mr. Bailey, who’s the head of the library. I haven’t seen the other two before. But then a fourth person comes through the community center door and looks right at me. As soon as I see him, I feel a smile stretching across my face. It’s Mr. Hamilton.

“Hello, Claire,” Mr. Bailey says. “Nice to see you here, and what an interesting project!” He squints at the title: “Horses at Work.”

“Um, thanks.” My voice is squeaking. I clear my throat and start over. “Thanks for coming to take a look.” I breathe in through my nose, out through my mouth.

“I’m Ms. Wallace,” another judge says, sticking her hand out. That’s when I realize I should probably shake everyone’s hand. I blush, wishing I’d thought of that on my own.

“Nice to meet you,” I say. Then I shake Mr. Bailey’s hand too, and the other judge’s, a woman named Ms. DeSoto. It’s hard for me to look right in their eyes, but Ms. Larkin said eye contact was important, so I force myself to glance at each of them for a moment.

Then it’s time to greet Mr. Hamilton. “Thank you so much for coming,” I say.

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Mr. Hamilton winks.

Then we all just stand there, smiling at one another.

“Oh,” I say, realizing I’m supposed to start. “Sorry.”

Ms. DeSoto shakes her head. “No need to apologize, Claire,” she says. “When you’re ready, we’d love to hear about your project.”

For a second, I forget everything I’d planned to say. I can’t even remember my first sentence. I close my eyes for just a second so I don’t have to see all their serious, curious faces staring at me, waiting for me to talk.

That split-second with my eyes closed is all I need. I remember. And when I open my eyes, I’m ready.

For the awards ceremony, we’re all supposed to sit with our families in the audience. It’s not hard to find Mom, Dad, and Andy, who wave at me frantically as soon as Ms. Larkin taps the mic and tells everyone to start moving toward the audience area. I sit at the end of the row, next to Dad, even though there’s a spare seat by Andy too. I’m just not quite ready to talk to him.

“It’s such a pleasure to be here for another History Fair!” Ms. Larkin says. “Thanks to our community judges, who work hard to assess each presentation fairly. And thanks, of course, to these amazing students who surprise me every year with how innovative they can be. I think this might be our best year yet.”

She probably says that every year, but I still smile. We did all do a pretty good job.

Even so, the flutter feeling is coming back, not as strong as it did when I woke up this morning, but definitely noticeable. I breathe deeply and try to tell myself: What’s the worst that could happen? Sometimes it isn’t as bad as we think it will be.

But the worst that could happen is that I don’t win. I don’t get the money. And that wouldn’t be so bad if it didn’t mean also not being able to pay for the Therapeutic Riding Instructor certification, which would put us even further away from the therapy business.

And then we’ll definitely have to sell Sunny and Sam.

So actually, the worst is pretty bad.

I clench my fists together, trying to focus on Ms. Larkin’s words instead of the birds tumbling inside.

“I’m so excited to announce the winner of this year’s prize,” she says. “This person’s project exhibited extensive knowledge, creativity, and an ability to appreciate how the past influences the present.”

That could be my project, I think. But it could also be—

“Maya Gonzalez,” Ms. Larkin says. “Could you please come to the front of the room?”

My fingernails dig into my palms and I look for Maya a couple of rows ahead. She takes a quick look back at me, her eyes wide and full of something I can’t pinpoint: It’s not quite sadness, but it looks a little like that.

That’s it, I think. That was my chance, and I lost it.

I watch Maya accept the certificate Ms. Larkin gives her and shake hands again with the judges. When we all get up to leave, I give Maya a big hug. Her project was perfect, and she doesn’t deserve to feel worried or upset about me not winning.

“Congratulations,” I say, trying not to cry.

“Thanks, Claire. We’re so proud of Maya,” Mr. Gonzalez says, his hand on her shoulder. He seems much better already. And seeing the way Maya looks up at him, her eyes shining, makes me feel like the award went to the right person.

Still, cold disappointment settles in my stomach. I picture Sunny and Sam in their stalls, and tears gather in the corners of my eyes.

Mom grabs my hand and squeezes. “Your project looked great, Claire,” she says. “You really did your best.”

Andy has his hands stuffed in his pockets, but he smiles at me. I can tell he wants to give me a hug but isn’t sure if I want one. And I’m not sure I do either.

“Pretty awesome presentation, Little C.,” he says. “What did they think about your legend?”

“I don’t think they believed it,” I say. “But they thought it was interesting.”

“I didn’t really see that coming,” Dad says. “But no wonder you’ve been wanting to go into the woods more often.”

“I’ll have to take you there. You’ll see.” As we head toward the door, I notice Mr. Hamilton standing off to the side. He seems to be waiting for us.

“Hello, Barton family,” he says. “It’s good to see you all again.” Then he focuses on Andy. “And it’s nice to officially meet you, young man.”

“You too, sir.” Andy shakes his hand.

“Claire, your take on my father’s story was certainly interesting,” Mr. Hamilton says. “I love ‘The Legend of the Lakes.’”

“Thanks,” I say. “I wish I could have met Jack. I think he would’ve liked my theory.”

“I’m sure he would have,” Mr. Hamilton says. “But it’s your equine therapy plan that really struck me. I think it would be quite beneficial for our community.”

“It certainly would,” Dad says. “It’s too bad that we—”

“I have a proposal for you,” Mr. Hamilton says, holding up his hand. “When I sold my horses, I wasn’t really thinking clearly. I was sad about my grandkids being far away and thought it was time to move on to something else. But meeting Claire changed that.”

Mom, Dad, and Andy all look at me, their expressions a mix of smiles and raised eyebrows.

“Claire reminded me of the good that horses can do,” Mr. Hamilton continues. “And, maybe more important, of how much we all need to keep going, no matter how hard it seems.” He takes a deep breath. “Now we have a problem. Claire has this great idea for an equine therapy business, and she also has horses, but facilities and money are issues. Meanwhile, I’ve got this terrific barn and indoor arena, but—” He pauses and looks at me with a smile in his eyes.

“No horses?” I ask.

“You got it. No horses,” he says.

Puzzle pieces start clicking together in my mind, but I can’t let myself really believe what Mr. Hamilton’s suggesting until he says it out loud.

“What about starting your equine therapy business at my barn?” Mr. Hamilton asks.

Mom’s jaw drops. “Wow,” she says. “It’s incredibly generous of you to offer. But”—she looks at Dad, then at me, her forehead wrinkling again—“affording the horses has become quite difficult. Financially, it’s too hard for us right now.”

“I understand,” Mr. Hamilton says. “But what I mean is, you could move Sunny and Sam to my barn. I’d be happy to keep them as my own and assume the costs. Honestly, taking care of horses again would be good for me. And Claire could come over to ride anytime. Well, you’d all be there, as needed for the business.”

The floor seems to cave in beneath me. Sunny and Sam—gone, yet still with me.

It’s a path I didn’t see, didn’t ask for.

But maybe it could work.

“I could help train too,” Mr. Hamilton adds. “I don’t think I’ve gotten too rusty.”

Mom’s eyes widen and Dad says: “Are you sure?”

But Mr. Hamilton’s already nodding. “Yes, yes,” he says. “It would be a good start. Then we’ll see where it goes. I’d like to think about adding more horses, actually. If the business expands, you’ll want more than one or two anyway.”

I feel the wings again, fluttering free, but this time they’re lifting me so high in the air I think I could touch the clouds.