I am so excited about training Nafka that I hardly sleep that night. In the morning, I head to the barn before the sun comes up. A chill in the air makes me shiver. Geese honk overhead, flying in a crooked V I’ve always loved. It smells like fall.

When I whistle, only Chief and Lucky come. Chief nickers.

“Hi, you two.” I blow into Chief’s nostrils, and he returns the favor. It’s how horses greet each other. But I don’t try it with Lucky. We haven’t worked with the Mustang yet. “I may not have much time to hang out with you guys for a while. I’ll be training the Arabian.”

I rattle the feed bin to get the other horses into their stalls. Princess comes in first. Nafka is close behind. I start to go into her stall. She puts her ears flat back, like she thinks I want her oats.

I figure I’ll have time to make friends with her later.

Dad drives me and my younger sister, Lizzy, to school. “I’ve been thinking of ways to improve on the bicycle. It’s an old invention,” he says.

Our dad works at an insurance company. But he would rather be an inventor.

“How would you do it, Dad?” Lizzy asks. My sister is wearing a red-checkered shirt with jeans. She is one of the beautiful people—tall, with green eyes and dark brown hair—and she doesn’t even know how amazing she is. If Lizzy were a horse, she’d be a terrific Trakehner—and she’d fit right in with Nafka and Royal Princess. I’m the Mustang, never one of the beautiful people, especially at school. But Lizzy never thinks that way. She loves everybody, especially me.

“So, I’m considering a speedier bike,” Dad continues. “Or maybe bike propellers to fly over curbs? Or how about a triple-decker bike?” He sighs. “No, no, no.”

For once, I can’t wait to get to class on a Monday.

“You look happy today, Winnie,” Landri says when I stroll into our classroom. Landri, with her long blonde hair, is one of the beautiful and popular people. But she’s also one of the nice kids.

Miss Pento, our teacher, likes to mix up our rows and experiment with desk placement. Today she’s arranged us in groups of four.

I slide in next to Landri. “Mom says I can work the new horse we got at the ranch. All by myself, like a real horse gentler.”

Simon and Austin Green, the twins, take their seats across from us, facing us. I’ve been looking out for my buddy Simon so I could give him the good news. “Simon, we just got the most beautiful horse I’ve ever seen, and—”

“No, you didn’t!” Austin objects. “You’ve seen my horse, Royal Princess. She’s the most expensive and the most beautiful.”

I shrug. “Nafka, which means ‘wind’ in Arabic, is a black Arabian.”

“Big deal,” Austin says. “My horse is a champion.”

Landri tries to play peacemaker. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, right?”

“That’s dumb,” Austin says.

I try to talk to Simon. “Mom says I can totally gentle Nafka all by myself.”

“That sounds real good. I think you should,” says Rhymin’ Simon. He almost always speaks in rhyme. You get used to it.

Austin fake-laughs. “No way your mom would turn over somebody’s expensive horse to you.”

Our teacher keeps us from arguing by announcing our spelling test.

I forgot all about it. When we’re done, we exchange papers to grade them. My score is bad enough that I have to take it home for Mom or Dad to sign. I groan. Hopefully they won’t be too disappointed. That makes three weeks in a row I’ve forgotten about spelling.

Next to recess, my favorite subject is art. I’m not any better at drawing than I am at spelling. But I like trying.

Today, Mrs. Davis, our art teacher, comes to our classroom instead of making us go to hers. “As you know, a week from Friday is the art show,” she announces. She’s not much taller than Simon but is kind of pear-shaped. If she were a horse, she’d be a well-fed Haflinger pony, strong, short, and sure-footed. “Think about your project,” she continues. “You can begin drawing whatever you want, as long as it’s an original. So, no help from parents or big sisters, no copying, and no tracing, right?”

Right away, I know I’ll draw a horse. But should I draw the head? Or the whole horse? Before I can decide, Simon has filled his paper with bugs. His roly-polies, crickets, ants, cockroaches, and centipedes look real.

“That’s awesome, Simon,” I say.

Simon grins and keeps drawing.

Tamson glances at Simon’s sketches, then shakes her head. I can’t see her drawing because her arm covers it, like we’d all want to steal her idea.

I stare at my blank page. Maybe if I draw something wonderful, my parents won’t feel so bad about my spelling test. They shouldn’t have to get hit with a bad art grade too.

I close my eyes and picture Nafka. Then I try to draw what’s in my head.

By the end of art class, whatever I’ve drawn looks like I did it with my eyes closed.