David Alexander Hutchinson!” my mother shouts.
I freeze, halfway out of Dr. Mac’s van.
“She doesn’t sound too happy,” Maggie says. “You’d better go home. We’ll save you some pizza.”
“Don’t bother,” I tell her. “I’m not very hungry.”
“Man, you really are bummed,” Brenna says.
I slip out of the van before anyone has a chance to answer, and meet my mother in the middle of the road. She doesn’t say a word until we’re in the garage. Then she lets fly.
“Do you know happened today?” she asks.
Mom is still wearing her suit and high heels from work. Her mouth is tight, like she just sucked on a lemon, and her eyes look like they could spit fire. I guess this is a bad time for a smart-mouth answer.
“No,” I reply quietly as I open the door to the laundry room. We pass through piles of laundry—it’s beginning to look like a mountain range—and step into the kitchen.
“You weren’t here when I needed you,” she says.
My five-year-old sister, Ashley, is eating a McDonald’s feast at the kitchen table. My older brother, Brian, is nowhere in sight. He must be at work.
“When did you need me?” I ask, taking a french fry out of Ashley’s cardboard container.
“Mom, he’s stealing,” Ashley tattles.
Mom slaps her hand on a piece of paper on the counter. “Here! Right here. Didn’t you read this note? I put it where you would see it when you came down to breakfast.”
She hands the note to me. It says I was supposed to be home by two o’clock so I could watch Ashley while Mom went into the office. I was also supposed to take out the trash and start the laundry.
“I never saw it,” I say, telling the absolute truth. “I woke up late, really late. My stupid alarm clock didn’t go off. I just grabbed a soda and a handful of pretzels and ran over to Dr. Mac’s. She was pulling out of the driveway. I barely made it.” I peer into the McDonald’s bag on the kitchen table. “Did you get me any fries?”
Mom starts to hand me the bag, but then pulls it back. “You had soda and pretzels for breakfast?” She shakes her head as if she’s clearing out the cobwebs. “No, wait, I’m not going to let you sidetrack me. You didn’t return the messages I left for you yesterday at the clinic, and then you ignored the note today. I had to take Ashley into the office with me.”
“Mom’s office is boring!” Ashley says dramatically. “It was so boring I almost threw up!”
“It’s not that bad,” I say. “I used to go there when I was little. They have crayons.”
“That’s not the point,” Mom says, sitting down. She kicks off her shoes and lets out a little sigh of relief. “I don’t ask you to baby-sit often, but when I do, I need to be able to count on you.”
“Brian has his own job. He was there all afternoon and has an extra shift tonight.”
She makes it sound like he’s working in a coal mine or something. Brian has a cushy job at the movie theater. He runs the projector. Basically, he gets paid for watching movies and eating popcorn. I have to be nice to him so he’ll give me the job when he goes to college. If he ever goes to college.
“He even called me to make sure it was all right for him to stay for the extra shift. That’s the kind of responsibility I need from you.”
I study an orange stain on the countertop. Juice, probably, or soda. I scratch the stain. It looks permanent. We may have to cover this one with the toaster.
“David? Are you listening to me?”
I can’t do anything right today.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to let you down.”
As soon as I apologize, her shoulders relax. “All right. Let’s make sure it doesn’t happen again.” She hands me a container of fries. “How was the stable? Did you get to ride? I know you were excited.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I look into the bag again. “Did you get any ketcup packets?”
“Did something happen?” Mom’s shoulders tense up again.
“The stable was—it’s just that Mr. Quinn has this new horse. Trickster. You should see him. He’s fast as the wind! Dad would love him.”
Mom checks her fingernails. Bringing up Dad is not a good thing to do, especially when she’s tired.
“Anyway, this horse, Trickster—Mr. Quinn promised I could ride him. All I had to do was to help out with him for a few weeks because he has a sore leg.”
“What happened?” Ashley asks. “Did he run away?”
“Well, to make a long story short, he hurt his leg again. Badly. I’m not going to be able to ride him for a long time, if ever. Mr. Quinn is pretty upset. So am I.”
“I’m sorry, honey,” Mom says gently. “That must be a terrible disappointment to you. But there are lots of other horses there.”
“You don’t get it,” I tell her. “It’s not the same. Trickster is the only horse I want to ride. It’s like we’re connected or something. Like we understand each other, speak the same language.” I put down the fries. “Mr. Quinn hates me, Mom. He thinks I’m an idiot. He doesn’t want me around Trickster. He doesn’t want me around, period.”
“What about tomorrow?” she asks. “I thought you guys were going to be helping at the stables on the weekends for a while.”
I shake my head. I really want to see Trickster, to help him recuperate, but I can’t. Mr. Quinn’s lecture is still echoing in my head. I don’t want to get another one of those anytime soon.
“I’m staying home tomorrow,” I say.
Mom crosses the kitchen to the giant calendar that hangs next to the telephone. “OK. It will help me if you do. I have to spend the morning at the office, catching up on paperwork. You can watch Ashley. You owe your sister something special, since you let her down today.”
“What?” I ask wearily.
Ashley jumps in her seat. “I want a tea party!”