Dear Diary,
There’s a constant banging sound from across the camp. It sounds like a gong or maybe as if someone is banging on a frying pan. Whatever it is, the racket is keeping me awake.
I put a pillow over my head. I wadded up tissue and stuffed pieces in my ears to plug them. I sang to myself. Nothing is drowning out the sound.
Finally, I gave up. I might as well think about my new plan for the show, since it’s coming up fast. In hours, really.
I’m thinking we should
AGH. I can’t concentrate with that noise.
That’s it, Diary! I am going to check it out.
Dear Diary again,
I woke up Abigail and Lucky. Actually, Lucky was already awake, but Abigail was snoring loud enough that it drowned out the banging sounds. It took a few tries to wake her up and when we finally got her, she was so drowsy she thought I was her mom and that Lucky was Boomerang.
Lucky played along, neighing, until Abigail figured out it was us and that her horse didn’t have a cold.
We didn’t even change out of pajamas. It was dark, but there were lights in some of the tents, probably from other people who couldn’t sleep. Using the lights and sticking to the shadows, we made our way toward the sound.
I was shocked.
And I was right. At least, sort of. The noise was banging on a frying pan. But it wasn’t a someone—it was a horse.
Catalina’s horse.
“Come on, Milton, shhhh…” She was dressed as if she’d been practicing for the exhibition, but there was bread in her hair, egg yolk on her shirt, milk on her face, and something green all over her pants. “You’re waking everyone up. I need you to cook the French toast, not bang on the pan.”
(French toast doesn’t have any green ingredients as far as I know. Ewww.)
I thought we should hide, but Abigail stepped out of the shadows and told her that if she wanted to teach Milton to cook, she was making a lot of mistakes.
Catalina jumped a little, surprised that anyone was there.
Abigail plowed forward, explaining that she’d taught two horses to cook now. Three if we counted her brother Snips’s donkey as a horse, which wasn’t entirely accurate, since donkeys aren’t horses.
I nearly gagged when she said that Señor Carrots made an excellent carrot cake, because I’ve eaten that cake. And while it is pretty good, I won’t be eating it ever again.
Lucky pulled Abigail back into the shadows, while Abigail complained she just wanted to help.
Catalina then got mad and told us she didn’t want help. She took the frying pan away from Milton.
Someone shouted for us all to be quiet. So we left. Catalina took Milton and stormed off toward her own caravan, and we went back to ours.
Diary, I’ll tell you this one last thing before I go back to sleep: Lydia was right. Catalina seems very sad. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her happy.