Emily Edwards Equestrian Extraordinaire

Chapter 1

Dear Emily Edwards

The collection of books crammed into my backpack thumps against my spine as I hurry along the crowded sidewalk. It’s nearly eleven-thirty, and Hawthorne Memorial Library closes at noon. A sharp pain stabs at my side, but if I slow my pace, I might not have enough time to find the book I need.

Dad didn’t tell me he and my little brother, Elijah, planned to stay home this morning. The library is only a half-mile from our house, but Dad usually drives us, parking outside of the handicap accessible entrance on Washington Avenue. I haven’t entered through the heavy front doors for at least a year. I run past the handicap entrance and turn the corner onto Main Street.

Pausing at the bottom of the library’s stone steps, I gaze at the Greek-style pillars flanking the wide doors. Ionic columns, Mom told me when I was four or five years old. How many times had I held Mom’s hand and counted the twelve stone steps as we hopped up the stairs into the library’s main lobby?

One. Two. Three…

Mrs. Harmon looks up from behind the front desk. “Good morning, Emily.”

“Hi.” I slide the backpack from my shoulders and unzip the main compartment. One by one, I place the books on the counter.

“You read all these?”

I nod. “Did you get any new horse books this week?”

Mrs. Harmon rubs her sagging chin. “Not in the adult section. Check with Mrs. Howells.”

“Thanks.” I pass the elevator and take the stairs to the children’s section. As I walk down the hallway, I can’t help looking at the framed photograph of me standing beside Mrs. Howells. The sign under it reads Emily Edwards, age 12, Summer Reading Challenge Winner.

That was nearly a year ago. Mom had just left, and Dad was sick a lot, so it wasn’t like we were going camping or to the beach or the amusement park like some kids do. I read sixty-three books. Not little kid picture books, either—I stopped reading those when I was six or seven.

My favorite books are about horses. How to take care of them. How to ride. All the horse breeds. I read eighteen books by Walter Farley (he’s the guy who wrote the Black Stallion), everything I could find by Marguerite Henry, some books in the Thoroughbred series, and a bunch more by authors most kids probably haven’t heard of.

When I enter the children’s area, Mrs. Howells is helping a little girl in pigtails. I pull a Saddle Club book from its shelf and flip through the pages as I wait. I’ve already read it, but maybe I’ll take it out again if they don’t have anything new.

After the little girl checks out her book, I march over to Mrs. Howells’ desk. “Did any new horse books come in this week?”

She laughs. “Sorry. But you know I’m always on the watch for you. Is there anything else you’re looking for?”

I shake my head. “I’ll do a search in the catalogue.”

A boy I know from school sits at the computer in the corner near the check-out desk. One of Sabrina’s popular friends.

Mrs. Harmon clears her throat. “Max? Have you found what you’re looking for yet? Emily needs to use the catalogue.”

I want to disappear behind a shelf of books, but it’s too late. Max spins the chair around and glares at me before getting up.

“I’ll be quick,” I mutter under my breath as I settle into the chair. I glance over my shoulder to check that Max isn’t watching before typing a book search phrase.

How to make friends.

• • •

The mail truck rumbles past me as I walk home from the library. I haven’t heard from Mom since Christmas, but every day I hope there might be a letter from her. When I reach the end of my driveway, I shuffle through the mail and find a long envelope addressed to me. It’s not from Mom, though. The return address is from Camp Laughing Loon. It must be about the contest I entered!

I run into the house, up the stairs, and into my bedroom, closing the door behind me. Sitting cross-legged on the bed with my hands shaking, I open it.

Dear Emily Edwards,

On behalf of the board of directors of Camp Laughing Loon, I’m pleased to announce that we have selected your entry as the first-place winner of this year’s “Why I Want to Go to Camp” essay contest. We have awarded you a full scholarship to attend one week of Equestrian Adventure Camp. Spending money for the camp store will be your responsibility. Please have a parent or guardian complete the registration and health forms no later than June 15. We look forward to meeting you soon.

Sincerely, Ted Benton, Camp Director

I canter from my bedroom, snorting and tossing my long brown mane. As I turn to race down the stairs to Dad’s room, I nearly collide with my seven-year-old brother, Elijah.

He clings on to the railing to prevent himself from tumbling down the stairs. “Watch where you’re going, stupid.”

“Sorry.” I continue down the stairs in a trot, holding back a whinny. If my older brother, Jonathan, hears me, he won’t shut up about it for days.

I hesitate before knocking on Dad’s closed door. He’s grouchy when he’s in a lot of pain, but the news is too exciting to hold back. It’s worth the risk of being yelled at.

“What is it?” Dad’s muffled voice sounds like he’s lying in bed with the covers over his face.

“I have good news.” I turn the doorknob before he tells me to come back another time.

Dad sits up, shoving blankets aside. “You got an A on your science project?”

“No… actually, yes, but that isn’t what I want to tell you.” I plop onto the bed beside him and show him the letter from Camp Laughing Loon.

“You won.” Dad grins, his hazel eyes twinkling despite the pain. He runs his fingers through his disheveled, thinning hair. “I’m so proud of you, Emily. You’re finally going to ride a horse.”

“An entire week of riding horses. And not just riding. Their website says we get assigned our own horse to take care of. We’ll brush them, feed them—”

“Shovel their manure.”

“Absolutely.” I rub my hands together. “That’s the best part.”

We laugh.

“I was wondering if we can get pizza for lunch. To celebrate. I still have the gift certificate I won from the reading challenge.” I study Dad’s lined face, hoping he’s feeling strong enough to drive.

Dad nods. “You’ve been hoarding that prize for way too long. It’s about time you use it. Do you want to invite a friend?”

I shake my head. Who would I invite?

“How about Sabrina?”

I sigh at the mention of my former best friend. “She wouldn’t be interested.”

“Everyone’s interested in pizza,” Dad says. “Why don’t you call her?”

I swallow, imagining how Sabrina would react if I invited her over like I used to when we were little kids. She wouldn’t be mean to me. Not to my face, anyway. She’d make some kind of excuse about being busy. And when she’d pass me in the hallway at school on Monday, she’d go right back to pretending she barely knows my name. “I’d rather just make it a family thing.”

“If that’s what you want.” Dad swings his legs over the side of the bed and reaches for his cane. He winces as he stands.

“Are you going to be…?”

“I’ll be fine. Just give me a few minutes.”

I bite my lip as he hobbles to his dresser. The multiple sclerosis is getting worse.

He frowns. “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing.” I force a smile and walk from the room into the kitchen.

Elijah sits at the table, his favorite teddy bear positioned on the chair next to him. It’s dressed in a Patriots uniform, complete with football helmet and shoes. Mom mailed a bear to me, too—only mine is wearing a pink tutu and ballet slippers. I’ve never once, in my entire life, wanted to dance, and Elijah has zero interest in football. My bear sits on a shelf over my desk, but Elijah takes his almost everywhere he goes. I begged him not to bring it to school, but he smuggled it into his backpack the day after Christmas vacation. His first-grade classmates teased him so unmercifully he came home in tears.

Elijah shovels a spoonful of Cheerios into his mouth and offers some to the bear.

“Don’t eat too much. We’re going out for pizza soon.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. Why would I lie about something like that?”

Elijah shrugs. “Jonathan told me we were getting ice cream last week. But we didn’t.”

“Yeah, Dad had a flare-up. But he’s okay now.” At least I hope he is.

“Hey, what’s this about pizza?” Jonathan stomps into the kitchen. I swear his feet are as heavy as a Clydesdale’s. He snatches the football bear, holding it over Elijah’s head. “You aren’t bringing this stupid thing.”

“Give it back!” Frantic, Elijah leaps for his stuffed animal.

Jonathan flings it over the table, through the open doorway into the living room. Elijah howls and races after it.

“Why do you have to be such a jerk?” I glare up at my big brother, who towers over me. Though he’s only fourteen, Jonathan is nearly as tall as Dad.

“It’s for his own good. He’s too old to carry that stupid thing around.”

“It reminds him of Mom,” I say under my breath.

“He’d be better off forgetting her.” Jonathan’s face reddens. “She isn’t coming back.”

My body stiffens. “Yes, she is. She’s just on a secret mission.”

“There’s no mission. Dad made that up to make you and Elijah feel better.”

“Shh. Don’t let Elijah—”

“What’s the point of lying to him?”

“She is a secret agent,” I insist.

Jonathan rolls his eyes. “For a smart kid, you can be a real idiot sometimes.”

My stomach flip flops. As much as I want to believe Mom is a secret agent saving the world from terrorists, I know it can’t be true. Only, I’m not ready to accept it, because if she isn’t on a secret mission, it means she’s abandoned us, like Jonathan insists. I don’t think I can forgive her for that. How could Mom just give up on our family? Dad needs her. Elijah needs her. I need her.

Elijah returns to the kitchen, cradling his bear against his chest. Jonathan steps forward, like he’s about to lunge for it again, but freezes when Dad appears in the doorway.

Dad jingles his car keys. “Is anyone up for pizza?”

Elijah cheers and wraps his arms around Dad’s waist, nearly dropping his bear. “Thank you!”

“Don’t thank me. Thank Emily. It’s her treat.”

Jonathan cocks his head at me. “You’re finally using that gift certificate? I thought you were saving it for a special occasion.”

“It is special. I won a scholarship to Equestrian Adventure Camp.” I lift my chin. “I’m about to become an equestrian extraordinaire.”