Part 9 (1/2)

We were being treated worse than horse s.h.i.+t. Fossilized horse s.h.i.+t.

Rawe handed us each a rake and pointed us to a stall. Mine had a burnished wood sign hanging on it that read PEANUT.

”I don't do horses,” Nez said, her lips tight.

”I thought you did everything,” I said.

Nez stuck her tongue out at me.

”The horses are long gone, Queen Nez,” Rawe said, doing a fake bow. ”Rake out the hay.”

Troyer lowered her head and entered her stall.

”Why are we doing this?” Nez asked, holding her rake upright next to her.

I guess I was glad she asked and I kinda wondered why I hadn't. It was just the kind of question I ordinarily would have snarked out, either loud enough for Rawe to hear or under my breath. But I hadn't even thought to say anything. I just took my rake and entered Peanut's sad old stall. Was I changing without even realizing it, like Rawe had said? Or was I tired, so incredibly tired in my body and in my mind that I couldn't even be baseline normal Ca.s.sie?

Or had I lost her before I even got here?

”I'll be back in twenty minutes, so you better hope you're done,” Rawe said, slamming the stable door behind her.

”What's her problem?” Nez asked.

”Who knows?” I said. Rawe was acting like a completely different person than she had been the day I found her praying. Maybe she wasn't that person. Or maybe for some reason, she was only that person with me.

I started raking. The hay was high, as high as gra.s.s that hadn't been mowed in weeks. It crunched under my feet as I thought about Peanut. He was probably a pony, a light brown pony that all the campers must have loved and fed apples and carrots to.

When I was a kid and my brother and I would ride, that was what we would do: watch as the orange carrots we fed our trail horses were crunched and crunched and disappeared into their big, spongy mouths. We would pat them as they chewed, their fur as soft as a dog's ear. I might not have missed being home, but I guess I missed my brother.

I heard Nez and Troyer in the stalls on either side of me, also raking. Nez was grunting, like she was hooking up with the hay, and it made me wonder why she hadn't complained yet that the boys weren't there. She hadn't even snuck out since the night she was with Ben, or had claimed to be.

As I raked, I couldn't help thinking about the kids who'd gone to this camp, whose parents came to watch them ride on visiting weekend. They probably had the kind of parents who would always tell them they were awesome, even when they sucked. I had the kind who told me I sucked when I sucked. I couldn't even remember a time they told me I was awesome, but maybe that's because I never was. Maybe that was because my mom was too busy drinking instead of talking and my dad was too busy killing other people's children with army-issue weapons.

”This stinks,” Nez said over the stall, in her typical Nez way.

”You stink,” I said, in my typical Ca.s.sie way.

Troyer said nothing. I was beginning to wonder if part of the reason she didn't talk was because she didn't want people to figure her out, didn't want to have a guy like Ben make it his daily mission to.

”I'd much rather be rolling in the hay than raking it,” Nez joked.

”How about we work for a change?” I said. I actually liked raking and thinking about Peanut. How I would have liked to ride Peanut and brush her blond mane. I probably would have liked going to this camp. I might have turned into a completely different person if I had.

”If I don't talk, who's going to?” Nez said over her heavy breaths. ”All you do is swear and all Troyer does is drool.” I knew Troyer could hear Nez from her stall, but she didn't stop working, didn't even act like she could hear her. I listened to Troyer's rake move along the floor of the stall, scratching at dirt and hay.

I ignored Nez, matched Troyer's movements.

”I'm trying to stay sane,” Nez said. ”What are you trying to do?”

”Get the h.e.l.l out of here,” I said, still raking. My shoulders burned like they had the day we split all that wood. The hay was as heavy as the snow I had to shovel from our driveway when my brother conned me into doing it for him.

”Just make sure you don't lose it before then,” Nez said.

”Just make sure you don't trip over your v.a.g.i.n.a before then,” I said.

”At least I know how to use mine,” Nez said.

There was no way she could have known what had happened before I came here, but when she said things like that, it was like she did.

”This sucks,” I said, slamming my rake against the hay below me. ”f.u.c.k,” I spit.

”Why do you swear so much?” Nez asked.

”Because I like it,” I said, not turning to look at her. ”Why do you sleep around so much?”

”Because I like it,” she replied.

”It's f.u.c.king disgusting,” I said.

”So is swearing,” she said. ”It's like swallowing the whole pit toilet and then spewing it out again.” Her words were like tea-calm, warm.

G.o.d, I hated Nez in a way that I never hated Lila. Nez was definitely as vain as Lila, but there was something else about her, something where just hearing her voice could make my skin crawl.

I heard the stable door open: a heavy, dusty creak. ”Troyer, Wick, tack room,” Rawe yelled. ”Nez, you finish the stalls.”

”All of them?” Nez wailed.

”You have other plans?” Rawe asked.

”You have to be flicking kidding me,” Nez said, huffing.

Maybe Rawe did actually care.

Troyer and I followed her into the tack room. Saddles and bridles hung from the wall. A desk, empty except for a s.h.i.+ny cowboy belt buckle paperweight, sat in the center.

”Dust,” Rawe said, handing us two rags. ”Don't move anything, don't touch anything. Don't take anything. Understand?”

”Yeah,” I said. I wanted to ask her how we were supposed to dust without touching anything, but Rawe had been nice enough to remove Nez from our lives for a short time. That had to be worth me keeping my mouth closed. I also wondered what there was to take. I wasn't really in need of a saddle. But maybe I could use the bridle to shut Nez the h.e.l.l up.

”Troyer?” Rawe asked.

She nodded, just once, fast and sharp like the blade of a guillotine going down.

”Okay,” Rawe said, leaving us to work. ”You have ten minutes.”

I started on the saddles. They hung on wooden dowels adorned with golden labels, a girl's name on each of them.