Runaway by Dandi Daley Mackall

over?”
    Lancelot seems to be ignoring her. His body sways slightly, then rebounds even closer to the fence than before she shoved him.
    “Guinevere?” I pet Blackfire, then walk toward Lancelot.
    “What?” She gives her horse another shove. He groans but refuses to budge. “This stupid horse. I’m telling Daddy I want that other horse he found for me. This one is too stubborn.”
    “You can’t force him,” I say, stroking the horse’s neck.
    “Fine. I just won’t brush him then,” Guinevere says. “But I still need to get him over so I can put on his saddle.”
    “Have you tried asking him? That touch-and-release thing really works.”
    “Wait a minute.” She stops shoving Lancelot and pushes her hair out of her eyes. “Are you trying to tell me what to do with my own horse?”
    “No. I just mean, if you didn’t shove him—”
    “Fine.” She ducks under Lancelot’s neck and comes around to my side. “You do it then.”
    “I don’t know if I can do it or not,” I admit.
    “Really? I thought you said all I had to do was ask. Well, I’m asking you to ask.”
    Hank walks in with an English saddle and sets it over the pen rail. “What’s up?”
    “Dakota was about to show me how to make Lancelot move over for saddling.”
    I start to protest, but the truth is, I don’t want her to shove the horse anymore. I slip to the other side, between fence and horse. “You’re a good boy, Lance,” I coo, scratching his withers. I hear Guinevere sigh, but I won’t hurry.
    I move my hand to his belly. “Okay, boy. Now I need you to move over.”
    He doesn’t, and Guinevere laughs through her nose, a nose puff.
    “Move, Lance,” I say firmly. This time I barely poke his side. He sways but doesn’t budge. “That’s a boy. Move, please.” I touch him again with my index finger. Then again. “There, now. Move.” I keep steadily pressing, releasing, pressing.
    And he steps aside.
    “Good, Lancelot.” I press again. But I don’t even need to this time. He moves all the way around.
    Hank comes over and strokes Lance’s head. “Good boy.” He grins at me, and I grin back.
    “Thanks,” Guinevere says, taking her saddle off the fence. I’m not sure if she’s thanking Hank for the saddle or me for the horse.
    I go back to Blackfire while Guinevere saddles her horse. I don’t think I’d like to ride with that puny saddle.
    “Do you ride English?” Guinevere asks. She pulls the strap tighter and buckles it.
    “No,” I answer.
    Hank hands her a bridle and holds Lance while she puts it on.
    “That’s too bad,” Guinevere says, shoving the bit into Lance’s mouth. Hank cringes. “Nearly all the good horse shows around here are English equitation.”
    “That’s okay. I don’t want to show.” I can’t imagine that being fun. And I’m sure equitation would make me want to hurl, even though I’m not exactly sure what it is.
    “You do ride, though, don’t you?” she asks.
    “Yeah. Of course.” Okay, so the truth is, the only horse I ever rode was a plastic one in front of a grocery store. And nobody even put in the quarter to make it move.
    “Why don’t you saddle up?” Guinevere suggests. She turns to Hank. “Hank, can’t you loan her a Western saddle?”
    “No thanks,” I say before Hank can answer. I have no more idea how to saddle a horse than I do how to cook one. “So not necessary.”
    “You ride bareback? Good for you!” she says with exaggerated sweetness. “Daddy won’t let me.” She gathers the reins in her left hand and stands beside the saddle until Hank cups his hands so she can use him as a stirrup. Once she’s in the saddle, she says, “Hank, you have a bridle for Blackfire, don’t you? Get it so Dakota and I can ride together.”
    Hank is way too used to taking orders from this girl. He smiles at me, then takes a bridle off the wall. My mind races, searching for another excuse for why I can’t bridle this horse—an excuse that doesn’t begin,