The Magical Ms. Plum by Bonny Becker Page A

closet.
    The little horse galloped out behind her.
    “How lovely, Tashala.” Ms. Plum smiled and held out her hand for the pencil.
    Tashala stared at Ms. Plum, then stared at the little horse. Every kid in class staredat Ms. Plum and then at the little horse. Ms. Plum didn’t seem the least surprised to see a real, live horse shifting from hoof to hoof near Tashala’s ankle.
    Tashala handed over the pencil.
    “Thank you, dear,” said Ms. Plum. “Now remember, you’ll have to take care of the horse.”
    “Sure thing,” Tashala said, frowning a little behind Ms. Plum’s back. She didn’t like being told what to do, especially about cowboy things.
    All the students looked at Ms. Plum again. And she said, “Certainly,” because she knew what everyone wanted to do. The kids jumped up and clustered around Tashala and her horse.
    “You’re so lucky,” said Mindy Minn, who had known Tashala since kindergarten. Back then Tashala had called Mindy Miss Priss and had snatched away her pink-haired Troll doll.
    Of course Tashala would get a horse, thought Mindy. Tashala always knew how to get her way.
    All her life Mindy had wanted a horse—a real, live horse—but the closest she got was a blue plastic pony.
    “Giddy-up!” Tashala said. And to everyone’s delight, he galloped around the room, his hooves rattling against the floorboards. When he got to the front of the room, he reared up for a majestic moment, pawing the air.
    Everyone clapped.

    “I wish I had a little horse,” sighed Mindy.
    Tashala snorted. “Yeah, a pink-y horsey with purple hoovies. This here’s a real horse.”
    Tashala wouldn’t even let Mindy pet the horse, because Mindy wore pink sparkly headbands and had a backpack decorated with prancing pink unicorns. Tashala hated all that pinky-pinkness. Not even a
cowgirl
would have anything to do with pink unicorns.
    Tashala gave the horse some water and Oaty-O cereal for chow. Then Ms. Plum told Tashala to put the stallion away in her desk. Tashala’s desk was just big enough for the small horse.
    Ms. Plum turned to the blackboard and wrote down their subjects for the year:
    - Don’t Try This at Home!
    - How Many Atoms Can Dance on the
Head
of a Pin?
    - Weird, Wonderful, Wacky Words
    - What’s That in Your Hair?
    Tashala sat slumped down, her cowboy boots stuck out in front of her, looking as pleased as a gopher with a peanut.
    Then Eric, who always had something to say, said, “P.U.! What’s that?”
    “No talking, please,” said Ms. Plum.
    But now all the kids were sniffing and making faces.
    Eric pointed his nose in Tashala’s direction. “It’s
her
,” he announced. “Tashala stinks!”
    “Do not!” said Tashala, but she was sniffing and frowning, too.
    “We mustn’t be rude, Eric,” said Ms. Plum.
    “But she smells like a barnyard,” said Becky. “Can’t you smell it?”
    Ms. Plum sniffed carefully. “Open your desk, dear,” she said.
    Tashala lifted the lid. “Yuck!”
    The chestnut stallion had gotten rid of his Oaty-O’s the way all horses get rid of their oats. Manure lay all over the inside of Tashala’s desk. There was even a big steaming pile on her new notebook with the giant silver spurs on the cover.
    The horse flicked up his tail and neighed a triumphant neigh.
    “Now then, you need to clean that up,” said Ms. Plum.
    “But it’s, it’s … poop!” protested Tashala.
    “Indeed. And I think it’s time for more Oaty-O’s, too,” said Ms. Plum.
    “But then he’ll … you know! Again!” cried Tashala.
    “Well, he is a horse,” said Ms. Plum sensibly.
    Ms. Plum handed Tashala a brown paper bag and a little scoop.
    Holding the scoop as far from herself as she could, Tashala clumsily scraped up one of the piles and dropped it into the bag. She hurriedly scooped up another pile, but it fell and landed with a juicy plop on her new cowboy boots.
    “Dag nab it!” she said. Then, to everyone’s surprise, she began to sniffle, wiping her nose with her