The Penny Pony by Patricia Gilkerson

Chapter One
    ~ We Find Rosie ~
     
    The trouble started
on a hot afternoon the week after I turned fifteen. I was doing
surgery in my bedroom, trying to glue or tape the leg back on an
old Breyer horse, when I heard a rock hit the screen on my window.
I looked out and saw my best friend, Addie Davis, getting ready to
throw another one.
    “Hey!” I yelled out the window. “Stop! You’re
going to break something.”
    “Hi, Piper,” she said. “You still sick? I
haven’t seen you since your birthday party when you started
throwing up. You don’t answer your phone.”
    “I’m okay now, but I broke my phone. Mom says
I have to buy the new one with my own money,” I said. “What’s
up?”
    “I want to show you something. Come out.”
    “Just a minute,” I said. My mother was mad at
me. Would she let me go? I decided that yes, she would let me go
out. Since I almost always guessed wrong about things like this, I
tiptoed down the hall and out the back door to be sure she didn’t
have a chance to mind. My mother had been very unreasonable lately.
I had her straight brown hair and skinny body, but not her
temper.
    Motioning for Addie to be quiet, I led her
through the trees at the edge of our yard and into a small cluster
of lilac bushes owned by our neighbors. When they bloomed, they had
the best smell in the world, but they were done now and it was hot
summer. Out of sight of my house, I turned to her.
    “Are you in trouble?” Addie asked. Stupid
question. I was usually in trouble.
    “Not really,” I said. “I think I should lay
low for a while.”
    “You are, too, in trouble,” said Addie. “What
did you do?”
    “Nothing,” I said. “Okay, I broke some good
plates, but I didn’t mean to. I was trying to juggle them. What did
you want to show me?”
    “It’s over by the drugstore.” Addie started
walking toward Main Street. Serendipity Springs, Kentucky, was a
very small town. The good thing about small towns: everyone knew
you, so you could walk anywhere. People said “Hi,” and might give
you treats. The bad thing about small towns: Everyone knew you;
they kept an eye on what you were doing and asked about your
parents. See, I was getting used to Mom and Dad being divorced, but
I wished everyone else would get over it and quit asking me about
it. I mean, it had been a year now and all the arguing and fighting
was over. If I was able to move on, why couldn’t the rest of the
town? They picked at it like a scab that was still sore, and I
guessed it was.
    We walked two blocks, past old houses and old
trees dreaming in the hot summer sun. The bare ground had cracks in
it from the heat, and even the weeds at the side of the road were
drying up. Addie’s brown hair had gone crazy curly with the
humidity, and we were both sweaty. Pretty soon, we saw the vacant
lot across from the drugstore with its large yellow sign: PONY
RIDES- $2.00.
    We crossed over to the sign and the low rail
fence enclosing part of the vacant lot. At a corner of the fence
was a hitching post with a small spotted horse dozing under a heavy
western saddle. About ten sacks of feed leaned upright against the
fence, next to an old rusty aqua and white trailer. There were no
people in sight. We stared for a few minutes at the scrawny animal
sweating in the sun.
    “She looks exactly like Dotty,” I
murmured.
    “Who’s Dotty?” Addie wanted to know.
    “A pony I used to ride out at Miss Julie’s.
Miss Julie Applegate? The pony died years ago, and she looked just
like that, only not so skinny.” I touched the horsehair worry
bracelet I always wore. It was brown and white and made from
Dotty’s mane. I twisted it when I was nervous. We walked over close
to the hitching post, and I shook my head sadly as I looked at the
thin little horse. Her bony shoulders, ribs and hips stuck out; her
matted mane and tail needed brushing.
    “When Dad sees horses like this one,” I told
Addie, “he explains to the owners that they should worm