Wild Girl by Patricia Reilly Giff

you, but still…”
    I took a sip of that warm tea to slow myself down. “I rode all over Jales on the farmer’s horse, Cavalo. Sometimes I saddled him; sometimes I rode bareback. We climbed the steep rocks on the other side of the
rio
all the time—”
    I broke off and began again. “Tio Paulo said I was born to ride.”
    “Who can believe Tio Paulo?” Rafael said, but I knew he was teasing me.
    “It’s true,” I said. “I’m small enough, and in a few years I’m going to be a jockey. I’m going to ride horses like Big Brown and Rags to Riches. You’ll see. In the meantime, I’ll ride Wild Girl if she ever perks up.”
    For a moment, I saw sadness in Rafael’s face, but then he raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t need to learn on Love You?” He sat back, shaking his head, smiling.
    “That poor old horse,” I said, and we laughed together.
    I looked down at my cup, trying to think of how I’d ask him what I wanted to know. Then I blurted it out. “Tell me what’s wrong, Rafael.”
    He shook his head. “What could be wrong? The tea’s not too hot, the English muffin’s not too cold….”
    I held up my hand. “Stop.” But he wasn’t looking at me. His head was bent, the cup up to his mouth.
    “You haven’t touched the English muffin anyway. Rafael, I know there’s something.”
    He put down the cup. He was trying to smile. “I was born to ride, too.”
    “I know that. I could see it.”
    “I’m too big,” he said. “Pai doesn’t know it yet, or if he does, he doesn’t want to think about it.”
    I shook my head. “What do you mean?”
    “The good jockeys are all about a hundred pounds, maybe just a little more.” He put the cup down. “I weigh more than that now, and even though I’m starving myself, my bones are getting heavier, I’m too tall….”
    He looked out the window. “I have this season. But by the fall, it’ll be too late.”
    “No,” I said, but I saw his wrists and his shoulders. He was right. You could see how wide he was, bigger than anyone in our family.
    We sat there, not talking for a while.
    “What are you going to do?” I asked.
    “I’m going to ride now,” he said. “Tomorrow, and the rest of this meet. I can do that that. Pai is so proud, I feel …”
    “Then?”
    He raised his shoulders. “Who knows?” He was trying to smile.
    I held my warm cup to my mouth.
    “Sometimes,” he said, “when you’ve been dreaming about something for a long time, and it doesn’t turn out the way you expected …” He stopped.
    I nodded. I knew what he meant. Of course I did. Wasn’t that what was happening to me?
    Rafael left money on the table, and we drove home together, not saying a word.

26
WOODHILL SCHOOL
    The next morning, I hurried down the hall toward my classroom. Before school, I’d been up early, and outside. I’d stood at the track watching Rafael and the others exercise the horses. I caught a glimpse of Wild Girl at the far end, José working her easily, and Mrs. Januário riding Doce, her hair down, her head up to the morning breeze.
    I suddenly realized I was late. I ran, knowing I couldn’t make school by the bell, and was the last one in the door.
    Today the classroom had been rearranged. The tables lined the sides of the room, and Mrs. Bogart was unrolling a purple rug in the center of the floor.
    She saw me in the doorway and beckoned. I went into the room, and Liz grabbed my hand and showed mewhere our seats were. “Chair,” she said, patting the back of it.
    I slid into the seat and looked around. Someone was watering plants on the windowsill: a geranium that was beginning to flower, and a green vine that twirled around a trellis made of straws.
    Mrs. Bogart said something and clapped her hands. It must have been
Come
, because everyone went toward her and sat on the purple rug. I went with them, sinking down next to Liz.
    Mrs. Bogart was smiling at me, I could see that. And in front of her was a pile of small books. She said