Age:
High School
Reading Level: 2.7
Chapter One: Big Slips
Nick spotted Cassidy in the crowd in busy downtown South Haven. Her ponytail swung from side to side. It played peek-a-boo with the white label sticking up from her blue tank top.
Nick felt a sudden urge to tuck in her shirt label. He wanted to take care of his new friend. His diabetic friend.
"Hi!" he called, when he was close enough to read the label.
Cass spun around and smiled. "Oh, hi," she said. Her eyes smiled too. "Remember Julianna?" she asked, pointing a thumb at her friend.
The two girls leaned toward each other for a moment. They smiled, but didn't giggle.
I bet they've been talking about me, Nick guessed. I hope it was all good stuff.
Cassidy's cell phone rang. "Yes, I know. I know. Uh-huh. See you later. Me too," she said.
I'm glad her dad is checking on her, Nick thought. I wonder if she has checked her blood sugar levels. Maybe she needs a shot. Does she have some glucose tablets in her purse?
There was a whole row of port-a-potties near the first tall ship.
"Oh, look," Nick said. "Bathrooms, lots of bathrooms."
Both girls turned to him at once. They looked confused.
"Whatever," Julianna mumbled.
"If you ever need one, that is," Nick added. He felt clumsy and dumb.
They looked up from the deck of the 100-year-old ship into the rigging. It climbed forever in a tangled knot of criss-crossing lines and rope ladders.
"Could you imagine trying to climb all the way to the top crossbars?" Julianna asked.
"Not only that," Nick said, "but then the sailors had to climb out along those bars to tie up the canvas sails."
"What did they stand on?" Cass asked.
"On those ropes," Nick said. He pointed to the ones that looped like a lazy clothesline.
"I'd be scared to death," Julianna admitted.
"And if it was really stormy or icy, they still had to do it," Nick said. "Can you imagine if you were on the top row and the ship was rocking from side to side? Man, what a ride!"
"How do you know about all of this stuff?" Julianna asked.
"Books," Nick answered. "I've read a bunch of books about old-time sailing ships and pirates."
"You read? For fun?" Julianna asked. Her face scrunched like she had bitten into a lemon. "How boring."
The next ship was a one-mast sloop. It was smaller than the first one. But it still had a maze of ropes and ladders.
"How would you know which ones to pull and which to let go of?" Cass asked.
"Who cares?" Julianna said. "I'll take a waverunner any day. Less work, more fun. Have you ever ridden one, Nick?"
"Nope. And I never will. I'm a sailboarder," Nick said.
"And I like real horsepower in the water," Cass said.
"Well, excuuuse me," Julianna said. "It's about time for me to go, anyway. I think I'll try to find a car ride home, if using a gas-powered engine doesn't offend you mast-hugging book-readers." Julianna waved before blending into the crowd.
"I've seen enough," Cass said. "Want to walk out on the pier?"
"Maybe we should get something to eat. A little snack," Nick said. "You thirsty?"
"No, I'm okay," Cass said.
The silence grew as they walked along the wide concrete path beside the river. Nick couldn't think of anything to talk about.
Across the river, the boat named Making Waves rocked in the gentle wake from passing boats. Maybe Cass would enjoy Uncle Frank's game. He could try joking with her one more time.
"Can you guess what the owner did for a living?" Nick asked, pointing out the name on the boat.
"Making Waves... hmmm," Cass said. "Whatever he does now, the owner was probably the class clown when he was a kid. The one always making trouble. Do you have someone like that in your homeroom?"
Nick nodded.
He was disappointed. He wanted to say, "No. A hairdresser. 'Making Waves.' Get it?" But Cass had ruined his punch line. Now he had to talk about class pranksters. So much for Uncle Frank's advice that girls liked a sense of humor.
They sat on the end of the cement pier. They were quiet again, leaning against the bright red lighthouse. Quiet was okay.
Boats came and went from the calm, blue lake that stretched to the horizon on three sides. A sailboat motored by with no wind for its sails. A small boy in a bright orange life vest waved to Nick and Cass. High Cs was written across the back of the boat.
"Who do you think owns that boat?" Cass asked, picking up the earlier game. "An opera singer?"
"A big lady with a Minnesota Vikings helmet and an iron bra," Nick added.
"Or maybe a school teacher who's a hard grader. The highest grade she'll give is a high C," Cass said.
They both had to think about the next boat: WindsR Us.
"Toy store owner?" Cass guessed. "Sells wind-up toys?"
"I know! I know!" Nick said. "They're Canadians from Windsor. Get it? WindsR?"
Cass stared at him. She looked confused.
"That's the city right across the river from us in Detroit," Nick explained.
Cass nodded. "So, that's where you're from," she said.
"Well, yeah, but I'm not just another fudgie," Nick said.
Cass's cell phone buzzed.
"Yes! I know. I'll be home in an hour. I'll do it then," she said angrily. She ended the call and dropped the phone in her purse. "Sometimes he gets me so mad. Treats me like I'm a baby."
"He's worried about you. Maybe he should be," Nick said.
Cass stared at Nick for a long moment. "What's that supposed to mean?" she asked.
"Um... dads are supposed to worry about their daughters," Nick said.
"And?" Cass asked. "What else, Nick? Do you have something to say? You've been acting strange ever since you got here."
"I— I'm just worried about you," Nick said.
"Not you, too. I don't need..." Cass stopped. She glared at Nick. "Oh, I get it. The potty breaks, the water, the food. You finally figured out that I have diabetes. Aren't you clever."
"I'm just trying to help," Nick promised.
"I'm okay, Nick. I'm just like everyone else. I just happen to have a condition that always needs attention. And I'm doing pretty good on my own. Geez," she said. There were tears in her eyes. "I was hoping you wouldn't notice."
Nick watched her stomp away. The label on her tank top waved behind her angrily swaying ponytail. He still wanted to tuck it in.
Nick made a quick call to Tanya.
"Hi, Tanya. I think I just blew it with my horse-riding friend, Cassidy. The diabetic," Nick said. "I tried to help her. You know, look for ways to remind her of what she needed to do. There are so many things to remember. But she just got mad at me."
"If this girl already has a daddy, she doesn't need another one," Tanya said. "And besides, she's not 'a diabetic.' Just like my cousin with allergies isn't 'the allergetic.'"
Chapter Two: Bull Riding
Lying on the lumpy couch after dinner, Nick was mad.
I don't know what's right anymore, he thought. Maybe I'll just go see what bull riding is all about. It's got to be simpler there. You're either on or you're off.
"Aunt Jo," he called, heading out the door. "I'm going for a ride."
"Be back before dark," she ordered.
"Okay," he shouted. Since it didn't get completely dark until almost 10:00, he had three hours to himself.
Tidrow's farm had a large, gray pole barn with a corral along one side. Behind the arena, one field held longhorn cows and steers. There were maybe twenty in the herd. There were eight or nine bulls in the next pasture.
A man on foot walked through the ankle-deep mud. He was waving his arms, shouting, and trying to drive the bulls toward an open gate.
Nick realized he was early. There were no other cars around. Still, he didn't want to be seen riding a bike to a rodeo event. He hid Cass's bike behind a hay roll in back of the barn.
Standing by the bull pasture's gate, Nick watched the man. It was probably Tidrow. He got all the bulls moving toward a runway leading into the bullring. At the last moment, just before heading through the chute, one of them would turn away. The rest would follow.
They seemed to know what was waiting for them inside the arena. They didn't want to go to work, even if it only meant bucking for eight seconds once a week.
Knuck, the laid-back sheep dog, would know what to do, Nick thought.
He pictured himself trying the Knuck challenge. He would walk to within four feet of the nearest bull. Stop. Stare. Inch forward.
The bull would pound the ground, sending shockwaves up to the short hairs on the back of his neck. Nick would inch forward again. The bull would lower his head and lunge.
Nick would run just far enough to keep the four-foot distance between them. Then, inching forward, he would make the bull charge again. The other bulls would follow. As soon as they were all past the gate, he would hop through the fence rail.
"Hey! Hey you!" Tidrow called. "Grab some grass."
Nick nodded. He knew what Tidrow was trying to do. This would be a much safer plan.
Nick held handfuls of tall grass and weeds from the roadside. He walked along the outside of the fence to the nearest bull. Jericho.
"Remember me?" Nick asked.
He held out a handful of tasty greens toward the bull's drooling mouth. When the bull stretched his neck for a mouthful, Nick ran along the fence waving the grass.
Jericho followed him. So did all the others, until they were past the gate. Tidrow slammed it shut.
Tidrow and Nick both waved their arms and kicked dirt. The little herd trotted into the metal bull-riding ring in the middle of the arena.
"Thanks," the red-faced man said. He was hosing off his dirty boots. "Just for helping out, I'll let you in free tonight. The name's Tidrow. Jerry Tidrow. Welcome to the Plugged Nickel."
Nick walked over to the pen to look at Jericho and his buddies. They were all different. Some had short, curled horns. One bull had a huge hump over his shoulders. Another had horns that stuck straight out on both sides.
A bearded man leaned against the metal rails of the bullring. He was short and thin. His t-shirt showed an arm-waving bull rider and the words Raise your hand if you love Jesus.
"That one's Rusty," the man said. He pointed a finger at a red longhorn bull. "Last week, ol' Rusty took on one of them hay bales you seen in the field. Just stuck it with his horns like he was a forklift and ragged it from side to side 'til it fell apart. He was just trying to impress the cows. Big showoff."
"I heard he hurt someone," Nick said.
The man pulled a long hemp rope out of the bag at his feet. It was flat on one end, like a woven belt. It had a copper cowbell hanging from a loop in the middle.
"Todd? You talking about Todd over there in the loose-fitting shorts?" he finally said. "Yeah, he got whacked in the jewels pretty good. Gotta move quick out there."
"Are you riding tonight?" Nick asked.
The man pulled a yellow leather glove onto his left hand. He searched in a small box, finding something that looked like a chunk of clear crystal.
"Uh-huh," he said.
Next, he put the crystal in the palm of his gloved hand. He squeezed it against a metal crossbar on the bullring fence. The crystal crunched into a sticky-looking powder.
I bet that's rosin, Nick thought. What pitchers use to grip a baseball.
"I've rode every one of these guys," the man said. It would have been bragging if he hadn't made it sound like a simple fact.
He looped his bucking rope on the fence. He grabbed the last two feet of the woven end with his gloved hand. He squeezed and pulled the rope, forcing the sticky powder deep into the hemp fibers.
"Nope," he said. "Not too many surprises left."
"Tell that to Todd," Nick said.
The rider raised an eyebrow at Nick. "You riding tonight?" he asked.
"No way," Nick said. "I don't know the first thing about it."
"My name's Chet," the man said. He pulled the rope, working the rosin in.
"I'm Nick," he said.
Nick spit in the loose, dry dirt of the arena. He made a small mud ball with the toe of his boot.
"They make you wear a mouthpiece and a special vest," Chet said. "No one laughs if you wear a helmet for your first ride."
Nick looked across the ring. Roy had come in with some of his friends. Two girls hung around the edges, smoking.
Roy looked up. He caught Nick's eye.
He looked like Mack, the wrangler at Camp Wa-Tonka who had taught Nick to ride. They both had black eyes with no bottoms. It was like staring into a double-barrel shotgun. Challenging. Can you do it?
Nick wasn't sure. He remembered what his uncle had said about not getting pushed into doing something dangerous. And it was dangerous, vest or no vest.
"I think I'll just watch," Nick said. Then he added, "for a while."
He climbed next to a chute that was so small the bull inside could hardly move. Small black flies crawled over the hump on its yellow shoulders. Tidrow laid a rope over the bull's back, near the hind legs.
"Easy, Sam," Tidrow said when the bull struggled in the narrow stall. "Don't fight it, Samson. You've been here before."
He reached a hooked metal rod under the bull and snagged a rope draped across the bull's flank. Then he tightened it and tied it in a pull-away knot.
A young Mexican man climbed onto the bull. He was a little shorter than Nick but powerful across full shoulders.
He forced his left hand under the bull rope and laid another layer of rope across his palm. Clamping his fingers shut, he pounded them once with his right fist as if to lock them in place.
He settled himself. Then he nodded.
The gate flew open. Samson rushed out from his cage. He bucked and twisted to his right. He bucked again. He twisted to the left.
"Andale!" someone called in Spanish.
The rider flew through the air.
The announcer called out, "Five seconds!"
Roy rode next. He held on for six seconds before Jericho slid out from under him and left Roy on his seat in the dusty arena.
Just down the rail from Nick, Chet was talking to a guy. The guy swayed unsteadily between the two girls hanging on his arms.
"What you do," Chet said, "is sit tall and picture yourself spitting straight down on the bull's back. Right there in front of your rope hand. If you can keep sitting so you can look down at that spot, you'll be in great shape, see?"
"Whatever you say, coach," the drunk guy said.
It took one buck for the drunk guy to land nose first in the dirt. He got up laughing and waving to his girlfriends. He was slapping at his dirty pants.
Someone yelled, "Watch out!"
The bull took several steps toward him.
The new rider ran across the ring with his arms waving. He put both hands on the middle rail of the fence and jumped over the top like a pole vaulter in the Olympics. He landed on his butt, still smiling.
"Ha!" Chet shouted. "He got two thrills for his ten-buck entry fee. You going to try, Nick?"
Roy glared from across the ring.
Nick stared back. Without thinking, he said, "Yeah, I'll give it a try."
For the first second, Nick felt like he was on a roller coaster with a loose seat and no metal bar. He slammed forward, fell sideways, flew back, and twirled in a circle.
The next second, his arm stretched tight when the bull ducked his head. It hurt. He couldn't hold anymore. The bull bucked, throwing Nick high in the air.
For a split second, he could see all the faces around the ring staring up at him. Then he landed in a heap. He had a great view of the bull's underside and two hammering hooves before he rolled, got up, and ran for the rail.
"Two seconds. Not bad for a first-timer," Chet said.
Nick looked for Roy. He was nowhere to be seen.