Grows That Way Read Online Free PDF Page A

registration papers.
    Not that I care.
    I ride Brooklyn around the ring a few times, but it gets boring. Kansas doesn’t like me jumping on my own, she says it’s too dangerous, and what if something happened, dot dot dot? Not that anything would happen. Brooklyn takes care of me. He’s an excellent horse.
    I put Brooklyn on a loose rein and let him wander where he wants to go. He heads to the out-gate and I think, what the heck? I lean over, spring the latch, then grab the top bar of the gate and urge Brooklyn forward. As though he’s reading my mind, when the gate swings open Brooklyn walks through and pivots so I can keep my hand on the rail the whole time and slam it shut, exactly like the pros I see in trail class competitions on YouTube. I can hardly believe it, because we’ve never practiced this sort of thing. I pat his neck and tell him he’s a very good boy. I love this horse. He is so smart.
    I leave Brooklyn on a loose rein. I want to see where he’ll decide to go. Kansas has taken me on some trail rides where she rode Hambone and I rode her lesson pony Electra. Kansas wanted me to spend the first month or two on Brooklyn in the ring to be sure we knew each other before heading out on the trails. It’s been over a month now, and Brooklyn and I are like soul mates, but Kansas has been too busy for trail rides. Too busy with Declan. Too busy with Bernadette.
    Brooklyn takes the trail up the outside of the paddock and across the unfenced field beside Kansas’s property. His ears are perked forward and his steps are quick. He’s happy to be out of the ring. So am I.
    I straighten my helmet on my head. It’s a bit looser than it should be since I carved out a piece of the liner. I did this in the summer, when I was taking the growth hormone, and fell off my bike, and ended up with a lump in the middle of my forehead. For a while I wondered if I was growing a horn like a unicorn. I had a dream that Logan Losino grew a horn too, so it really freaked me out the first day of school when he was wearing that silly cap pulled down over his forehead. I have a very fertile imagination. Or I did until recently. I’m more mature now. From now on I have resolved to be logical whenever possible, and not get carried away with fanciful ideas. This should make life a lot easier for me.
    I say, “Brooklyn, you can trot if you want.” He picks up a trot. I shorten the reins slightly, and look over my shoulder in case Kansas has appeared back at the barn. She’d be upset if she saw me trotting off alone towards the woods. So would my parents. Too bad.
    Besides, I’m not alone. I’m with Brooklyn.
    I love being in the woods. It’s better than hiking, because I’m higher up, so I can see above the undergrowth. I don’t need to be afraid of anything, because Brooklyn can outrun a dog. Or a bear. Or a man. Thinking about all the things that might need to be outrun frightens me a little. I need a joke to bring me back to normal, so I tell myself that Brooklyn could also outrun a non-identical twin, which makes me laugh out loud.
    Brooklyn hears me laughing and picks up the pace, then breaks into a canter. This is fun! There’s a small tree down across the path, and he jumps it like it’s nothing. Wow. We’re riding cross-country. This is exactly what I used to do in my lucid dreams, except this is real. Boy oh boy.
    We round a corner and there’s some great crashing noise in the woods. Brooklyn bounces a big stride sideways and stops. I barely manage to stay in the middle of the saddle and not land up on his neck. Brooklyn stares into the woods. A deer stares back at us. Brooklyn figures this out the same time I do and launches himself back onto the path at a trot. He’s having as much fun as I am.
    We come to a fork in the path. When I’m out with Kansas she takes the left branch which circles around back to the barn. Brooklyn opts for the