Born That Way by Susan Ketchen

below that it says “Valley Fastball Champs 2005”. So I can’t say exactly why she’s so obviously a horse person. There’s just something. And basically she looks wonderful, even better than in my dreams, and I can hardly take my eyes off her except that staring is so rude.
    And she doesn’t seem to care anyway. She grabs her long hair in her right hand and with her left hand fishes an elastic band out of the pocket of her blue jeans and uses it to bind her hair behind her neck. I like her even more because it’s not a sparkly little pink elastic with butterflies on the end, it’s one of those thick blue ones that comes wrapped around bunches of broccoli. “Live around here?” she asks.
    I know all the rules about talking to strangers, but I don’t think they apply to girls who ride horses. We’re part of the same tribe.
    â€œYes, I’m over on Willow Crescent. In the subdivision.”
    â€œI don’t suppose you’re sixteen?”
    I know she’s kidding. Something else we have in common. Bliss. “Not quite. I’m fourteen. I’ll be fifteen at my next birthday.”
    â€œOh.” She looks surprised, but only for a second. I don’t blame her. I know I don’t look fourteen. But at least she doesn’t make a big deal of it. “I’m looking to hire someone to pick paddocks,” she says.
    She’s treating me like an adult. I want to hug her, but I know that right now it’s more important to act business-like. “What exactly is picking paddocks? ”
    â€œYou put horse poop in a wheel barrow and take it to the manure pile for composting. We have to do it for parasite control.” She sees my confused look. “Horses get internal parasites—worms—and they infect the fields unless the manure is picked up.”
    â€œOh,” I say, thinking about it. “I could do that.”
    â€œYou’re not very big. You look like you could blow away in a strong wind.”
    â€œYeah, but I’m strong. They said so at gymnastics.”
    â€œYou do gymnastics?”
    â€œOnce.”
    â€œI can’t pay much. I could pay you with riding lessons when I get the ring put in, after the barn is finished.”
    â€œThat’s a barn?” Of course it’s a barn. I should have known that. “Where are you going to live?”
    â€œIn a trailer for now. I’ll park it behind the barn.”
    I like her more and more. Anyone who would build their barn before they build their house is my kind of person.
    â€œI think Nickers will like having a barn,” I say.
    â€œNickers?”
    â€œThe bay mare,” I say. I love saying it. The bay mare. Offhand, exactly like a horse person, as if I say it all the time.
    â€œAh. I see.” For a minute she looks like she’s going to tell me something, she has that adult lecturing look, but then it passes. “My name’s Kansas—like the state,” she says smiling.
    â€œCoulda been worse, I guess. They could have called you Mississippi.”
    â€œOr Rhode Island.”
    I feel a giggle building up in me and squash it down. Really, I’m so happy to have found someone who not only likes horses but also jokes around like me that I figure if I started giggling I might never be able to stop. I tell her my name is Sylvia.
    She nods. “I guess you’d need to get permission from your parents—about the job,” she says, but she doesn’t sound sure.
    â€œI can do that.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t have to start for a couple of weeks. I need to harrow the field first to break up the old poop, and then build the paddocks for the other horses.”
    â€œThat’s okay.” This gives me time to work things out with Mom and Dad, but really it’s great, it will fit in perfectly with my gorilla marketing plan. Then it sinks in. “Other horses? How many?”
    â€œI dunno exactly. I’m