Colt by Nancy Springer

she would say was, “We’ll see. Things take time.”
    Colt’s mother was quiet for a change as she drove him home.
    The next week school began, and Colt’s riding lesson time changed. He came late Saturday afternoon.
    â€œHey, Liverwurst!” He rubbed the horse’s mottled forehead. Liverwurst thrust his nose down and nuzzled Colt’s chest. Then it was time to roll the wheelchair up the ramp and get onto the horse. Mrs. Reynolds and Colt had come up with a way he could mount with only one person to help him. He could get on his knees at the edge of the ramp and reach up to grasp Liverwurst’s withers and the saddle cantle, just the way regular riders did. Then Mrs. Reynolds would give him a “leg up” the way she sometimes did with anyone trying to mount a tall horse. She would cradle both hands under his left knee and lift while he pulled with his arms, and as she lifted, he could swing himself into the saddle. (His right foot dragged across Liverwurst’s rump, but Liverwurst didn’t mind.) This was all Colt’s idea. In a few years, he knew, he would be too big and heavy to be lifted onto a horse, and he wanted always to be able to ride. He didn’t want anything, ever, to keep him from riding horseback.
    Colt’s mother went and took her seat on her bench. Even though she no longer had to help him get on the horse, Audrey stayed to watch his lessons anyway, pretending to read.
    â€œOkay,” Mrs. Reynolds said once Colt was settled on top of Liverwurst and had gathered up his reins, “take him on down to the ring.”
    Colt had done this a dozen times, maybe more. He turned Liverwurst toward the ring and gave him a gentle squeeze with his knees to tell him to walk.
    Liverwurst snorted happily and jumped forward into a brisk trot.
    Colt had never in his life been bounced, not even on a grandparent’s knee, and the shock of what he was feeling stunned him so badly that he couldn’t react. Every functioning muscle in his body stiffened in protest. He heard Mrs. Reynolds shouting, “Pull on the reins! Make him whoa!” But her voice sounded as if it were coming through ten feet of water, and he could not do what she said—he had lost the reins. He tried to get in forward position, but his knees weren’t tight. He was hanging on by the mane and felt himself slipping farther sideways at every jounce. He was going to fall off! And he felt hurt to the heart. Liverwurst, how can you do this to me ? Colt had thought the horse was his friend. Tears blinded him so that he couldn’t even see, and, dammit, he hated crying.…
    The horrible jouncing stopped, Liverwurst stopped trotting and stood still so suddenly that Colt almost pitched forward over his neck. But his hands caught him. He straightened and started automatically fumbling for the reins. He blinked away tears and found that he had come perhaps thirty feet from the mounting ramp, only halfway to the ring. Mrs. Reynolds was running up beside him. His mother stood in front of him, holding Liverwurst by the bridle. Audrey Flowers, who had never handled a horse in her life, had jumped out in front of Liverwurst and made him stop trotting.
    â€œI’m so sorry!” Mrs. Reynolds panted, taking hold of Liverwurst’s bridle from the other side. “He must have got it in his head last time that he’s supposed to trot. And they’re always full of themselves around feeding time. Liverwurst,” she scolded the horse, “I’m ashamed of you!”
    But Audrey Flowers wasn’t listening to her explanations. “Are you all right?” she demanded of Colt.
    He nodded, flushed and angry because he knew there were tears on his cheeks.
    â€œDoes your back hurt?”
    He shook his head, but Audrey was not convinced.
    â€œDoes it hurt at all ?”
    â€œMom,” Colt said, starting to get some of his poise back, “it’s too soon for it to