mom?” I ask. She got in a car accident last fall and had to have surgery on her knees, but if he doesn’t remember the last year …
The silence in the barn is louder than the radio, but then he clears his throat. “Yeah, didn’t you say one of her good friends moved away or something?”
That did happen last summer. My mom’s friend from childhood—the one who had bought the house next door a dozenyears ago just so they could stay BFFs forever—moved to the East Coast for a job. I almost forgot about it. “Oh, yeah, I mean, she’s fine. The people who moved into our neighbor’s house are cool, I guess. She’s planning a DC trip in December.”
“Good, good.”
“Mm-hmm. What about your sisters?”
“Just as hellacious as ever,” he says, and across the aisle, through the metal bars on the stall front, I see his grin. “Jenny is fifteen already,” he says.
Sixteen , I think.
“She brought this date home the other day and I think I terrified him.”
Landon’s dad bailed on the family when he was a kid, and he’s got that whole man-of-the-house thing going on. He probably totally loves harassing his sisters and their dates.
“Somebody’s gotta do it,” I say, pulling some of the cleaner shavings toward the middle of the stall.
“That’s what I said.”
I set my pitchfork down and dig into my pocket, glancing over a bullet-point list I created this morning based on five minutes of Googling things on my phone. Let’s hope the hordes of Internet message board users employ valid arguments.
“So, Bailey and I were talking about 007 this morning,” I say as I shove the list back into my pocket.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. See, I think Pierce Brosnan is the best James Bond of all time, but she’s all about Daniel Craig,” I say.
“You’re both wrong,” he replies. “Sean Connery is the only Bond. The others are just imitators.”
I turn toward the back of the stall to hide my gleeful expression. Man, this is almost too easy.
“No way,” I say, turning back to the bedding. “Brosnan embodies the suave, totally unshakable quality required of a true secret agent.” I try to sound as if I believe everything I’m saying to the core of my being, but it’s hard. I’ve never even seen the Brosnan versions.
“Connery is the original . You have to take into account that his movies were filmed in the sixties, when special effects weren’t as great as they are today. He carried those films.”
Bailey was right about one thing. He’s enjoying this, spouting facts and trying to prove his point. It’s like I sparked a fire.
“Yeah, but Brosnan took the helm after a six-year hiatus.” I pause and dig the paper back out, scanning my eyes over the facts. “And plus, his films are the first of the series to not use plotlines from the novels.”
“Yeah. They could do that because GoldenEye had a big budget. Money to hire good writers, create awesome stunts. But when Sean Connery portrayed the character, the entire movie cost, like, a million dollars or something.”
“Yeah, but even Roger Ebert said that Brosnan was the best.”
“Brosnan took the helm of a white-hot Hollywood property and carried it for a while. It’s not that hard to drive a train when it’s already barreling down the tracks.”
“Maybe, but they were big shoes to fill,” I say. “A lesser actor would’ve coasted by on his predecessor’s interpretation of the character. Brosnan brought wit and charm.”
“Connery had an accent. That alone makes him morecharming.” Landon pauses, as if he just realized what he said out loud. “Or so I hear.”
“Pierce Brosnan is Irish! Connery is Scottish. There’s hardly a difference,” I say, looking up from my pitchfork. Landon meets my eyes, and I see that fire practically sparking in them. He is determined .
“Maybe, but Texas beats Scottish or Irish any day.”
“I suppose ,” I say.
“What? You know girls love a Texan drawl. I mean, you do,
The silence in the barn is louder than the radio, but then he clears his throat. “Yeah, didn’t you say one of her good friends moved away or something?”
That did happen last summer. My mom’s friend from childhood—the one who had bought the house next door a dozenyears ago just so they could stay BFFs forever—moved to the East Coast for a job. I almost forgot about it. “Oh, yeah, I mean, she’s fine. The people who moved into our neighbor’s house are cool, I guess. She’s planning a DC trip in December.”
“Good, good.”
“Mm-hmm. What about your sisters?”
“Just as hellacious as ever,” he says, and across the aisle, through the metal bars on the stall front, I see his grin. “Jenny is fifteen already,” he says.
Sixteen , I think.
“She brought this date home the other day and I think I terrified him.”
Landon’s dad bailed on the family when he was a kid, and he’s got that whole man-of-the-house thing going on. He probably totally loves harassing his sisters and their dates.
“Somebody’s gotta do it,” I say, pulling some of the cleaner shavings toward the middle of the stall.
“That’s what I said.”
I set my pitchfork down and dig into my pocket, glancing over a bullet-point list I created this morning based on five minutes of Googling things on my phone. Let’s hope the hordes of Internet message board users employ valid arguments.
“So, Bailey and I were talking about 007 this morning,” I say as I shove the list back into my pocket.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. See, I think Pierce Brosnan is the best James Bond of all time, but she’s all about Daniel Craig,” I say.
“You’re both wrong,” he replies. “Sean Connery is the only Bond. The others are just imitators.”
I turn toward the back of the stall to hide my gleeful expression. Man, this is almost too easy.
“No way,” I say, turning back to the bedding. “Brosnan embodies the suave, totally unshakable quality required of a true secret agent.” I try to sound as if I believe everything I’m saying to the core of my being, but it’s hard. I’ve never even seen the Brosnan versions.
“Connery is the original . You have to take into account that his movies were filmed in the sixties, when special effects weren’t as great as they are today. He carried those films.”
Bailey was right about one thing. He’s enjoying this, spouting facts and trying to prove his point. It’s like I sparked a fire.
“Yeah, but Brosnan took the helm after a six-year hiatus.” I pause and dig the paper back out, scanning my eyes over the facts. “And plus, his films are the first of the series to not use plotlines from the novels.”
“Yeah. They could do that because GoldenEye had a big budget. Money to hire good writers, create awesome stunts. But when Sean Connery portrayed the character, the entire movie cost, like, a million dollars or something.”
“Yeah, but even Roger Ebert said that Brosnan was the best.”
“Brosnan took the helm of a white-hot Hollywood property and carried it for a while. It’s not that hard to drive a train when it’s already barreling down the tracks.”
“Maybe, but they were big shoes to fill,” I say. “A lesser actor would’ve coasted by on his predecessor’s interpretation of the character. Brosnan brought wit and charm.”
“Connery had an accent. That alone makes him morecharming.” Landon pauses, as if he just realized what he said out loud. “Or so I hear.”
“Pierce Brosnan is Irish! Connery is Scottish. There’s hardly a difference,” I say, looking up from my pitchfork. Landon meets my eyes, and I see that fire practically sparking in them. He is determined .
“Maybe, but Texas beats Scottish or Irish any day.”
“I suppose ,” I say.
“What? You know girls love a Texan drawl. I mean, you do,
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