The Way Home by Becky Citra Page B

poured her milk carefully, and sat at the table to drink it. The radio on the shelf was turned on and a man was listing all the places that had been put on Evacuation Alert. Oliver had explained that Evacuation Alert meant you had to be ready to go at any time. Their place wasn’t on the list – yet.
    Julia appeared in the doorway, dressed in snug, stretchy beige pants and tall black riding boots. “Oh, you’re here,” she said.
    Tory wished she had taken her milk to her bedroom, but she didn’t think that was allowed. She hated being alone with Julia. She tried to think of something to say. “How was your riding lesson?”
    â€œWhat?” Julia took a bag of chips out of the cupboard and a can of orange pop from the fridge, two things Tory didn’t have the nerve to touch. “Awful. Old Beeswax was in a horrible mood and Barnabas was useless. He wouldn’t canter on his left lead at all.” When her lesson went badly, Julia always blamed either Mrs. Beeson – who she called Old Beeswax – or Barnabas. Sometimes, like today, she blamed both.
    Tory didn’t have any idea what a left lead was but she said, “That’s too bad.”
    Julia glared at her and stalked out into the hallway. She came back a second later. “Old Beeswax and Mom are talking about you. In the living room. Do you want to hear what they’re saying?”
    Tory followed Julia into the hallway. They pressed up against the partly open door that led to the living room.
    â€œShe’s a wild-looking little thing,” said Mrs. Beeson.
    â€œAnd a temper to match,” said Cathy. “She’s a poor reader, you know. I tried to help her and she threw the book right across the room.”
    Mrs. Beeson sighed. “What a shame.”
    Tory knew what she meant. Mrs. Beeson wasn’t sorry that Tory found reading hard. She was sorry that Cathy and Oliver had ever decided to take her.
    â€œWe thought she’d be like a sister for Julia,” said Cathy. “It was an impulsive idea. Thank goodness it’s just for the summer. We’re looking forward to having our little family back.”
    â€œI don’t want a sister,” said Julia in Tory’s ear.
    â€œI don’t want one either,” retorted Tory, and she felt her cheeks flame. She hated Julia! And except for Lucky, she hated living here! She didn’t want to hear any more. She held her head high and marched down the hallway and up the stairs to her little bedroom. She didn’t mean to slam the door, it just sort of slammed itself. It sounded awfully loud in the quiet house. Tory was pretty sure Cathy and Mrs. Beeson had heard it.
    Oh well, it just gave them one more bad thing to say about her.

Chapter Three
    That night, Lucky circled around and around in his stall. He knew something was wrong.
    For days now, an acrid smell of smoke had stung his nostrils. It was especially bad when the wind blew over the ridge and down onto the farm. It frightened Lucky, though he didn’t understand why.
    The other horses were restless too. Barnabas paced in the stall beside Lucky. Destiny whinnied, calling out to the missing horses that Oliver had taken away that morning. Orpheus took long, slurping gulps of water and blew through his nostrils.
    Lucky stopped circling and snatched a mouthful of hay from the hay net hanging in the corner of his stall. He chewed slowly, his ears pricked. Listening.
    Wild animals were moving down from the ridge, fleeing the fire and crossing the valley where the farm lay. A cow moose and her baby, a black bear, a family of coyotes. They brought new scents and sounds to Lucky, as they passed through the fields and kept going.
    Lucky peered through the metal bars at the top of his stall door. He could see the whites of Destiny’s eyes in the stall across from him.
    He investigated the steel bar that held his stall door shut. Lucky was a master at opening stall doors, and