Trickster by Laurie Halse Anderson Page A

about Dad during that famous ride, the one that got me in trouble. He and Mom had separated a few months earlier. He kept promising to visit me, but he hardly ever made it. He promised lots of things that never happened.
    Mom was the one who took me to Quinn’s that day. She knew how bummed out I was. The split was hard on her, too. I wasn’t planning on getting in trouble. I must have lost track of what I was doing. I was just thinking about all the things I wanted to tell Dad, and the next thing I knew, my group had vanished. It really wasn’t my fault that they left me behind like that. I tried a couple of shortcuts, but they didn’t work like I thought they would. We ended up at the mall, of all places. I couldn’t do anything right that day.
    When Mr. Quinn arrived with the police, he didn’t want to hear my side of the story. I should have paid attention, blah, blah. I didn’t listen, blah, blah. I wasn’t responsible, blah, blah, blah. And that was the end of horse riding for David Hutchinson.
    Until today.
    Dr. Mac said the magic words, and Mr. Quinn is giving me another chance.
    I really want to make a good impression. The stable is shorthanded because it’s final exam time at the high school. This is my chance. If Mr. Quinn sees how hard I can work, he might let me ride there again. That would rock.
    Brenna starts on the window next to the front door. “If you don’t sweep the floor properly, the only thing you’ll be riding is that broom.”
    “That’s so funny, I forgot to laugh.”
    I sweep the fur balls behind the potted plant. No one will see them there.
    “Is it safe to come out?” a voice calls from the kitchen.
    Zoe peeks through the door that connects the clinic to Dr. Mac’s house. “Is that rat gone?” she asks.
    Zoe’s a little high-strung, but she’s cool. She’s hanging here for a while so her mom can move to Hollywood. Her parents are divorced, and she never sees her dad. I can relate to that. Zoe was raised in New York City—excuse me, Manhattan—and living here has been something of a shock for her. Like when a ferret came in earlier, she freaked.
    “A ferret is not a rat. It’s not even a rodent,”Sunita explains with a sigh. “Ferrets are related to weasels. Relax, Zoe.”
    “It has little beady eyes,” Zoe says. “I hate those.” She eases into the room and closes the door behind her. “Your mom called again, David. That’s the fourth time. You really should call her back.”
    “She probably wants me to take out the trash,” I say. “I’ll call her later. Hey, Zoe, what do you get when you cross a horse with the house next door?”
    She rolls her eyes. “I don’t know, David, what?”
    “A nei-ei-ghbor!”
    “How funny. Did you think that up by yourself?”
    The door to the Doolittle examination room swings open.
    “The rat! Yikes!” Zoe dashes back into the house just as her cousin Maggie walks out. Close behind Maggie is a college-age guy named Erik holding Rascal-the-ferret’s carry cage. Dr. Mac brings up the rear and motions for the owner to go to the receptionist’s desk.
    “How’s Rascal?” I ask.
    “He’ll make it,” Dr. Mac answers. “No broken bones. No internal bleeding. He is one frightened ferret, though. That was quite a fall he took. It’s a good thing he landed on a hammock.”
    Maggie peeks in the cage. “Don’t be such a knucklehead,” she cautions the ferret. “Next time you’ll really get hurt.”
    “He went right through the screen window,” Erik explains as he writes out a check. “He just flew. Sometimes I think he has more energy than brains. What am I supposed to do—keep the windows closed all the time?”
    Dr. Mac takes the check from him and hands him a brochure.
    “This will give you some tips on how to make your apartment safer. Make sure there are no openings around the pipes under your sink, or he could squeeze in and get trapped in the wall. Don’t let him chew on rubber toys, because rubber bits can