Read Online Beat the Turtle Drum by Constance C. Greene - Free Book Online Page B

calling up to complain.
    â€œYou’ve got to look at it this way,” Sam said, waving a banana at us, “she’s got nothing else to do but complain. She’s paranoid.”
    â€œO.K.,” I said, “you just learned that. I can tell by the way you tossed it into the conversation that you never heard that word before. What’s it mean?”
    Sam grinned. “I thought you’d never ask,” he said. “It means she thinks the world’s out to get her. She has delusions of persecution.”
    Joss said, “When you start talking like that, I’m leaving. Anyway, I have to walk Prince to dry him off.”
    â€œIf I didn’t hate her so much, I’d feel sorry for her,” I said.
    â€œYeah.” Sam ate the last cookie. “People used to say that about Hitler, too.”

For the rest of my life, if ever again I’m totally happy, which is doubtful, or completely sure I’m immortal, I’ll be afraid that something terrible is about to happen.
    Because that’s the way it was that last week with Joss.
    Every morning was more beautiful than the one before. Joss was up and out riding Prince before I woke up. When she wasn’t riding him, she was polishing his coat the same way she polished her boots. Prince gleamed. You could almost see your face in his side, he was so shiny.
    We ate our breakfast sitting on the grass, with the mist still in little patches, making wet spots on the seats of our jeans.
    Joss gave rides to all the kids who came around, even the little ones, as long as their mothers said it was all right. I held on to the bridle and Joss would hoist them up and sit with her arms around their waists.
    â€œBoy, imagine the mint of money we’d make if we were charging your basic ten cents a ride,” I said. “You might even make enough to rent Prince for another week.”
    Joss’s eyes sparkled at the thought. “The only trouble with that is,” she said, “I’d feel like such a rotten person, charging for rides.”
    The only person she refused a ride to was Jim Schneider. He slouched over one day, his hands jammed into his pockets.
    â€œHow about a ride on the old nag for a real expert?” he said.
    â€œNo,” Joss said. “You’re too big. Anyway, I only give rides to my friends.”
    Jim Schneider’s face got red and he swore at her. “Looks like he’s about to fall over in a heap, anyway,” he said. “He’s probably got horse rot, through and through.”
    â€œI’d say you’re about halfway gone with people rot right this minute,” I said.
    Jim stomped off, using foul language to make himself feel better.
    The admiration on Joss’s face was very pleasing to me. “You really let him have it, Kate,” she said, hugging me. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”
    â€œNeither did I, to tell the truth,” I said.
    Ellen Spicer rode her bike over. She had a bag full of cabbage leaves with holes in them for Prince. “My mother had to peel half the cabbage away before she got to the good stuff,” she explained. Prince didn’t mind. He chomped them up with enjoyment. We lay on the grass and talked about how the summer was shaping up.
    â€œYou have a horse at least,” Ellen said mournfully. “I’ve got this creepy little cousin coming to stay with me. She’s only nine. I heard my mother telling my father she was a young nine too. My mother says I have to be nice to her. What does she think I’m going to do—throw her down the stairs or something? She probably still plays with dolls. She’ll also probably get homesick and my mother will make me give her the best piece of chicken and the biggest piece of cake.”
    Ellen put her chin in her hands and felt sorry for herself. Joss went around with a huge shovel, scooping up Prince’s turds. She deposited them in a heap back of the