Read Online Made That Way by Susan Ketchen - Free Book Online

control in the other world?”
    â€œI believe I said as much,” says the unicorn unhelpfully. He can be so infuriating.
    â€œI don’t get it. I’m a kid. The adults are in charge. I don’t have control of anything.”
    â€œHmmph,” says the unicorn. “If you drew more from this realm when you were in the corporal realm you might fare better. Bridges have been known to operate in two directions.” He uses his ironic tone, which brings out the worst in me.
    â€œAre you on drugs?” I say. “Because you’re making even less sense than usual.”
    â€œIf you took some time to think about it instead of reacting immediately, you might have asked a more sensible useful question,” says the unicorn.
    I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to think about anything, because there’s something unpleasant at the back of my mind that I need to avoid. I prefer to change the subject. “You don’t seem to be limping as much,” I say.
    â€œThank you for noticing,” says the unicorn. “I’m glad you’re not totally wrapped up in your own problems for a change.”
    â€œMy problems aren’t exactly insignificant.”
    â€œMedication side effects may be unpleasant at the time, but seeing as how they will disappear when you do away with those awful injections, I don’t see that you have much to complain about. Your headaches are hardly a permanent condition.”
    â€œYou’re sure?”
    The unicorn snorts.
    â€œBut I’ll be stuck with being short forever.”
    â€œWe discussed that previously. That is hardly a problem in the grand scope of things. Perhaps this will allow you to follow your heart’s desire and become a jockey and gallop round and round on a racetrack in front of screaming crowds of gambling addicts.”
    â€œThat is not my heart’s desire and you know better. Why would you even say such a thing?”
    The unicorn stops walking, lowers his head and eats some grass. His forelock fluffs out over the place where his horn used to be so I can’t get a good look at it. I want to be able to compare it to the scab in the middle of Brooklyn’s forehead.
    â€œI don’t know why you have to be so grumpy all the time.”
    The unicorn lifts his head, chews and swallows. A bulge of food slides down his esophagus, exactly as it does with the horses.
    â€œGrumpy?” says the unicorn. “I do wish you wouldn’t use that word. Though of course that’s what your parents say to you when they see you sad or angry. I find it exceedingly patronizing myself.”
    I sigh. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
    â€œThere are better ways of finding out what’s troubling somebody.”
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œWell you could ask me.”
    I consider this. I think about all the times I’ve been upset and how nice it would have been if my parents had asked me what was the matter instead of pointing out that I was acting grumpy. “Okay,” I say, “what’s troubling you?”
    â€œNothing.” The unicorn looks at me straight-faced, then bursts into laughter. His laugh is very strange, and it’s exactly the same as the strangled bugling noise that Brooklyn made from the back of the transport trailer, though what he had to laugh about then I still can’t figure.
    â€œYou’re funny,” I say, and I laugh too.
    â€œLaughter is the best medicine,” says the unicorn.
    â€œOh brother that’s so corny,” I say, but then I can’t help myself and laugh some more. It makes me aware of the pressure of the pillow under my cheek, and I almost pop out of the dream except that the wind has caught the forelock of the unicorn to expose the scab and I’m drawn back in again.
    I stare at his forehead. “What happened to you?”
    The unicorn closes his eyes and drops his head. The only way he could