Read Online The Wish Pony by Catherine Bateson - Free Book Online Page A

that while Bailey, head down and not looking at either of them, left with the main stampede.
    â€˜Hey!’ I said softly.
    â€˜Oh, hi, Ruby,’ he stuffed some homework in the mouth of the bag. It was the biggest bag in the whole grade. Ms Wardel had once joked that Bailey could survive a whole week without going home on the contents of that bag. ‘You want something?’
    â€˜Just wanted to say ...’ I stopped. I hadn’t really planned this – what did I want to say? That I thought he was really cool and interesting? That I didn’t even mind that he’d hit his best friend – not when it was to defend Magda and her orange hair? I had not thought this through at all. Bailey stood there, hugging the bag. ‘Umm … well, if you’re seeing Magda today, say hi, will you?’
    â€˜You can see her yourself in a minute,’ Bailey said, ‘she’s coming to pick me up.’
    â€˜But your mum always ...’
    â€˜My mum’s a bit busy today,’ Bailey dropped his voice and looked down at the tops of his runners, ‘so Magda’s picking me up. She’s my godmother, after all.’
    â€˜Yes, of course. She picked me up and she’s only an across-the-road neighbour.’
    We walked out of the bag room together. Bailey still looking at his feet.
    â€˜There she is,’ I said quietly. I didn’t want to draw undue attention to Magda. Her hair had not faded and bits of it escaped from the green velvet turban. She was wearing the orange coat and purple boots. Her coat and her hair were slightly different oranges. She was highly visible.
    But Bailey dropped his bag, ran to her and gave her a big hug. In front of the entire school. I had to look away – but then I had to look back. Sam and Joel walked past sniggering and a couple of popular girls, you know – those girls – were laughing openly.
    I walked up to them, carrying Bailey’s bag. I wasn’t a coward. Well, I might have been but I could change that.
    â€˜Here’s your bag, Bailey,’ I said, putting it down at his feet. ‘Hi, Magda. Love the boots.’
    â€˜Hello, Ruby. Thank you. Fond of them myself. These boots are made for walking. Well, they might be, once I’ve worn them in. At the moment they’re a bit stiff and I might be getting blisters. I do hope your mother has bandaids, Bailey.’
    â€˜Debbie always has bandaids,’ Bailey said.
    Debbie! Since when had Bailey called his mum Debbie?
    He must have caught my look because he went a bit red.
    â€˜We’re trialling this new thing,’ he muttered, ‘equality, mutual respect, courtesy and all that kind of thing, so I told Mum I shouldn’t call her Mum because she doesn’t call me Son. But I keep forgetting anyway.’
    â€˜Well, come on, you two, if you’re coming. Time to stagger on! If I stop too long I won’t be able to convince my poor feet to start again. Definitely blisters.’ Magda winced as she took a step forward.
    â€˜We have a foot spa,’ Bailey said. ‘Dad bought it for Mum when they were still ...’ He stuttered to a stop.
    â€˜Good, good,’ Magda said, limping along slowly, ‘think of that, feet, spa at the end of the road!’
    â€˜You coming?’ Bailey asked.
    I hovered. I wanted – I longed – to see Bailey’s home. I’d heard – from Sam and Joel – that his bedroom was full of computer bits and that there was this huge map of the world across one wall with pins in every place Bailey planned to visit when he was older. On special days when his mum came to pick him up she bought treats for the whole class – like on Halloween last year she’d brought everyone ghost drops, and one Christmas party Bailey had come with an entire gingerbread house with licorice-allsorts tiles on the roof, a smartie door handle and icing snow piled up on the window sills. And she was a