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    Horse Power
    Horse Power
    Horse Power
    Ebook73 pages59 minutes

    Horse Power

    By Ann Walsh

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    About this ebook

    Once again Callie is forced to take part in her mom's latest crusade.

    They head into ranch country to camp—bloodthirsty mosquitoes, stinky outhouses and all—at a protest to save a rural school. Callie's grandmother shows up with her biker buddies and the singing grannies. Callie hates camping and wants nothing to do with the protest. To make matters worse, Callie's only possible ally, her cousin Del, is mad at her. The last time Callie visited, she was thrown from Del's horse, Radish. Callie claimed the horse was vicious and now Del's parents are forcing her to sell Radish. Callie wants to help her cousin, but she's terrified of the horse. Del is just as tenacious as the rest of Callie's family, and Callie is forced to admit that she's not going to be allowed to go home until both the horse and the school are saved.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOrca Book Publishers
    Release dateOct 1, 2007
    ISBN9781554696383
    Horse Power
    Author

    Ann Walsh

    Ann Walsh is the author of thirteen books for young people. She is a winner of the Canadian Children’s Book Centre Our Choice Award, the Forest of Reading Golden Oak Award, and was a Canadian Library Association Notable selection. She was also shortlisted for the Forest of Reading Silver Birch Award and the B.C. Book Prize. She lives in Victoria, B.C.

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      Book preview

      Horse Power - Ann Walsh

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      chapter one

      Where’s Mom? Why isn’t she here?

      Hi, Callie. Your mom’s busy, said my Uncle Ken.

      Something was wrong. My mother always meets me at the airport when I get home from Dad’s place in Ottawa.

      "Busy? Too busy to meet her only daughter who has been away for a whole month? Peter, what’s going on? I asked, using his real name and adding please" for good measure. He isn’t really my uncle and his name isn’t really Ken, but it could have been. His mother wanted to call him Ken, but his father objected. Ken Dawl. I guess if he’d been a girl she would have wanted to name him Barbie. Some people’s mothers!

      Isn’t that your bag? Uncle Ken/Peter Dawl lunged for a blue suitcase. He grabbed it, pulled out the handle and began to wheel it behind him. Come on.

      He pushed past the other passengers crowding the baggage claim area and trotted on ahead of me. I caught up with him outside and followed him toward the parking lot.

      Slow down! I called. Aren’t we getting a cab? Mom doesn’t own a car, so we take a taxi from the airport. Peter doesn’t own a car either.

      We don’t need a cab today, Callie, he said.

      Did you buy that sports car you were talking about? I asked. Did you? How did you get the money? Peter was a reporter for a small community newspaper, The Westside Tribune. I knew he didn’t make a lot of money, but maybe he got a raise.

      In the parking area, he stopped and rummaged in his pocket. Where’d I put the keys? He pulled out a key ring, dropped it, picked it up and started to open the door of…

      You’re kidding! I said. "Please tell me we aren’t going to ride in that. You didn’t buy…"

      A van, he said proudly.

      The van was so old it looked as if it had been used to deliver ice back in the days before refrigerators. It had rust spots around the wheels, and one side looked as if it had banged into something over and over. The van was old, rusty and dented, but the worst part was that it was purple. Really, really bright purple.

      You’re kidding, I said again. "You’ve got to be joking."

      My uncle looked hurt. It’s a free ride home, Callie, he said. And this baby’s in good mechanical shape. She purrs along.

      He pulled on the sliding door. It opened slowly, making metal-on-metal screeching noises as it moved.

      Purr? That’s a purr?

      He ignored me. You have to get in the back, then climb over to the front. The front door doesn’t open on your side.

      I was seriously considering taking the bus home. But I’d spent the last of the money Dad had given me on junk food.

      I got into the back of the purple van, climbed into the front seat and rummaged in my backpack for the wraparound sunglasses I’d bought at the beginning of the summer. I thought I would look cool when I got a ride on our neighbor’s motorbike. But Mr. Wilson hadn’t offered me a ride, not even once. However, the sunglasses were a good disguise.

      Are you sure this thing runs? I asked.

      Of course, he said indignantly. It’s old—it was my mother’s—but it’s in good shape. Except for where Mom used to bang into a post beside her parking spot—that’s why the door doesn’t open. I’ve kept it in storage until now, but your mother…

      Which brought me back to my question. Okay, explain. Why is Mom so busy she can’t come and meet me? Is she okay?

      She’s fine, said Peter as he started the van. Just busy, packing. She’s leaving this afternoon.

      Oh, great, I said. If she’d told me she was going away, I’d have stayed at Dad’s.

      But you’re going with your mom.

      No! I just got home. I don’t want to go anywhere.

      Tell that to your mother, Peter said. Or try to. Good luck.

      He had a point. When Mom wanted to do something—or wanted me to do something—it got done. There was no arguing with her.

      I sighed. I hadn’t been back home for twenty minutes and already I was sighing. Where are we going? And why?

      I’m not exactly sure about the where, except I know it’s in the country. I’m coming too. Actually, I’m driving you.

      Driving? This purple thing? Don’t you have a job or something else to do? I asked hopefully.

      I’m on holiday. This trip could be fun, and I know there’s a good story in it. There’s always a good story when your mother takes on a project.

      Project? I didn’t like the sound of that. What kind of project?

      Peter grinned at me. Another protest, Callie.

      Oh, no! I couldn’t believe it. The last protest Mom organized was to save a tree growing on our neighbor’s property.

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