Chapter 10 Collins #2
Before we understood our abilities completely, the ghosts were pretty…
protective of us. If I asked them to do something, they would do it—including moving the volleyball just a little farther every time Wyatt Burgess got close enough to pick it up.
He tripped on an old net that was on the ground, and he got so tangled up in it that he had to be cut out.
He ended up with rope burns all over his arms and face.
His friends told the coaches that Clarke and me pushed him into the net, just because we were the closest ones to him when it happened.
It didn’t help that I would also say what I wanted the ghosts to do out loud, which freaked the other parents and kids out. Clarke tried to shield me and tell me not to talk to them while we were playing, but I couldn’t listen.
Okay, so maybe Clarke was built for team sports, but we’d never know because she got ousted from all the kids’ community activities with me.
We were a package deal. I eventually learned a bit more finesse as time went on (which is how I got the ghost to break Emmett Papadakis’s nose with a baseball six years later), and my parents talked Boone into teaching us to ride horses.
He grumbled about it the whole time, while also somehow being the most patient teacher known to man.
When Clarke and I turned sixteen and got a car to share, I spent a lot of time at Boone’s place doing random things—helping him mend fences and move cattle and clean stalls. So did Clarke; they mostly worked on old cars and listened to vinyls.
We both loved it up here, away from town, where the only things that mattered were how the sky looked, if it was warm enough to go barefoot in the creek, or whether Boone had ice pops in his freezer (he always did, and he always denied that they were for us).
Boone also didn’t have any regular ghosts—at least, not any human ones.
Occasionally, though, we’d see a few old horses, dogs, or barn cats.
They were anchored to Boone. They loved him.
The man wasn’t great with people, but he loved his animals.
Before now, I would’ve come to Boone’s for some peace from the voices or from the push and pull of the other side, but now I felt a different kind of peace here.
Here, it didn’t matter if the ghosts were talking to me or not. Here, there weren’t any reminders of the fact that I didn’t feel like myself anymore.
“Where’s your car?” Boone said in front of me. Today, he was on Forest, a beautiful palomino, and I was on Hunter, a red roan. Chicken was staring at me from his perch on Forest’s back, behind Boone’s saddle.
“Broke down,” I said. “Just needs a new battery, though.” I didn’t know how cars worked, but that was what Clarke and my dad said.
“Have you ordered one?” Boone asked. I shook my head.
“Pretty shitty of you to not let anyone know when you were about to drop cellphone service,” Boone said.
“Oh my god,” I groaned. “Clarke got to you first—didn’t she? You already knew my car broke down.”
“I received a panicked phone call when you didn’t show up when you said you were going to,” he said. “Thought I might’ve heard from you.”
“She is so dramatic,” I grumbled.
“Maybe you gave her a reason to be,” Boone said. He had ended up in the middle of our twin spats more times than he probably ever cared for, but he was always fair to both of us, often sneaking in a little lesson along the way. I had no doubt that my lesson was coming.
I reached up to give Hunter a little neck rub as we approached the cattle we were going to move to another pasture today.
I brought his reins to one side and pushed on the other side with the inside of my leg.
I only rode at Boone’s, but the muscle memory stuck around.
Lady followed me and Tank and Phil stayed with Boone.
“Looks like Phil already knows his job,” I said.
“Good dog on the ground is worth two in the saddle,” Boone said with a nod, even though Chicken had moved from the back of Forest to inside one of his saddlebags.
I’d heard him say that a million times. His dogs were the reason he could manage this place on his own, and he did it for Sweetwater Peak.
Boone’s cattle were the reason our grocery store had beef all year around, and most families bought from him directly.
He always said, “Cattle is the only thing I was ever taught. It was my only option. It’s the only thing I know how to do.”
And I didn’t know shit about cattle, but I thought Boone did it well.
Lady and I started to push the cattle in on our side while Boone and the other dogs rounded up the stragglers. Once we’d accomplished that, we just continued to herd them through an open gate and into a new pasture.
I liked doing this because I wasn’t good enough at it to be able to think about anything else.
I had to focus on the task at hand. It was why I liked working at Brady’s, too.
I didn’t know a single thing about organization or being an assistant, so it took more of my mental energy than something else would have—busy hands and a busy brain meant less time for thinking about everything else.
Boone let out a few whoops and clicks. I didn’t know if he was talking to his horse or to his dogs, but all of them seemed to understand.
“Collins!” he called out. “You’ve got a loose end! Get over there!”
Well, shit. Apparently, my focus wasn’t that great after all because I looked to my right and four cows were outside the herd and about to pass Hunter and me. I gave Hunter’s middle a squeeze and rushed him toward the cows to close their corner. Lady barked behind me to help.
“Where’s your head at, kid?” Boone called after the cows were back where they should be.
“I thought it was in the game,” I called back, and Boone shook his head and continued to press his side of the cattle toward the open gate. Once the first few were through, it got easier because of the rest of the herd’s natural instinct to follow.
It took a while, but we got the entire herd through, and I watched as Boone dismounted his horse to shut the gate—a little slower than the last time I’d seen him do it.
He took a deep breath before he put his foot in the stirrup to get back on. He should’ve used the fence as a mounting block. “You okay?” I asked. My hands were resting on the pommel of my saddle.
“It’s this fucking knee,” he said, motioning toward his right leg after he was in the saddle. “And this stupid shoulder.” He moved his left arm in a circle.
“Maybe you should go to the doctor,” I said, even though I knew he wouldn’t.
“?‘Maybe you should go to the doctor,’?” Boone mimicked back.
“Hey, I’m supposed to be the immature one here,” I said. “You’re supposed to be old and wise and shit.”
“You are the immature one here, Collins,” Boone said with a pointed look in my direction.
“You know better than to make the drive up to the Peak without telling anyone where you were at—especially when you know that a broken-down car in that dead zone means you’re stuck until someone passes by, and not everyone who passes by is going to be looking to or willing to help you. ”
This was how Boone showed he cared. Tough love. I looked down at my hands, embarrassed that he was right. I knew better.
“I know,” I said quietly.
“But I’m glad you at least had your pepper spray on you.”
Fucking Clarke. “Got him right in the eyes,” I said with a nod.
“That’s my girl,” Boone said.
After that, we rode back to Boone’s barn in silence, and I took in the world around me. At least from up here, Sweetwater Peak didn’t look so bad.