Page 71 of The Lookback

“Mandy,” Tommy says. “You’re on my team.”

I can’t help smiling, if only because I wasn’t chosen last. Then it hits me—he’s the stepmother, and now we’re partners in our attempt to recover the dumb broom. “Oh, great.”

When I reach his side, Tommy whispers, “You know I’m the stepmother, so that makes you Gretel.”

I want to swear. Loudly. Am I really that obvious?

“Jed’s the witch.”

My eyes fly up to his face. The stepmother knows who the witch is. . .and he just told me. Also, Janet was right, bless her heart.

Tommy’s smiling broadly. “Let’s take him down together.”

“But you’ll lose,” I say.

“Sure, but if you win, did I really lose?” Tommy smirks. “I said I like to win. I didn’t say I care abouttheirversion of what that means.”

17

MANDY

“I’m tired of placing second to Jed,” Tommy says. “Aren’t you?”

I blink. “I’d love to be second. So far, I’ve been dead last each time.” I can’t help chuckling. “Guess you’re realizing that you chose poorly.”

“I like a dark horse.”

But then they’re telling us the obstacle course—which involves riding and roping—and it looks hard. Mr. Wallace is leading a pair of horses up to the entrance by the squeeze chute, and they’ve uncovered the contents of two more tents. One covered two sets of poles we’ll have to run—easy—but the other was hiding a pile of old bags and crinkly tree branches we’ll have to ride across. . .on unknown horses.

We’ll be lucky not to break our necks.

“You take the poles,” Tommy says, “and I’ll?—”

“And for the final part,” Principal Lyons says, “you’ll need to rope one of these sheep.” He gestures to the sheep they’re leading to a pen in the far corner.

“Never mind.” Tommy’s smiling. “We only have two of us, and both of us can ride. “You do the poles and the spooky crinkle run, and I’ll take over for the roping.”

I don’t even bother arguing, because there’s no way Jed can beat Tommy once we get to the roping part. No one in the entire county can beat Tommy at roping and tying. And hopefully they gave us horses who won’t try to kill us when walking over a few tarps and feed bags.

A girl can dream.

I’m climbing up on the little buckskin Mr. Wallace hands me the reins for, while Jerry’s mounting the leggy sorrel. “Do we know what these horses are used to doing?” I ask.

“They’ve both run the course,” Mr. Wallace says. “We’re not trying to break anyone’s neck.”

“But I can’t ride,” Denise wails. “We don’t even have horses.” Her family owns the auto repair shop, and her dad has famously said anyone who rides horses is an idiot.

“Looks like Mandy’s found some luck finally,” Tommy says.

And then they wave us forward. I fly through the poles course—my buckskin gelding is a champ, and very willing. We come out at least a horse length ahead of stupid Jerry and his sorrel, and I shoot toward the crinkle pile.

“Wait,” Jed says. “If they had a third member, they’d have to mount and dismount before they could go to the next part.”

“You’ll have to get off and back on,” Mr. Wallace says. “It’s the only way to keep things fair.”

I roll my eyes, because what parts have been fair up until now? But I swing off.

Just as some kind of noise from the audience spooks my buckskin, who darts ahead. I barely keep my hands on the reins, popping the poor guy in the mouth to stop him. He swings around, dancing backward, his eyes rolling, his sides heaving, but I manage to calm him down and tug him back to my side.

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