Page 3 of The Beginning and End of Everything
My gut instinct was not to trust Brandon.
On a huff, he rolled his eyes. “What’s the matter? You scared?”
“No.” I was terrified I might fall off, but I would never admit it. For whatever reason, I wanted Brandon to like me. Which was why I stepped beside the pony with my racing heart and swatted the gnats buzzing by his face.
“Grab him like this.” He fisted Shegar’s mane. “Then lift up your leg."
I hesitated before threading my fingers through the horse’s coarse hair.
"On three—One. Two.” Brandon grabbed my leg and pushed me up. “Three.”
The horse lifted its head with a snort when I sprawled out on its back. I shifted, sitting upright and gripping the mane for dear life. "Now, what do I do?"
Brandon tossed his head back, swiping a hand down his face on a groan. "How do you not know how to ride a horse?"
"I don't think they have horses in America," Connor whispered.
"We do, too!"
"Well, riding a pony is kinda like swimming.” Brandon fiddled with the collar around the pony’s neck, and a smirk danced over his lips just as his eyes locked on mine. “You just jump in and figure it out."
"What?” I panicked. “No, you don't. You drown!"
"Bran,” Connor started. “Don't…"
The collar dropped to the dry grass. Brandon smacked the horse on its hindquarter, and he trotted off with another snort, all while I flopped from side to side like a ragdoll. It jumped a small ditch, and I toppled to the hard ground, a cloud of dust billowing around me. My butt throbbed, and my palms ached from where I’d tried to brace my fall. Brandon was bent over at the waist, cackling.
“Bran, you’re an arse.” Connor took off across the field but stopped halfway to lean over his knees and gasp for breath.
I stood, dusted the dirt from my knees, and stomped across the dead field—right past Connor and right up to Brandon. He wiped tears from his eyes, still laughing.
My cheeks heated. I wasn’t sure what hurt more my fall or my pride.
I crossed my arms over my chest, hoping I came off as angry and not hurt. “What’s so funny?”
“You should’ve seen yourself.” He imitated a terrorized scream before chuckling some more.
I gritted my teeth. “You’re a meany butt!”
His laughter fell silent. He folded his arms over his chest, and I almost wanted to shrink away from him. "Thatisn'ta bad word, Poppy."
“Bran,” Connor ran up beside me, winded. “Leave her alone.”
“Fine.” I inched closer. "Butthole."
There was a pause, a slight tic to his jaw. A moment where I thought maybe I’d won. Then Brandon narrowed his eyes. "Bitch."
I’d never heard that word used outside of the movies, and, at the tender age of ten, having it directed at me from a boy I wished would accept me, it felt like a hot poker driving right through my heart. I fought the quiver in my lip. I tried to keep my nostrils from flaring, but all that did was force the tears out faster than I’d wanted.
Connor’s arm came around my shoulders. "You’re an arse, Bran!"
Brandon’s hardened gaze moved from me to Connor, then back. I shrugged out of Connor’s hold, wiped my face with my sleeve, then kicked Brandon right in the shin.
3
Poppy
November 1999
