The Scorpio Races

by Maggie Stiefvater

He controls the horse like a fishing boat controls the sea.

I decide that no matter what time it is, I’m awake.

I return to the mouth of the crevasse and cross my arms, waiting for a gap in the murder of horses and men to open so I can see the mare and girl again.

“How is the sea?” This is where he makes a joke to show empathy with me, and where I pretend it is funny to show I appreciate my salary.

I cannot imagine that Malvern will fire me for this, cannot imagine that he would fire me for anything, but then again, I can. I stand on a knife blade.

“Boys,” she says, “just aren’t very good at being afraid.”

I wonder how long it will take for me to feel as adult inside as I look outside.

“she is a bit lame in the left rear.” “The right, I think,” Sean Kendrick says, but then he corrects himself. “No, left, you’re right.”

“It’s easy to convince men to love you, Puck. All you have to do is be a mountain they have to climb or a poem they don’t understand. Something that makes them feel strong or clever. It’s why they love the ocean.”

His wife’s the brand of Christian that forbids a gathering that involves young women dancing in the streets but not races where men die.

But standing here looking into the heart of the Malvern Yard, I feel a small, fierce pang of sadness that I won’t ever have a farm.

I’d always thought I was above being fascinated by anyone but myself.

I think every now and then about Sean’s thumb pressed against my wrist and daydream about him touching me again. But mostly I think about the way he looks at me — with respect — and I think that’s probably worth more than anything.

I feel shamed for no reason I can name, and then I feel bad that I’ve let myself be shamed.

prognostication.”

“I’m not trying to change anything but my own situation,” I say.

“I’m going to go talk to them,” Gabe says. His righteous anger is a welcome thing to see, even if I don’t think it will help. Sometimes it helps just to have it shared with another person. “This is stupid.”

“Show them who you are.” I swallow. Who I am is crouched down inside this girl named Puck Connolly, praying that I’ll make it through the next few minutes.

It’s something I’d taken for granted, just the presence of him.