Horses
"I like being alone," I say. "Honestly. Groups just aren't my thing. It's actually fun not having friends."
I don't know why I said that. It was supposed to be funny, but it sounds pathetic. Van's face is more transparent even than mine. He doesn't embarrass easily but he definitely looks annoyed.
"I don't think sarcasm suits you," he says stiffly.
I'm tired of talking about this. I stand up and stretch. "Have you ever seen Renegade?" I ask.
"Who's Renegade?" says Van.
"A horse," I say. "Come on."
"Do you remember two years ago, the day you chose my pit pony in Christie's barn?" Dad asked.
Savino nodded. He'd liked the slender pony with the big shock of golden hair immediately.
"That one, Dad."
The pony whinnied, nodding his head, as if to say Good choice.
At first Dad was doubtful. "He's smaller than the others. And blind in one eye. A good pit pony can save a miner's life."
