Dumped

What's black and white and runs through traffic?

A runaway zebra.

This isn't a joke — it's really happening!

I'm waiting at the crosswalk and almost stumble off the curb when black-and-white stripes gallop through a red light. Cars honk, tires screech and someone screams. I jump away from the curb with a gasp.

What's a zebra doing on Pleasant Street?

"Stop that zorse!" a girl shouts, her pink-streaked hair flying behind her like a tail as she chases after the galloping beast.

I'm not sure if I'm more shocked to see a runaway zebra or to recognize the girl from Helen Corning Middle School. Becca Morales sits in front of me in science so I stare at the back of her head Monday through Friday, quietly wishing she'd turn around to talk to me. I love how the pink streaks shimmer in her black hair so much that once I pink-streaked my golden-brown hair. But no one even noticed.

"Stop that zorse!" Becca shouts again.

I look around, hoping someone will help her. But people are diving off the sidewalk into stores, rushing to safety. The zebra ... or zorse ... weaves wildly through traffic, skidding to avoid a truck. He whinnies, rears up, and runs toward the sidewalk where I'm standing.

Clutching my backpack with its sweet-smelling bag inside, I think about running for safety too. I could duck into O'Hara Realty or hide behind a large postal box. But when I hear Becca's panicked shouts, I remember when my pen ran out of ink and she turned around with a generous smile and offered me her glitter-tipped pink pen. And she let me keep it.

I get an idea and quickly unzip my backpack. As I reach inside and grab a paper bag, I hear hooves clattering toward me.

"Stop!" I yell, which really doesn't do much to slow the zorse.

Becca is yelling too. "Kelsey! Get out of the way!"

I should take cover but instead I stand there, grinning. Becca Morales, the nicest and most liked girl at school, remembers my name. Wow.

The zorse suddenly stops a few feet from me, eyes wide and wild as cars honk and swerve into a jumbled traffic jam. Before he can bolt again, I reach into the paper bag and then plunge into the street with my hand held out to the trembling animal.

"Here, zorsey," I yell over the commotion, but gentle and soothing, like when our dog, Handsome, used to freak out during storms and hide in the closet. That was before we moved into a no-pets apartment and Handsome moved in with Gran Nola.

"Come and get the yummy treat," I singsong, hoping the zorse likes my dad's homemade oatmeal-carrot cookies. Up close to this amazing creature, I admire his long, curly lashes. His eyes are gorgeous! Shiny, black, and intelligent — like if he could talk he'd have fabulous stories to tell.

The zorse blinks at me then looks at the cookies in my palm. He sniffs, lips the cookies, and then my hand is empty. When I look up, Becca is snapping a rope to the zorse's halter. She leads him off the sidewalk to a secluded corner between two shops, and I follow.

Holding the rope firmly, Becca bends over to catch her breath. She isn't even sweating. Though I sure am! She looks chic in a leopard-print blouse over boot-cut black jeans. Animal prints are like her trademark, probably because her family lives on an animal sanctuary. Sometimes in class I peek over her shoulder while she's showing cool animal photos to her friends.

"That was scary!" Becca shudders. "I thought Zed would be roadkill."

"He's safe now." I feed Zed another cookie, his moist lips tickling my palm.

"Luckily no one was hurt. You were really brave," Becca says gratefully. "Thanks, Kelsey."

I feel my cheeks go warm. I don't know what to say. Should I thank her for thanking me? I don't hang out with other kids much, except my older brother Kyle and my sisters Kenya and Kiana. Being the youngest means shouting to be heard or keeping quiet. I've gotten so good at listening that I taught myself to lip-read. But Becca is waiting for me to say something, and for the first time ever, silence feels awkward.

Around us, traffic resumes, although a few drivers slow to stare at us. I mean, it's not every day you see a zorse in downtown Sun Flower.

I'm curious too and study the bizarre animal. Stockier than a horse, Zed has a shiny black head with a silky dark mane waving down to a black-and-white body and sturdy legs striped like vanilla-licorice candy canes.

"He's a gorgeous animal," Becca says, offering me an encouraging smile in the same generous way she once offered me a pink pen.

"What is he?" I ask puzzled. "A zebra or a horse?"

"Both!" Becca laughs and pats Zed fondly on the neck. "This amazing creature is part horse and part zebra. Very rare."

"Why isn't he in a zoo?"

"He's domesticated, not wild."

"He sure looked wild running through traffic."

"Yeah." Becca winces. "He kicks up a fuss when he has to ride in a trailer so I told Mom I'd walk him to the vet. Bad idea. I should have known better than to take him on a major street."

"You call this street major?" Sun Flower is a suburban town with miles of housing developments but only three blocks residents fondly call "downtown."

"Any street with noise is major for Zed," Becca answers. "He spooked when a truck horn blasted. He's calm now. See how he eats from your hand without biting? He's such a sweetheart — it's a crime how he was treated."

"Crime?" The word piques my interest and makes me think of my bookshelf collection of spy novels and mysteries.

"Most of the animals we care for at Wild Oaks were mistreated. Zed has an interesting history," Becca says with a mysterious glint in her dark-cocoa eyes. "But there's no time to tell you. Zed is late for his check-up."

"I'm late too." I frown at the paper bag I'm holding.

"For what?"

"Delivering cookies to Veteran's Hall. My dad volunteers there. Cookies, cakes, breads — you name it, he bakes it." I don't add that Dad has lots of time for volunteer work since Café Belmond closed and he lost his job. "Dad asked me to deliver the cookies, only ..." I sigh and lift up the half-empty bag. "Zed ate most of them."

Zed whinnies at the sound of his name and lunges for the bag. I jump back but not fast enough. His large teeth crunch down, snatching the bag out of my hands. Cookies fly like golden Frisbees, one smacking my forehead.

"NO, ZED!" Becca yanks his rope. The bag rips, cookies...