On Monday at school, Erica approached Bright Star. A horse tied to a cart was coming down the street. Its build was good, but it certainly had lost its spirit. Bright Star shot a glance at Black Night tied to the post. She was smaller but was sleeker and had almost the same build. Black Night also had fire in her eyes.

“You wanna know whose that is?” Erica asked, coming up to Bright Star.

“Yours.” It wasn’t a guess.

“You’re right,” Erica smiled radiantly. “Mother bought it for me. He’ll win me that blue ribbon at the horse race!”

“Black Night’s better,” was all Bright Star said.

Then she saw the wagon coming in on the other side of the street. It had a Native American boy on its seat. Bright Star cocked her head. Bright Sun was oblivious as she hid her head in another medical book. The boy looked at Bright Star, then away. Bright Star decided to make an effort towards the lonely-looking boy.

“Hello!” she called, trying the greeting in Sioux. She tried it in a few other languages before nailing it with Muskogean which the Chickasaws spoke.

“Hello,” the boy nodded back. “You speak all those languages?”

“I’ve had experience,” was all Bright Star would reveal.

“You’re Bright Star,” the boy said. It wasn’t a question.

He revealed that his name was Black Bird, that his parents had died, and that his grandparents had taken him and expected him to go to school. They went into the schoolhouse and Miss Wilson beckoned Black Bird to the front, taking out her registration book.

“Name, last name, and age, please,” Miss Wilson smiled, poised to write it in the registration book.

Black Bird continued to stare at her until Miss Wilson was squirming in her seat and children were snickering. That’s when Bright Star realized that Black Bird had no idea what Miss Wilson had just told him. She quickly translated it in Muskogean, adding, “She’s talking to you.”

They spent alot of time together after that. Bright Star learned that Black Bird’s grandparents only wanted a farmhand, and he had to forage for his lunch. She invited him to their place for lunch each day and even convinced Bright Sun to give him Stream Runner. Days later, she learned that he had run away when his grandmother died of a stroke. Finally, the month had passed.

Bright Star walked Black Night to the race alongside Black Bird. Soon, they mounted and they took their places. It was seven horses. Three farm horses, Whirlwind and Erica, Black Night and Bright Star, Stream Runner and Black Bird, and Benny Crowhide and his Quarter horse. Bright Star turned to Black Bird who was beside her.

“Whoever wins or loses,” she said in Muskogean, “we are still friends.”

“Still friends,” Black Bird nodded.

“Is everybody ready?” the announcer asked.

Bright Star bent low over Black Night’s neck, taking her weight off Black Night’s back. “This is the time I need speed,” she whispered to her horse in Sahaptian.

“Go!” came the shout.

With a death grip squeeze, Black Night and the others were off. Bright Star slid her hands up and down Black Night’s neck, finding the turning pinpoints. She didn’t see Black Bird keeping stride beside her. She noticed the farm horses already lagging and the chuffing Whirlwind by her side. Benny Crowhide, a boy who thought he was in love with Bright Star, was spurring his horse on, trying to keep up with the spirited Appys.

But soon, Erica and Benny fell behind and it was just Bright Star and Black Bird although the 5 others fought desperately amongst themselves for third place. Bright Star turned to smile at Black Bird and Black Bird did the same. They were reaching the line now but Bright Star couldn’t tell who was ahead.

“Come on, Black Night,” she whispered. “Just a little bit more.”

Spectators lined around the line, trying to see who won as they passed.

“Come on, Black Night,” Bright Star whispered again, “we can win!”

As they sped under the wire, Bright Star heard, “It’s too close to call!”

It was a tie!