Jessica Wrester happened to be an ordinary girl. She had ordinary parents, an ordinary house, and an ordinary life. She was about five feet tall, with long, wavy red hair, green eyes, and smallish hands. She did fairly well in school, an A- average, and was a loner. She was in the drama club, and helped out with the Animal Shelter.

What everyone didn’t know about Jessica Wrester is that she could talk to animals, and that they spoke back. Her relatives all remarked that she needed more friends, and when she replied “I have friends,” they would say “You need human friends, dear.” They would remark about how her dog, Katrianna, and her horse, Flutterby Butterfly, a tall gray Morgan mare, all seemed more intelligent than regular animals.

The other girls at the stable where Fly was boarded all said, “That Jessica is weird. Do you know she talks to her horse as though the creature can understand her? She even talks like it speaks back! She’s crazy!” when they thought Jessica wasn’t listening. While Bridget Longwood, the owner and chief instructor of Longwood Equine Academy, didn’t like the girls talking that way, they never let her hear them.

They are just jealous, Fly said one day. Her no-nonsense voice always carried a reassuring tone on days like today.

“Why would they be jealous of me?” Jessica said. The sweet smell of the hay and corn in Fly’s manger almost had the same effect as her voice.

Maybe because you can ride in the pastures without any of that nasty tack they use. You are a much better rider than they are, and they know it.

“I’m only a better rider because I can talk to you, Fly. You know that,” Jessica said. The big gray mare pushed her nose down in Jessica’s face and nuzzled her.

I always know when one of my foals is upset. You are no different. Jessica wrapped her arms around Fly’s neck and hugged her.

“I don’t know why my family tells me I need human friends. I have you and Katrianna.”

You do need human friends. I won’t be here forever, and neither will Katrianna. You need friends that won’t die before you do.

“I’ll try.”

As for supper, I believe I’m done. Are you in the mood for a ride?

“A ride is exactly what I need right now. I’ll get the brushes. Are there any spots you think need particular brushing, or do you want me to do the usual?”

A good brush around my tail would be nice. And make sure you bring the hoofpick along. It rained yesterday.

“Okay Fly. Tail brushing it is.”

As Jessica was coming out of the tack room, Helen Jetsam stepped right in front of her.

“What now, Helen? You’re blocking the doorway,” Jessica sighed. Helen was leaning on the frame as if she wasn’t going anywhere. Helen spoke in her high-pitched, nasal voice.

“Jessica, you had better not even think about entering that mongrel mare of yours in the Longwood Championship this year. I am going to win, on my purebred Lipizzan. He was imported from Austria just for me.”

“If he was imported just for you, why do I do all of the cleaning on him? You ask me, and then don’t even pay me!” Jessica said.

“All I’m saying is that you have next-to-nothing chances. Good luck!” she cried sarcastically.

When Jessica came to Fly’s stall, the gray mare had tidily cleaned up the rest of her supper. As Jessica opened the door, Fly’s head shot up as though she was startled.

Fly, is something wrong?

No, the pallid mare said, I was just talking to Katrianna. She says you might want to speak mind-to-mind, like this, for a while.

Come on then, the girl motioned to the grooming stall, a small recess in the wall with a hose connected and rubber-mats-over-concrete flooring.

Don’t mind if I do, Fly said, and walked out. The large gray mare daintily sauntered into the concrete stall. Jessica set down the basket she used to carry her grooming tools in.

Ten minuets later, Fly whisked her tail and said she felt clean enough. Let’s go through the woods and to the fields today. I like that clover that’s mixed in with the grass there. I promise I won’t eat much.

Are you sure? Last time, you ate until you were bloated. We had to call the vet.

I think I can keep a promise. I do have a bit of self-control.

Sometimes.

Sometimes.

Jessica walked out to the arena, just past the gravel parking lot. A white pick-up truck was parked outside the barn. Jessica stopped and stared; this was a new vehicle. Therefore, it was a new student. Fly! Come here. If anybody steps out, hide your head behind me, and act like you have on a halter.

Can do, Fly said. She tucked her head behind Jessica’s arm, and acted like a normal horse. A girl, about thirteen, stepped out of the truck. She wore only jeans and a tee-shirt, just like Jessica. She had straight blonde hair, shoulder length, bright blue eyes, and lots of freckles.

She had in her hand a shiny black helmet, and her father stepped out of the truck holding a pair of riding boots. The new girl spotted Jessica and walked over while her father talked to Bridget.

“Hi. I’m Kate. Who are you?” the girl, Kate, had a warm voice.

“I’m, um, Jessica. This is my horse, Flutterby Butterfly. She prefers to be called Fly, though.”

“You have your own horse? Lucky. My dad says there’s no way I’m getting a horse until I can pay for it. When I came here last week to check the place out,” she said, glancing around, “I heard some platinum-blonde-headed girls talking about ‘Crazy Jessica Wrester’. You wouldn’t happen to be her?”

“Yeah. ‘Crazy Jessica Wrester’. In the flesh.”

“Cool. I heard them talking about you the other day. I for one don’t think you’re crazy. My uncle had horses, back when we lived in New York. We’d fly out to Texas every summer to visit, and I’d just stay in the fields. Can I tell you a secret?” she leaned in closer.

“Yeah?”

“Sometimes, when I was with the horses, I’d hear voices. I’d pretend they were talking to me. Promise you won’t tell? My dad would send me off to a nuthouse if he knew I was hearing voices and thinking they were talking horses!”

“Promise.”

Jessica! She’s a Speaker, like you!

What?!

Trust me. I know Speakers when I see them. Not everyone can hear animals, and it takes a special person to do so. Most people can only hear us when we really need it. Many can’t hear us at all. You must talk to her. If you can convince her she’s not crazy, we can train her to Speak more clearly.

Okay.

“Hey, Kate?”

“Yeah?”

“Once Bridget gives you a stable horse, I want you to come on a trail with me. Would you?”

“Sure! Umm, what kind of saddles does she have?” Kate asked.

“Both. Why?”

“I’m only used to riding Western style. Now, what did you mean, ‘When she gives you a stable horse’?”

“Well, when you’re a newbie, you get to try the available horses until you find one that you like. Then, that horse becomes your horse that you ride. Nobody else can ride him—or her—without your permission. Most of the girls here are snobby richies, we call ’em Coins, and they have their own horses. You see that girl, over there?” Jessica pointed at one.

Kate nodded. The girl was short, with perfectly combed auburn hair, a wide face, an upturned nose, and spotless riding clothes.

“She’s Helen Jetsam, the biggest snob here. She owns her Lipizzan horse—you know, the ones they use in the Spanish Riding School in Austria—and she thinks that her horse is better because she’s got papers on him,” Jessica said.

Kat laughed. "I've known horses who were better than hers, and nobody even knew who their parents were! Fly is probably a lot better."

"Yeah," Jessica said, and rubbed the mare's neck. "She sure is."