I fumble the basketball, my hands unable to coordinate with my feet even though I'm giving it my all. Betsy Bearston shoulder checks me and takes it away, running off like a gazelle toward the basket. Her delicate hooves make tiny tapping sounds, her long, arched neck showing off perky ears while her front legs leap upward, tossing the ball with a grace I can only dream of. When her hooves hit the ground, she's a girl again and everyone cheers, including me.
The shoulder of my t-shirt is already wet from wiping at the sweat on my face and I grimace a bit at the grossness of the whole process. I much prefer the more sterile and comfortable environment of a traditional classroom to running around in sneakers and shorts trying to master sports that elude my meager skills. Clare and Calvin ar
