So for Kenna’s whole life he’d insisted that she’d pass the exam and go on to open the Hatchery door on the Island. That she was destined for a unicorn egg locked inside. That she’d make their mum proud. And it hadn’t helped that Kenna had always been top of her Hatchery class at Christchurch Secondary. If anyone was going to get to the Island, her teachers said, it was Kenna Smith. Then she’d failed. And for months now Skandar’s dad had been telling him the same. That it was possible, probable, even inevitable, that he’d become a rider. And despite knowing how unusual it was—despite seeing Kenna so disappointed last year—Skandar wanted more than anything for it to be true. “Your turn this year, though, eh?” Dad ruffled Skandar’s hair with a greasy hand. “Now, the best way to make fried bread…” As Dad gave him instructions, Skandar nodded in all the right places, pretending he didn’t already know how. Other children might have found this annoying, but Skandar was just pleased when Dad gave him a high five for getting the bread the perfect amount of crispy. Kenna didn’t come out for breakfast, though Dad didn’t seem to mind too much as he and Skandar munched on sausages, bacon, eggs, beans, and fried bread. Skandar stopped himself from asking where the money for this extra food had come from. It was race day. Dad clearly wanted to forget about all that, and Skandar did too. Just for today. So he grabbed the brand-new bottle of mayonnaise and squeezed it over everything, grinning as it made a satisfying squelch. “Aspen McGrath and New-Age Frost still favorites for you, then?” Dad asked through a mouthful. “I forgot to say, if you want to invite any friends over for the race that’s fine with me. Lots of kids do that, don’t they? Don’t want you to miss out.”
