“Be right there.”
Yes, she did. A whopper of a manure stain on her right flank. Manure stains were the bane of my existence. (I’d once heard Mr. Roth use this expression and I kind of liked it.) Luckily Ginger was chestnut, not white like Stretch, so the stain would be easier to get out. Stretch and manure stains were a whole other story involving lots of hot water, whitening shampoo, and sometimes, when nothing else would work, even bleach. I grabbed a rag and spot cleaner from the grooming box and was in her stall furiously trying to rub it off when Colby walked in.
“I can do that,” he said, reaching for the rag.
I hesitated. I had assumed he’d figured out that I was a groom from seeing me at the barn the last few days, and as much as I hated manure stains, it was my job. Only now I wasn’t so sure he knew I was a groom. Before I could speak, Dad poked his head into the stall.
“What’s up?” he asked. “Francie, do you need help?”
“No,” I said. “I’m fine.”
Dad eyed me once more before retreating and Colby reached for the rag again. “Let me do it.”
“It’s my job,” I answered, now annoyed by the whole situation even though I’d kind of brought it on myself.
“I don’t mind,” he said.
I stopped rubbing and stared at Colby. “No, I don’t think you understand. If I don’t do this, then I don’t get to ride. Okay?”
Why was I flipping out when I was the one who’d lied in the first place? I just wished that things could be normal between us and that I didn’t have to explain about who I was. I wished I could be normal.
“I’m sorry I even said anything,” Colby muttered, and walked out of the stall.
I sighed and turned my attention back to the stain. First Becca, Doug, and the test and now this . . . not what I needed right now. Becca had been so happy when I’d given Doug the test Friday morning. So had Doug. “I owe you,” he’d said. “When we go out for lunch today, I’m buying.”
“I can’t,” I told him. “I have fifth-period lunch on Fridays.”
“So skip fifth period,” he said, like it was nothing.
“I can’t.” I knew lots of kids skipped classes, but I had never. Dad would kill me if he found out.
“Then next week, okay?” As he and Becca walked away, she mouthed, “Thank you.”
So I had made Becca and Doug happy, but I was now living in fear. For the rest of the day on Friday all I could think was, what if Mr. Yannakopoulos found out? Wouldn’t he get suspicious when Doug went from failing to doing well? Doug wouldn’t be so stupid as to get every answer right, would he? He’d have to be smart enough to know to get some wrong on purpose. Why would Mr. Yannakopoulos suspect me, anyway? Doug and I weren’t friends. But what if Mr. Yannakopoulos questioned Doug? I’d blacked out my name from the test in case he somehow got a hold of it, but what if Doug caved and told him it was mine? I could already see Mr. Yannakopoulos’s confused and disappointed expression. I had been one of his best students.
When I finally rubbed the stain off Ginger, I changed into my show clothes, including my new coat, which fit perfectly. Other trainers let their riders wear pin-striped or colored shirts and green or brown coats, but Rob had a standard dress code: navy coat, white shirt. He also required that each of us be in our show clothes for the course walk, no matter if we went first or one hundred and first in the order.
Katie was fixing her hair up in her helmet in the tack room when I came in to put on my boots, which I’d polished to a shining black the night before. I was relieved to see Colby was nowhere in sight. I needed to concentrate on riding now—I couldn’t be thinking of Doug and the test or Colby.
“Hey,” Katie said. “When do you go?”
The order was posted that morning and I drew seventeenth. Seventeenth wouldn’t be bad except that Tara went fourteenth. It was my curse. I always ended up going within five riders of Tara, which meant Rob was busy with her and I was stuck with Susie. Susie knew what it was like to do the finals, but she still wasn’t Rob. She wasn’t why everyone came to West Hills.
“How about you?” I asked Katie.
“Fifty-fourth.”
“That’s good.”
“I hate my hair,” Katie groaned, tearing off her helmet and pulling the hairnet from her head. She stretched the hairnet out on her fingertips. “Another hole. This is my third hairnet this morning. Do you think that could be bad luck or something?”
Before I could answer, Tara strutted in. She leaned in front of Katie to check herself in the mirror. Her hair was perfect. She wasn’t beautiful, though, at least not in a model kind of way. But she was the type of pretty that came from being tall and skinny and from knowing she was the best.
“This is it,” Tara said. “Last year for all of us . . . our last shot at the Maclay Finals. Who’s gonna make it?”
“We all are,” Katie replied, even though in three tries she’d never made it through.
“Everyone doesn’t always make it,” Tara scolded, grabbing her show coat from the back of a nearby chair. “You of all people should know that, Katie.”
Tara turned and headed to the ring. In her wake, Katie huffed, “Maybe she’ll be the one who won’t make it.”
But it wasn’t even worth hoping—there was no way Tara would choke.
Gwenn and her mother trailed into the tack room with Susie. Tears streamed down Gwenn’s face even though the class hadn’t begun. Thankfully, Rob wasn’t around to see it. Gwenn’s mother stood behind her and draped her arms over her shoulders. I hadn’t thought it was physically possible for anyone to be more nervous than me, but clearly Gwenn was. She shouldn’t have been nervous, though. It didn’t matter if she made it through. Not like it mattered for me. At only thirteen, Gwenn had plenty of chances left. This was my last shot.
“Rob’s at the ring,” Susie said. “The course is posted. You girls better head up. I’ll be there in a minute.”
We passed the schooling area, with riders already practicing and trainers yelling. We passed grooms holding saddled horses, parents with steaming coffee cups, and Jack Russell terriers straining on leather leashes.
“I hope we both make it,” Katie said.
“Me too,” I agreed.
Rob was at the in gate, dressed in jeans and a blue button-down shirt. “Learn the course, girls,” he said.
Katie and I gazed over other riders’ heads at the laminated course posted next to the in gate. More and more riders converged at the in gate and pushed their way to the front, blocking our view. I spotted Colby, but I quickly looked away and pretended I hadn’t seen him.
Finally the announcer’s voice boomed out over the PA system, “The course is open to walk,” and all the riders and trainers flooded into the ring. Rob strode ahead with Susie second and all of us behind.
The course was an array of brightly colored rails, rolltop boxes, stonewalls, brush boxes filled with pine branches, and wishing well standards. It looked beautiful—and intimidating as hell at the same time.
We walked each line and planned our approaches to the jumps. Rob explained how to ride every detail of the course, and it differed for each of us, depending on our horses’ strides or tendency to drift right or left. As we walked, I could feel other riders looking at us because we rode with Rob. I loved how it felt to be one of Rob’s students. Tara and Katie probably took it for granted now, but I never would.
Rob stopped in the middle of the ring. We circled him with Tara glued to his side, as she’d been for the whole course walk.
“Any questions, girls?” Rob asked.
Colby cleared his throat.
“Any questions, girls and boy,” Rob amended, cracking a smile.
No takers.
“Good. Then you’re all gonna nail it.” He slung an arm around Tara. “Right?” he asked, and I wished more than anything that his arm was around me instead.
She looked him dead in the eye. “Right.”
“Okay, let’s do it. Tara goes f
irst out of all of us, so she’ll watch the first few and then get on. The rest of you watch Tara to see how it’s done and be up to the schooling area fifteen trips before you go.”
I turned away. Rob had forgotten me. I went right after Tara. I couldn’t bring myself to remind him. I didn’t say anything—I shouldn’t have had to—but Susie did: “Francie goes early, too.”
Rob glanced at me like he was noticing a shirt in his closet that he’d forgotten he even had and never really wanted to wear again. I wished Susie hadn’t said anything—it only made it more painfully clear how much of a nothing I was to him. “Right. So watch a few and then get on, too.”
The stands were small and pretty much empty; nobody really came to watch except parents of the riders. I sat with Katie, her parents, and her younger brother, Henry. Henry was stuffing his face with a runny egg sandwich while playing on his mini iPad. My stomach was already a mess, and the sight of the runny egg in Henry’s braces tossed the burn of my wake-up vomit back into my throat. I looked out at the ring and went over the course in my head, trying to push Rob from my thoughts.
“How does the course look?” Katie’s father asked. Mr. Whitt was tall and thin with dark, slicked-back hair that he must have dyed, because it didn’t have a touch of gray in it. He wore designer corduroys and a cashmere sweater.
“I don’t know. Okay, I guess,” Katie mumbled.
“Okay? This is your year, Kate,” Mr. Whitt said.
Katie shrugged as her mother shot Mr. Whitt a look that screamed, “Lay off!” Mrs. Whitt had long blown-out highlighted hair and was wearing a shirt-dress with leggings and tall boots that probably cost as much as Katie’s Parlantis. Sometimes when I looked at mothers like Katie’s or Gwenn’s, I couldn’t help but wonder what my mother was like. Did she dress in expensive clothes like Mrs. Whitt? Whenever I started wondering about her, though, I always tried to tell myself not to bother. Especially now, when I needed to concentrate.
“You’ll do great, Katie,” Mrs. Whitt encouraged. “I know you will.”
When Kelsey Larson entered the ring, the whole stadium quieted. Usually this only happened for the best riders, but it also happened for the first rider. Going first was probably even worse than going right after Tara, although I wasn’t sure anything could be worse than going right after Tara. But going first meant you didn’t know how the course rode, and the judges usually started out scoring low.
Kelsey turned in a decent trip, no major mistakes, but it would take more riders to go to tell how she’d stack up—whether or not she’d get through. I watched three more riders, getting more and more nervous, before I decided I couldn’t take sitting still any longer and headed back to the barn. Out of habit I kept an eye out for any finds on the way, but in general, shows were a bad place to look. For one thing, people at shows hardly ever littered. And if they did drop anything, it was usually nothing worth keeping—an order-of-go sheet, a braiding list, a receipt for a feed order. Those things I could easily decipher—I liked finds with more uncertainty and mystery to them.
At the barn, I took my time brushing Tobey and tacking him up. Doing something made me feel a little bit better. I led Tobey out of the aisle, buttoned my new coat, and straightened my number on my back. Then I asked Dad for a leg up. I was so used to seeing him give other girls legs up that it always felt strange for him to give me one. He wiped Tobey’s mouth and my boots with a rag and then placed a steady hand on my knee. “Good luck out there. Have fun.”
As I rode up to the schooling area, I prayed this time would be different. That somehow Rob would fuss over me like he did over Tara. That he’d school us both, finish Tara, and then shuttle her up to the ring with Susie instead of going up with Tara and leaving me behind with Susie.
Tara was already jumping. “One more time at this height, Tara, then we’ll go up,” Rob called to her from his position with Susie next to the jump. “Keep it even. Keep your pace.”
Tara cantered the jump perfectly and Rob raised it two holes.
The in gate announcer’s voice charged out over a loud-speaker into the schooling area: “Maddie on deck, Angela in one, Tara in two, Jessica in three, Will in four, Francie in five.”
Rob pointed to a lower jump across from him. “Get to it, Francie. Canter the vertical.”
I cantered the vertical, hoping Rob was watching me. But Tara jumped his fence and he said, “Good, Tara, just like that.”
Susie’s voice followed. “Again, Francie. A little more pace to it.”
“Once more, Tara,” Rob said, and I found myself sneaking looks at Tara instead of concentrating on my jump. I knew I needed to focus on myself, but I couldn’t help thinking how if I rode like her, Rob would be paying attention to me, too.
“You’re on it,” he praised Tara. “Let’s do it.”
Rob and Tara headed out of the schooling ring. I knew he’d forgotten me again. Then he stopped abruptly and swiveled back to Susie and me. “Have her canter the vertical a few more times and then the oxer,” he told Susie. “Come on up when you’re ready.”
I watched Tara and Rob walk out of the schooling ring. Rob was leaning close to her, gesturing. A part of me was hurting so badly from seeing them, but I reminded myself I didn’t have time to hurt. Not if I wanted to make it to the Maclay Finals. Concentrate, I told myself. Get with it.
“Okay, Francie, the vertical again,” Susie called.
I cantered to the vertical. I saw a long spot, leaned for it, and ended up chipping in. So much for concentrating. This was exactly the confidence-shattering jump I didn’t want to have before going into the ring.
Rob would have killed me if he’d seen it, but Susie didn’t make a big deal about it. She seemed to know it would only make me more frazzled. “Try it again,” she said.
Somehow I managed to pull myself together and find a better distance this time. I finished warming up with Susie, and we walked up to the in gate just as Tara was jumping the last line. I hoped that somehow she had made a mistake, but as she finished, everyone started clapping. Rob clapped so hard his hands must have been stinging.
Tara rode her finishing circle and the stadium sprang back to life. People trickled out of the stands to get a cup of coffee or a bacon-and-egg sandwich. Dawn Longren came down from the stands and said to Rob, “Nice ride.” She trained Addison Bay, who besides Tara was the favored rider to win this year. A few years ago Addison had come to the farm and taken a lesson with Rob, but she’d decided to ride with Dawn instead. I was pretty sure it killed Rob that Addison chose to ride with Dawn; not only was Addison good, but her family also had a ton of money—her father was some multi-millionaire hedge fund manager. Besides her eq horse, she had two junior hunters and two junior jumpers.
Dawn’s politeness was just an act. As much as the trainers pretended to be friendly, they were just as competitive as us.
“Should do it, shouldn’t it?” Rob said.
Rob was so busy gloating over Tara’s ride that it was like I was invisible to him. Susie started going over the course with me. I tried to concentrate on what she was saying, but I kept being distracted by Rob gushing to Susie, “Tara was beautiful . . . beautiful.”
“Francie schooled well,” Susie said, which was nice since it was a total lie—we both knew my warm-up had been awful.
“You ready, Francie?” Rob asked, finally acknowledging me.
I barely nodded.
“This is your chance. Don’t blow it,” he warned.
I swallowed and legged Tobey forward. Concentrate, I told myself. Forget about Tara. But all I kept hearing was Rob’s voice. Beautiful.
I made it halfway around the course without a mistake. I came out of the corner to the last line and saw a long distance, maybe too long. If I pushed for the long one and ended up chipping in, like I had in the schooling area, it would flat-out kill my chances of making it through.
Instead I pulled Tobey together and fit in the extra stride. It wasn’t seamless or as smooth as it could have
been, but the bottom line was it worked. We finished the course with just the one tight distance.
Rob clapped and gave a few small whoops—nothing compared to what he’d done for Tara. But as much as I craved his praise, I knew I didn’t deserve it, not with the round I’d had.
I came out of the ring, gasping for air like I’d just swum the length of a pool underwater. “You should make it,” Susie said to me. “Don’t you think, Rob?”
I looked at him, hopeful.
“We’ll see,” was all he said.
Chapter Eight
* * *
Dad wasn’t at the in gate when I came out of the ring, but I knew he had watched me. Somehow he always found a way to watch. Pablo or Camillo were usually happy to cover for him, since he always helped them out when they needed him.
“Good ride,” he said when I got back to the barn area.
After the lukewarm response from Rob, I was glad to see Dad’s face. At least someone cared about how I’d done.
“I almost blew it,” I said.
“But you didn’t.”
“Did it look bad?”
“No, it felt worse than it looked,” Dad said.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Well, I do know.”
I slid off Tobey, still jittery from my round. One minute to decide everything. One minute to decide if I earned my last shot at the Maclay Finals. And then Rob had to go on about Tara’s beautiful round right before I went in the ring, which only made things worse.
I put Tobey away in his stall but didn’t take out his braids because I would definitely make the flat phase. I grabbed the hose to top off water buckets, but Dad said, “Go on up and watch. We’re all set here.”
“You sure? I don’t have to—”
“Go,” Dad said. “We’ll need you later. Katie and Gwenn ride at about the same time.”
I headed up to the ring and found Katie in the stands next to Colby. After our exchange that morning I didn’t really want to sit with him, but I had no choice. Katie had seen me, so I couldn’t just go sit somewhere else.
“You were great,” Katie said.
The Perfect Distance Page 7