The Perfect Distance

by Kim Ablon Whitney

  On Friday afternoon, we had the riders’ meeting where we got the order of go.

  Only one hundred and fifty riders showed in the Maclay, but looking at the order of go, you knew it was the best of the best. There was never a gap where you had five not-so-good riders or someone you’d never heard of. I’d heard of all the riders, and each one was excellent. I scanned the list for my name and located it right next to Tara’s. If I hadn’t known a computer spat out the list, I would have thought that someone had planned it as a bad joke. Tara went thirty-seventh. I went thirty-eighth.

  On Saturday we had to get up super early to ride in the Maclay warm-up, which started at 5:30. Some of the riders went back to their hotel rooms after to take naps, but I was at the show all day working and also getting to watch some. Katie got some low ribbons in the large juniors, which was a nice way for her to finish up her junior years. It wasn’t riding in the Maclay Finals, but it was something.

  Susie told us a little about the old days when the Maclay was held at Madison Square Garden. She said it was totally different, with riders only allowed to bring their horses in the night before the class, because there wasn’t space in the Garden to stable all the horses competing in the different classes. She said sometimes riders got only a few hours of sleep because the only time you were allowed in the ring was the middle of the night and there was nowhere else to school your horse besides the tiny warm-up area.

  That evening, Dad insisted we go to the Griffin Gate Steakhouse, where the riders all usually ate.

  “It’s expensive,” I said. “Let’s just get pizza or something.”

  Dad threw an arm around me. “No way. This is your last time doing the Maclay Finals.”

  We sat down at a table for two next to other riders, trainers, and parents. I ordered pasta, and Dad ordered grilled salmon. As the waiter brought our food, I realized just how hungry I was. But while I devoured my pasta, Dad didn’t seem hungry.

  “I’m sorry if you’re still mad at me,” he said, glancing up from the salmon he’d hardly touched.

  I’d come to understand his decision about Rob, even if I didn’t really agree with it. Talking to Colby some more about it had helped. And thinking more about what I would have done in Dad’s place. It was easy to sit back and say I would have done this or that, but the truth was, I hadn’t even been able to tell Doug and Becca no about the test to begin with. Dad had a lot more to lose with Rob than I’d had with Doug and Becca. Dad had always tried to keep the hard part of his life from me, but now I saw how life was still hard for him—how at times he had to compromise to get what he wanted for us. “I’m not mad at you anymore—not really,” I said.

  “You know what kind of person I am, don’t you?” he asked. “Because that’s important to me.”

  “Yes,” I told him.

  Dad reached out and covered my hand with his. “Good.”

  We shared the butter cake for dessert, savoring every last morsel of yumminess.

  After dinner, as we walked through the lobby, I asked Dad if it would be okay if I went to see Colby. “Just for a few minutes,” I assured him, since it was almost nine now.

  “Sure,” he said.

  Colby was waiting with the door open. “How long was the Hundred Years’ War?” he asked.

  “A hundred years?” I ventured, realizing that after this weekend I would miss what I had come to think of as Colby-isms. Of course, I would miss Colby too.

  “One hundred and sixteen. I’ve got another one for you. What animal are the Canary Islands named after?”

  “I give up,” I said.

  “Dogs.”

  There were two queen beds in the room, one filled with Colby’s clothes. Colby sat down on the other. I plopped down next to him.

  “You nervous?” he asked.

  “Not really,” I said. “Isn’t that weird?”

  “No, it just means you’re in the zone.”

  “Ah, the Zen thing again.”

  Colby reached out and pulled at my ponytail. “How come you never wear your hair down?”

  “Because I just don’t. It’s a pain.”

  “You should. I bet it’d look really pretty.”

  He inched closer and kissed me. After a few minutes he lay back on the bed and pulled me onto his chest. We kept kissing and Colby moved his hand up the back of my shirt. It drifted down on the outside of my jeans.

  “What are we doing?” I asked, pulling away.

  “Hooking up—or at least that’s what I think those crazy kids are calling it these days,” he joked.

  “No, I mean you’re going back to California and I’ll probably never see you again. I never even asked if you have a girlfriend.”

  “I do.”

  I bolted upright. Colby reached out and grabbed my arm. “Aren’t you my girlfriend?”

  “You jerk,” I said, looking away. But I couldn’t be mad at him, especially since he’d just said I was his girlfriend.

  “Well, aren’t you?” he asked.

  “I guess for today, yeah.”

  Colby pulled me back so I was lying next to him again.

  “Don’t think so much about tomorrow. We’ll figure it out. Maybe I can come visit you over Christmas, or maybe you can come to L.A.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” I said. I didn’t think either was likely, but for once I wasn’t going to worry. I rolled back toward Colby, and kissed him again.

  The course was posted. I saw Rob, Susie, and Colby standing at the in gate. I couldn’t believe it. No Tara, yet there was Rob in his coat and tie. After everything that had happened, he had to pick now to start believing in me.

  I still couldn’t look at Rob without thinking of Stretch. The first time I’d seen him when I went back to the barn had been the hardest. It had been nearly impossible not to tell him I knew, not to tell him what I thought of him now. I had kept my mouth shut, but I had a feeling he must have known something had changed with me.

  The course was super difficult, which wasn’t surprising because George Morris was judging. He was a legend in the eq and jumper world and was known for being tough. When he had to give numerical scores it wasn’t unusual for him to hand out scores like 22 or 13. He never used “below the cut-off.”

  The hardest part of the course was a bending line curving around at the end of the arena, a vertical, then three strides to an oxer, and then either a forward six strides, or a steady seven strides to another vertical. The three was tight, so if you planned on doing the six strides, you had to make sure to get it done early or else you would leave too long or, even worse, end up chipping in seven strides. There was also the gray box wall in the shape of the words ASPCA that some horses always spooked at.

  Colby and I watched the first ten riders. A few of the riders made miscalculations in the bending line, and a few of the horses spooked at the ASPCA jump, sticking off the ground or even stopping. I kept checking the stands and expecting to see Katie, but she wasn’t there. She had flown home after the junior hunters finished up. I couldn’t blame her for not wanting to stay and I knew she would be watching the live stream at home and cheering me on.

  Soon enough it came time for me to get on. It was the last time I’d mount up for a junior equitation class in my life.

  Colby caught me and said, “Wait, I haven’t given you my pep talk yet.”

  “You have one ready?”

  “Been working all night on it.”

  “Okay,” I said, waiting.

  “Here goes,” he said. “Kick some ass!”

  Colby was right. It didn’t matter anymore that Tara went right before me. In the schooling ring, Rob’s eyes were on me and only me. The crazy thing was I didn’t even care. I didn’t look at Tara either.

  Tara was already in the ring when I approached the in gate. Dad wiped my boots and then he did Tobey’s hooves.

  From the in gate I could make out some of Tara’s round. What I saw looked impeccable—she was laying it down. Her horse was huge, and she made the flow
ing six strides in the second part of the broken line look easy. The horse didn’t spook at the ASPCA wall, which had killed a lot of top riders’ hopes, including, surprisingly, Addison Bay’s. As Tara finished up, I began to think maybe she looked even better on Erica Wong’s horse than she did on Riley. She finished to loud applause and cheering, but it seemed quieter without Rob’s whoops.

  “Go get ’em,” Rob called to me as I entered. “Nail it.”

  I pressed Tobey forward into the ring, barely hearing Rob’s words, as Tara went out the out gate.

  I could see the whole ring now. With the lights on full blast it glowed. A decent crowd filled the stands, and I had to remind myself to breathe. I looked over at the ASPCA wall. Last year Tobey hadn’t spooked at it, but you never knew with him.

  I walked for a second longer than usual and listened to the announcer call out my name. And now on course, Francie Martinez. The crowd quieted. I gulped a breath and waited for nerves to hit me, but they didn’t come. For the first time ever I wasn’t riding for Rob. I wasn’t looking to please him, and I wasn’t worried I’d disappoint him. I was riding for me. It took realizing Rob wasn’t who I thought he was for me to truly believe in myself.

  I picked up the canter and headed to the first jump. I rode the first four fences well and it was like everything was in slow motion, just how I always wished it would be. I wasn’t rushing to finish up or worrying whether I was good enough—I knew I was. I felt exactly the way I did in my riding dream—all confidence.

  I approached the line with the three jumps. I rode the first part and then melted back in seven strides the way Rob and I had planned. It might not have been as bold as Tara’s ride, but it was the safer option. Then around the corner over a vertical, roll back turn to a triple bar. We stayed patient, taking a conservative distance to the vertical and then loosening up and flowing to the triple bar. Next came the ASPCA wall. I pressed my legs against Tobey’s sides harder than usual and stayed behind him a little with my upper body. Whatever distance I saw, I couldn’t risk leaning. I had to be there for him in case he wavered. Thankfully, I saw a good distance, not too long and not too tight. He peeked slightly, looking down, but I was there with my leg. And then it was just one more fence, a long approach to a hogsback. It was the one part on the course where Rob told me to carry a little more pace. The rest of the course was controlled, but the last jump was my place to show the judges, particularly George Morris, I was comfortable riding forward. I let Tobey’s stride out and headed toward the hogsback. The perfect distance was right there when I turned the corner. Maybe the distance to all the jumps had always been there before, but I was just worrying too hard that I wouldn’t see it. I rode the last jump, and Rob and Susie whooped practically before I landed.

  Rob was still clapping as I left the ring. “Perfect,” he said. “That’s my girl.”

  They were the words I’d waited years to hear from him, but now they didn’t hold the same weight.

  I was in second behind Tara after the first standby and I stayed there through the second standby after 100 riders had gone. When the flat phase was announced, I’d dropped to sixth. The judges worked three flat groups and then called back twenty for the second round. I was in fifth, with Steve Farmington in fourth, Kristy Blythe in third, Liv Matthews in second, and Tara still on top. She had held the lead throughout the whole class. Colby was in the top of the second flat group and made the call back, standing twelfth.

  The second round looked straightforward. No tricks, but places to make yourself noticed: a halt and a hand gallop. After the second round, the judges would probably test four of us. I needed to move up a spot to guarantee I’d make the test.

  I watched the first few riders and then went to school. While I was starting out with Susie, Rob was up at the ring with Colby. He rushed back to the schooling area to finish getting me ready. I overheard him tell Susie Colby had ridden really well.

  At the in gate, Rob went over the course with me, but I hardly listened. I didn’t need him. I knew what I had to do. I couldn’t just go for the safe ride. If I wanted a shot at the test, I had to go for brilliant.

  I cantered into the ring, and I felt hungry to be at the first jump. I met it well and continued on to the second and the third. I eased Tobey back to the halt and he stood statue still. I waited there with my head held high and savored the moment. I had that poise, that presence that I thought only a rider like Tara could have. Then, at the hand gallop, I went for it. I really and truly galloped. If I made a mistake trying to go for it, so be it. But I wouldn’t lose my chance at winning because I wasn’t willing to risk it all.

  I urged Tobey to a strong gallop. Fast and powerful, yet in control of his stride. I galloped the jump and landed to Rob’s whoops. After I came out of the ring, I practically collapsed on Tobey’s neck, hugging and patting him. I couldn’t stop smiling. I had done it. Whether I made the test or not, I had put in the round of my life.

  I was good, very good. But so were Tara, Kristy, and Liv after me. Steve had a rough lead change, so he was out. It was down to the four of us. Maybe the judges had seen enough and didn’t need to do any further testing, but maybe they’d bring us back.

  I waited with Colby until finally the announcer’s voice came over the ring. “The judges have requested that number 307 and number 238 please return to the ring for further testing.”

  Tara and me.

  My first reaction: Yes! I’m in it.

  My second: It’s Tara and me.

  Chapter Twenty

  * * *

  “Listen,” Rob said right before I followed Tara into the ring for the test. “You can win this.”

  I lined up next to Tara, as I had for so many lessons we’d been in together before. The stadium was dead quiet. Everyone was waiting to see what we would be asked to do. Then the announcer’s voice reverberated over the PA:

  “The judges have requested that the riders switch horses and ride the test again.”

  Without a word, Tara and I dismounted. I started to undo my girth to slide my saddle from Tobey’s back. It was the only thing we’d switch. When it came to catch-riding, Tara had so much more experience than I did. I tried to steady my breathing and glanced over at Tara. She was undoing her girth and was about to slide the saddle off.

  Tara and I switched horses and mounted up. I wondered if other riders in this situation exchanged hints about each other’s horses, explaining how much leg or hand they needed. Tara’s horse stood much taller than Tobey, probably 16.3 hands to Tobey’s 16.1, which meant I’d look very small on him. I hadn’t watched him as much as many of the other horses because until today he’d never had a very promising rider, but from the little I’d seen, he looked uncomplicated. We had to mount from the ground. Since I was short and the horse was so tall, I had to lengthen my stirrup to get on. Tara didn’t. But I wouldn’t let it bother me. Not after I’d come this far.

  After I adjusted my stirrup back, I looked at Tobey and Tara and wished she didn’t look so good on him. I thought of all the work I’d put into him and how Rob had said to me way back when: Maybe you can figure him out. I had done just that, and now Tara might be the one to benefit from it.

  “Number 307, Francie Martinez, will ride first,” the announcer called.

  As I shortened my reins, Tara turned to me. “This win’s mine,” she said.

  “Well, good luck,” I came back. “Because I’m gonna nail it.”

  I stepped forward. All I could think as I began my course was, I’m gonna win. I wanted to prove Rob wrong so badly—to show him once and for all how he had underestimated me and how well I could ride. I squeezed the horse’s sides with my calves and registered that he moved off slowly. Tobey was sensitive and listened to every aid I gave him without having to tell him more than once. I asked for the canter harder than I would with Tobey. This horse’s canter was long and smooth, where Tobey felt condensed and springy. Before I had much time to think about it, I was at the first jump. The horse j
umped flat and even, like I’d just cantered over a pole on the ground.

  I landed and turned, jumped the next fence. I continued around without error. I halted—took my moment—and then cantered off again. I jumped the next fence, and then came the hand gallop. I pushed the horse forward, found the distance, and returned to line next to Tara.

  Tara was up next. I watched as she urged Tobey into a canter. Her first few fences were perfect. She halted well, held her head high, and then blasted off into the hand gallop. She finished to loud applause and returned to stand next to me.

  Usually watching a class, I had a feeling for who would win, but Tara and I were dead even. I knew it could go either way. They might ask us to perform an additional test, one more chance to see who would come out on top, or maybe they had already decided. We waited in tense silence for a few moments before the announcer’s voice boomed out over the PA system. “The judges have let us know there will be no further testing. Please stand by for the award presentation.”

  While the eight riders who had placed below us, including Colby, joined us in the ring on their mounts, Tara and I switched horses again. It felt good to be back on Tobey, like falling into your own bed after a week away from home.

  The ring crew rolled out the red carpet and laid the ribbons on a table. As the announcer started the countdown in reverse order, I began to feel that it was all a dream—that I hadn’t really just gone head to head with Tara for the win.

  I stood next to Tara and watched the other riders receive their ribbons. Colby finished eighth—a great ribbon. Steve was fifth, Kristy fourth, Liv third.

  It was down to first and second, me and Tara. I held my breath. My whole body was trembling. The announcer’s voice cut the silence. “And our ASPCA Maclay Reserve Champion . . . is . . . Miss Francie Martinez.”

  My stomach dropped and tears pressed at my eyes. I glanced at Tara. She had started crying, but her tears were happy. “I can’t believe it,” she breathed. “I can’t believe it.”

  That was it. It was over. There were no more finals, no more chances. Tara had won.