Nav had no time to explain himself as Elaine, looking cute in a sleek green dress, stepped up to Rudy and held up her mobile. The screen showed a close-up photo of her somehow taken while she’d been walking Thunder in the figure eight with her eyes closed. It wasn’t as bad as the gap-toothed childhood photo, but she obviously considered it to be yet another embarrassing insult. “She sent it to everyone!” she complained.
Rudy was clueless. “Who?”
“Bates! That smug blond troll needs to lose! That is why you are going to talk me through my strategy again. We compete in the morning!” She led Rudy away.
He seemed to go willingly enough, probably knowing he’d get no peace until he could calm her down, but Kit knew he wasn’t happy about it. The Whiltshire-Bates War was getting on everyone’s nerves.
Nav took this opportunity to move closer to Kit. “Would you like some punch, Katherine?” he asked her as if fetching punch was the most fantastic thing he could ever do.
“Uh, Kit’s fine,” she replied. “And no, I’m okay. Oh, look, there’s Will. Hey, Will!” She waved at him, hoping he would join them, but Will took one look at Nav, gave Kit a small smile, and moved quickly — in the other direction. Confused, Kit was about to call him again when Anya arrived.
Kit took in the simple yet elegant red dress on her roomie while Anya gawked at Kit’s outfit. “You look amazing!” they both squealed at each other.
“Thanks. It was my mom’s,” Kit said.
“It’s lovely.” Gesturing to her own dress, Anya declared with pride, “I ordered this online because that’s a thing that I can do.”
“Yup!” Josh slid over and draped his arm across Anya’s shoulders. “All by herself. Zero drama.” He and Anya exchanged a high five.
With a sudden “Shall we?” Nav whisked Kit off to the dance floor. They danced for a while with Josh and Anya then split into groups. Kit looked around for Will again and spotted him coming back in from the hallway. She started to say hello, but he just swept on by, acknowledging her with a noncommittal nod.
Kit turned helplessly to Anya. “Will is completely not speaking to me.”
“I noticed that,” Anya said. “I don’t understand it. And Nav —”
“Nav just keeps bringing me punch. I’ve told him I’m not thirsty, like, a billion times.”
As if on cue, Nav danced his way across the floor to Kit with yet another cup of punch, which he handed to her with a beaming smile. Seeing that she and Anya were deep in discussion, he danced away again.
The two girls watched in complete confusion. “Wait,” Anya said. “Nav didn’t ask to escort you here tonight, did he?”
“No,” Kit answered. “I mean, I don’t think so. I mean, half the time I don’t understand a word any of you are saying!” She paused. “He said something like the gala is fun, and he wondered if I would consider —”
Anya’s jaw dropped. “That’s very clearly an invitation. You’re very clearly his date!”
Kit was so shocked by this that when Lady Covington entered the dining hall and happened to lock eyes with her for a split second, Kit waved a little too cheerily. The headmistress continued on her way while Kit quietly freaked. “I just waved at Lady C!”
“I saw,” said Anya. “Why would you do that?”
“I don’t know. I panicked!”
“Well, you have to go talk to her now. Otherwise, it’s unforgivably rude.”
Great. Either Kit cozied up to Lady Covington at a school dance, of all places, or she would add Unforgivable Rudeness to her list of faults in the headmistress’s eyes. It wasn’t that she disliked the woman, but what could they possibly talk about?
She found the headmistress standing by the drinks table. “Lady Covington,” Kit said nervously. “Gotta say, you’re looking wickedly stylin’ this evening.”
Lady Covington donned a gracious smile. “Whatever language you’re speaking, I don’t understand you.”
“There’s a lot of that going around. So, uh, nice night. Nice party. I — I am so nervous. . . .” She gulped down some punch, and when she still couldn’t think of anything to say, she drank some more. When her glass ran dry, she blurted out, “And thirsty! I get nervous when I’m thirsty.” No, that wasn’t right. “Thirsty when I’m nervous . . .”
“Where did you get your dress?”
Kit froze. Was the headmistress helping her out here, or was she actually interested? Or was this just one of those general questions English adults asked teenagers at parties? I’ll never get the hang of this country! she thought. Then again, did it matter? She should accept any help she could get at the moment. “Oh, do you like it?” she asked, trying not to sound like her fist was about to crush her empty punch glass. “It was my mom’s.”
Apparently intrigued by this answer, Lady Covington looked Kit up and down to take in the dress’s details more carefully. But she made no further comment.
“Look, I just want to say thank you.” That was surprising. Kit had no such desire. But once she said it, she realized it was true. “Not everyone would give me this chance with TK, and you did. And that’s really cool.” She tried to look grateful.
Either Lady Covington was amused by Kit’s awkwardness or she was genuinely touched by the declaration of thanks. It was hard to tell, but at least the headmistress’s smile warmed up a little. “Well, I’m glad that you find it cool. Enjoy your evening.”
Kit didn’t understand the dismissal until Nav spoke from right behind her. “Shall we dance?”
It was the punch thing all over again — he kept asking her to dance! This time, though, Kit actually wanted to. Something in her heart brightened, and it felt good. It felt really good. “Let’s all dance!” she cried, and happily lost herself in the music.
Later that night, when the dance was over and everyone had gone to bed, Kit tiptoed into the stables to see a special someone.
“Hi, boy,” she greeted TK, entering his stall. “I stole you some snacks from the buffet.” She opened her purse, pulled out several baby carrots, and held them out.
She giggled as her sensitive palm first registered TK’s hot puffs of breath and the tickle of his chin whiskers. Since his eyes were so far up on his face, he couldn’t actually see the carrots. He had to smell them first and locate them with his whiskers. Then his soft, rubbery lips brushed against her skin as they picked the carrots up and drew them into his mouth. The most wonderful sound followed, the crunch-crunch of big horse teeth munching. It was so loud, it sounded like a recording of a human chewing with a microphone pressed against their neck.
TK nuzzled her as he chewed. “How was my night?” Kit pretended to hear. “It was great, thank you for asking. How about the dress? Do you like it? It was my mom’s.”
TK, still chewing, gave a little snort.
Kit took it as approval. “I really wish she could have been here tonight,” she went on, thinking that if she had been able to talk to her mom, she might not have made such a fool of herself with Nav and all that punch. “A guy asked me out on a date, and I didn’t even know it! How does a girl end up on a date that she doesn’t even know she’s on?”
TK’s whinny seemed to say, “It turned out well, though, didn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Kit admitted, “but here’s the thing . . . I think I like someone else. And you” — she patted the gelding’s neck — “haven’t been making his life any easier lately. So promise you’ll behave yourself tomorrow.”
TK’s only response was to nudge her purse, looking for more carrots.
There was another response, however, one that Kit did not see. Will had wandered into the barn in time to overhear her confession to TK, and he couldn’t help but hope that her “someone else” was him. It sure sounded like it.
He smiled.
Welcome to the annual Covington versus Bingham event,” said the announcer over the loudspeaker.
Covington’s courtyard was full of proud parents, eager contestants, perfectly groomed and tacked ho
rses, and a maze of trucks and horse trailers. To everyone’s delight, the sun shone bright in a clear blue sky, a rare state of weather in England, and it put everyone in high spirits.
The event itself was taking place in the school’s indoor arena, where the audience bleachers had been divided into two groups: the Covington side in blue and the Bingham side in red. Kit had learned that the day’s three contests were a kind of equestrian triathlon known as eventing. Dressage had taken place that morning. It was a test of precision riding designed to demonstrate the obedience of a horse and the control of its rider. Cross-country, which would take place last, was a test of a horse’s speed, endurance, and jumping abilities outdoors. Show jumping, which was taking place now, was an arena event requiring horse and rider to complete a specific jump course with as few mistakes as possible. These tests didn’t sound particularly difficult, but Kit knew they took a lot of training and practice.
For the show jumping phase, jumps of various sizes and heights had been arranged around the arena floor. Sitting next to Rudy on the Covington side, Kit watched in suspense as Elaine navigated the course astride Thunder. As much as Kit often disagreed with the blond perfectionist, she couldn’t complain about Elaine’s riding skills. The girl rode exquisitely, now guiding Thunder up and over the last jump with full control, perfect style, and no mishaps. She walked him out of the ring amid applause, pausing by the stands to wait for the announcement of her score.
“Good clean ride,” Rudy said to her. “Tight corners.”
Elaine beamed. “Thanks, Coach. You know, you’re not a bad teacher, for a rodeo clown.”
Kit couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She just called my dad a clown! In public! Well, it had been true for a time, but still.
Rudy only laughed.
Over on the Bingham side, Beatrice Bates stood up to address her nemesis. “It’ll be tough to beat my score.”
Elaine raised her chin. “Not that tough.” With a glance at Rudy, she added, “Thunder and I had a conversation first. We talked about our mutual goals.”
Now Rudy looked downright proud. “Atta girl,” he praised her, making Elaine actually blush.
“Elaine Whiltshire, The Covington Academy,” came the announcer’s voice over the loudspeaker. “Clear round. That puts her in first.”
A roar rose from the Covington audience. A few reluctant claps came from the Bingham side. Beatrice Bates folded her arms across her chest as if to hold in her disappointment. “My school’s still leading.”
“Perhaps,” said Elaine. “But Anya Patel’s up next. Prepare to lose.”
“Anya Patel,” the announcer said. “Calling Anya Patel to the ring.”
Everyone turned to watch Anya come riding into the arena on Just Ducky, her beautiful chestnut gelding.
But no Anya appeared.
Seconds passed, and still no Anya.
Kit leaped to her feet and raced into the tack room, where she found her roommate completely unready for her turn in the ring. She didn’t even have her competition uniform on yet. Just Ducky’s tack lay scattered on a table and the floor, and Anya was in a complete panic.
“You’re supposed to be out there!” Kit cried.
“All my shirts were dirty, and then I couldn’t find my formal breeches, and then I forgot my bridle wasn’t ready and —”
“Why didn’t you do this before?”
Anya’s hands flapped wildly. “I don’t know! There was the whole business with the gala dress and, and usually —” Her voice rose to a high-pitched wail as she finished. “Well, usually I get some help!”
“Anya Patel,” the announcer called again. “Final call for Anya Patel.”
Out in the audience, Lady Covington turned to Rudy. “Where is she?”
Rudy had no answer.
“Last call for Anya Patel. Begin immediately or be disqualified.”
Anya’s distress was wound as tight as it could go. At the word disqualified she simply froze, hands in midflap. Then all her energy drained away, and with an anguished groan, she completely deflated. It was too late. It was over.
She was disqualified.
After all three eventing phases were over, Anya found herself alone in the tack room with Lady Covington. Both stared at the results displayed on the computer.
Elaine, of course, had claimed first place, with Beatrice Bates in a close second. Nav came in third, and Kiki Welch, from Bingham, scored fourth. Jilly Jones, also from Bingham, had taken fifth place. Covington had lost the event overall.
Anya’s name did appear on the board. In red. With no points at all.
“And that concludes today’s competition,” the announcer was saying on the computer. “Jilly Jones is in fifth place, and Anya Patel of Covington has been disqualified.”
Lady Covington rounded on Anya. “Disqualified!” she said with disdain. “How do you simply miss your stadium round?”
Anya flinched. “I’m sorry, Lady Covington.”
“Is Covington proving to be too much for you?”
“No, Lady Covington!” Anya tried not to look desperate. “It won’t happen again!”
“No,” Lady Covington declared hotly. “It won’t.”
Anya stood shaking in shame as Lady Covington stalked away. Then she hurried out where she had tied Just Ducky up and led him into the stables. She may have missed the competition, but she had gotten herself together enough to ride the course afterward.
Kit was waiting for her near Just Ducky’s stall. “You crushed that jump course,” she said, trying to make Anya feel better. “You were awesome! That should make you feel better, right?”
Anya silently tied Just Ducky outside the stall door and began to remove his tack.
Kit refused to give up. “Like, how big a deal is it that you were disqualified from the competition?”
“It’s huge,” Anya said in a small voice. “I’m humiliated.”
“But still, you really did rock those jumps. You should change Just Ducky’s name. Call him Jet. Or Soar! Or . . . what do they call those horses that have wings?”
“Imaginary?” Will offered, appearing with a bale of hay.
“Pegasus!” Kit suddenly remembered. “That’s what you two looked like! Serious altitude. I’m surprised you don’t have seagulls in your teeth.” She gave Will a meaningful glare.
He got the message. “Uh, good job, Anya,” he said, setting the hay down.
Anya lost it. “It doesn’t matter!” she shouted.
Kit jumped in surprise. Will automatically put his hand on Just Ducky’s flank, since Anya’s outburst startled him. He soothed the horse while Anya continued to vent. “I got disqualified! I let the team down! I let my family down! I let my horse down!”
Anya’s uncharacteristic outburst only made Kit more determined to make her feel better. She manipulated Just Ducky’s big lips to make it look like he was talking. “‘I think you’re the greatest! And you smell yummy!’”
It just made Anya bury her face in her hands. “Can we please stop pretending it’s okay?”
Kit admitted defeat and backed away.
“Do you want me to take him for a cooldown?” Will asked Anya. He took her horse’s lead.
She was near tears. “Yes. Please. That.” She fled the stables.
An hour after breakfast the next morning, the students were instructed via intercom to return to the dining hall. Kit filed in with the rest of her peers, knowing that some kind of unpleasant dressing-down was coming. The teachers were already somberly seated on the raised dais. Lady Covington stood at a central podium. The breakfast tables had been replaced with rows of chairs, so Kit chose one and sat. Josh settled down next to her. They exchanged nervous glances as Lady Covington began to speak.
“The problem is not that we lost to Bingham Academy this weekend,” the headmistress intoned with unconcealed annoyance. “An honest loss is something to be celebrated. It’s something that we can all learn from. However, this was less a loss than it was a humil
iation. Do any of you remember whose name is on the school gate? The crest? The riding uniform? My name. Covington. And Covington has been humiliated. As you all wear this name, you should all feel humiliated, too — with a few notable exceptions.” She zeroed in on Elaine. “Miss Whiltshire, congratulations on your first place. Well done.”
Elaine dared a smile.
“Mr. Andrada.”
Nav sucked in a nervous breath.
“I enjoyed your jump round immensely, as did the judges, apparently. Good show.”
He relaxed again, tried to smile, but couldn’t quite make it.
“Many of you need to recommit to your training. Strive for excellence . . .”
As Lady Covington continued to speak, Josh leaned over to Kit and whispered, “Where’s Anya?”
“I don’t know,” Kit whispered back. “I didn’t see her at all this morning.”
“Miss Bridges!”
Kit jumped in her seat.
“You are not exempt from listening to me despite the fact that you failed to ride. You ought to be working even harder than the others, given that rather embarrassing fact.”
Kit knew that anything less than a polite answer would spell disaster, so she said, “Absolutely. I will.” And nothing else.
That seemed to please the headmistress, who concluded her speech with, “In short, I expect the rest of the year to be, quite simply, better. Dismissed.”
Everyone quietly, almost fearfully, filed out of the dining hall. Kit followed them until she heard Lady Covington say, “Mr. Bridges? Please meet me in my office as soon as possible.”
“Right away, Lady Covington,” Rudy replied, casting a pained glance at Kit. She returned a sympathetic ouch face.
When the room was almost clear, Lady Covington’s manner relaxed. Heaving a long-suffering sigh, she said to Sally, “I fear that I am bound to spend most of the rest of my life managing the Bridges.” Her tone suggested that she was making a small joke, but under the circumstances, Sally knew better than to laugh.
Kit Meets Covington Page 7