by Sarah Price
In my mind, I can separate the two types of fangirls: the lustful, yucky girls who post seductive comments, and fangirls like me. The former are gross girls, going for shock value, while the latter are true fans, like me, who genuinely care about Aiden.
Literally, I pray for him at night before I go to bed.
Please, dear Lord, make Aiden Quinn notice me. I might only be from New Jersey, but I’m a total cowgirl, too!
It doesn’t work.
In the mornings, I check my Twitter account before I toss the covers from over my head. And each time I’m disappointed: no follow.
Despite my stalking, I put myself into the category of true fangirls. Unlike the other gross girls, I sincerely love him. I’ve watched every single one of his videos about twenty times. I know all of his cool horse tricks by heart. Heck! I could probably get my horse to sit down on a bale of hay, too, if I only had my own horse.
I refuse to follow any of the other social media horse accounts. That would feel like betrayal, like I’m cheating on him. And unlike the other girls that follow him and also follow a hundred other social media cuties, I’m a one-Instagrammer kind of gal.
I’m consistent with my tweeting, and I keep my notifications turned on so that each message he sends flashes across my screen. If it was anybody else, it would be annoying. But, with Aiden, it’s almost like he’s reaching out to me. Just me. Each time he tweets, within milliseconds I get to read his thoughts.
We are truly connected.
Only he doesn’t know it yet.
I’m glad school is in its final days. I need a break from Leslie Murphy. She sneers at me in the hallways and once bumped into me for no reason, causing me to drop my books. Luckily I wasn’t holding my phone at the time. I’m done with her and her snarky comments and rude attitude. Even Nora has jumped the neutral ship and is purely in Murphy’s camp.
Cassie says it’s because they’re jealous of me. But I can’t imagine why. Sure, I get good grades, and most of the teachers like me (except Mrs. Strayer). Other than that, there’s nothing I can think of that would make her jealous. I’m not even popular!
Two nights before the end of school, in a rare moment of sibling togetherness, Brooke, Alex, and I are sitting in the great room watching television. Pica’s curled up on my lap and I’m playing with her tail. Whenever I pull it straight, it bounces right back into a curly-Q. She’s so adorable!
“I really hate that Leslie Murphy,” I blurt out. I have no idea why I say it; it’s not like anyone cares.
Brooke, however, responds right away. “Why?”
I sigh. “She’s just so mean to me. Always making wise cracks, taking photos of me during class, posting rude comments on my horse photos on Instagram, teasing me about ...” I almost say Aiden’s name but catch myself in time. “... stuff.”
“She smells your weakness,” Alex says to me in a low, creepy voice.
Brooke throws a pillow at him. “Be nice, Alex. It’s serious when someone’s getting picked on.”
“Seriously funny!” he snaps back with a laugh.
She rolls her eyes and returns her attention to me. “Did you tell anyone at school? Did you tell Mom?”
“What’s the point now? School’s almost over.”
Brooke shakes her head. “That’s not right. She sounds like a real bully.”
I wish I could explain to Brooke that it’s not really bullying. Maybe it’s more like a competition. Or a get-even kind of strategy. After all, I’m one of the few people that will stand up to her, and definitely one of the only ones who don’t kiss her patootie. For some reason, Leslie wants me under her control, but I won’t give her that satisfaction.
“Maybe she’s jealous of you,” Brooke adds.
Hmm. That’s interesting. Jealous of me. Everyone keeps saying it, including Cassie, but I don’t see it. Cassie says the same thing. For a minute, I really think about this. Maybe it’s not just the good grades. Maybe I’m missing something. Maybe it’s something else. For starters, I have more followers than her on Twitter. And my Instagram account is starting to take off. People seem to love photos of sock monkeys and fangirl sayings. Could it be possible that my quirkiness has created resentment, and my peers envy my independence and popularity on social media?
Wow.
Deep.
“I still think you should tell Mom,” Brooke says as she stands. “You know she’d be all over that.”
Alex groans. I know what he’s thinking: our mother doesn’t need any encouragement to be all over anything. “What do I keep telling you? Don’t feed the monkey!”
Brooke laughs and I smile, too.
Mom on a crusade is almost as bad as her obsession with Google. When Alex was younger, a boy called him “fat” in gym, and Mom went ballistic. She went on a crusade with the school about teaching students the power of words and how they can hurt by making people feel bad. Self-esteem. That was the topic of the numerous articles, lectures, and presentations she gave at school.
No one ever made the mistake of calling Alex “fat” or anything else mean again. Not because they didn’t want to impact his self-esteem but because they didn’t want my mom back in the school auditorium, boring them to death with her lectures.
When Brooke leaves the room, I’m free to hit my iPhone and stalk Aiden. As I play a video, Alex rolls his eyes.
“Headphones?” he snaps.
“Not working.”
“Again? That’s the third set you’ve broken in two weeks!”
I’m impressed that Alex is actually keeping track of such things. Wow. “The stupid cord keeps getting caught on the door handles at school,” I explain, but he just groans.
And then he does something interesting. He actually slides down the sofa and peers over my shoulder. As the Instagram video plays on my iPhone, he even laughs. I scroll down to watch some other Instagram videos from Aiden, ones I have seen a dozen times, and Alex is still watching. His interest catches me off-guard.
“Wow,” he says. “He’s actually kinda funny.”
I want to say “no duh,” but I don’t want to ruin the moment. I can probably count on one hand the number of times that Alex has been nice to me. Could there possibly be a decent person hidden beneath his hard-core exterior, and all it took was Aiden to make me see that? The thought intrigues me.
“I know, right?” I say.
“What else does he got?”
For a few more minutes, we watch more of Aiden’s videos. We both laugh when he tries to jump onto his horse and falls to the ground. I don’t know which one is funnier: Aiden’s hurt expression or the horse’s face when it looks down at Aiden lying on the ground.
“What on earth?”
Alex and I both look up, surprised to see our mom standing in the doorway to the kitchen. She’s staring at us in complete shock.
“What’re you two doing?”
Alex backs away from me and returns to his regular self. “Nothin’.”
I try not to smile. “We were watching Aiden’s videos.”
Mom might not know my full Aiden obsession, but by now she’s picked up on my interest in his videos. She just thinks I like them because of the horses.
Mom looks from Alex to me in clear disbelief. “Together?”
“Moment of weakness,” Alex says then gets up. “Won’t happen again.” He glances over his shoulder at me and winks before turning around and walking out of the room.
My mom watches him leave, an expression of disbelief still on her face. “Oh, my,” she whispers and looks at me. “What was that all about?”
“He actually laughed at some of Aiden’s videos!”
She crosses the room and sits down next to me. “What is this Aiden thing all about?”
Thing? Did she just call my future husband a thing? I have to bite my tongue to stop from lashing out at her. Frankly, I can’t believe she hasn’t googled him already. She must be working on a new manuscript that’s distracting her.
“Not a thin
g, Mom,” I say without too much attitude. It takes a lot of effort, believe me. “Aiden is a guy! And he trains horses! The best horse trainer in the world!”
She gives me a look. “I’m sure Marcus would take exception to that.”
I suppress a groan. Of course Marcus would never admit that anyone was a better horse trainer than him. I mean, let’s be serious here. Marcus has been training horses for—what?—a hundred years? He’d never admit that some cute, curly-headed cowboy who is a fraction of his age might actually be better than him!
“And he makes videos?” I add, as if that fact alone closes the gap between my ancient stepdad who probably learned how to ride horses before cars were invented, and Aiden Perfect Horseman Quinn.
I hand her my iPhone and let her watch one of his videos, this one with his black horse Skylight, not Dexter, who’s having a staring contest with him.
“I don’t get it.”
I smack my forehead. “They’re having a staring contest, Mom!”
She frowns. “And this is why you like him so much?”
“Mom!” I take back the phone and show her another video. “You can’t tell me that you don’t think he’s absolutely Adorable with a capital A!”
She still doesn’t laugh.
“Mom, seriously?”
I can’t believe it. My mom has more academic degrees than anyone else in our family: two graduate degrees and a doctorate. She’s the smartest person I know. How can she possibly not get it? Is it possible that she’s too educated to appreciate the fine quality of Aiden Quinn’s humor? His connection with horses? Are we even related to each other?
Taking a deep breath, she stands up. “I suppose.” She sounds unimpressed.
“Mom!”
She lifts an eyebrow and stares at me. I know the look. It’s the don’t-push-me look. She’s definitely stressed out. “He’s cute, Cat. I’ll give you that. But he’s just a boy.”
Now she definitely touched a nerve.
“Uh ... wrong. He’s not just a boy. He’s Aiden Quinn. He’s an amazing horse trainer as well as super ’dorbs and I’m going to meet him some day.” I want to add that it better be soon because I’m worried about how fast other people are catching onto him. His follower base is back to birthing more followers practically overnight.
“Oh, really?” She walks back to the kitchen counter. “Well, in the meantime, can you tear your eyes away from that screen and set the table?”
Her condescending tone makes me mad and I really want to give it to her. However, I’m smart enough to know that provoking her right before school lets out and summer begins would be a bad move. She’s the queen of grounding. And I wouldn’t put it past her to take away my iPhone. Facing the summer without access to Twitter would be sheer torture. So I keep my snappy comments to myself and set the stupid table.
Deep down, I know that I will prove them wrong. One day I will meet Aiden Quinn. It’s inevitable. I’m his biggest fan, and no one else even comes close. I’m #3,134 after all. And when I do meet him, everyone who doubted me will bow down and offer their sincerest apologies, including my mom and Brooke.
And I can’t wait!
CHAPTER EIGHT
Summer at the Barn
Summer is great. It doesn’t get dark until like nine o’clock, and I can run barefoot outside (when Marcus isn’t around, of course). Jamie and Cassie sleep over a lot, sometimes for two or three nights in a row! Some nights we sneak out after dark with a flashlight and go trekking through the woods behind my house because there’s an abandoned shed way, way back there and I know—I just know!—it’s haunted.
There is one downside to my summer though: Marcus always makes us work at the barn. Brooke doesn’t mind because riding is her life. Alex is trying to save up money for a car and all of the camp kids in his group think he’s hot, a thought that makes me gag. I should tell them about his farting habits and how he spends a bazillion hours in the bathroom doing Lord knows what!
I guess it’s not that bad, but only because I don’t have to work under the barn manager, Ashley, who is way over the top about things like safety. Instead, I’m a counselor to the youngest campers with Jamie and Cassie. Even better, they go home after lunch. That’s a big help. I’d hate to deal with them for seven hours instead of three! It would, however, be better if Marcus actually paid me or let me ride the horses instead of dealing with little kids all day.
Apparently I’m too young to be paid, so Marcus says I’m “in training,” which basically translates to free labor. And that is illegal according to my history teacher. When I try to argue this point, he always has a snippy comeback: “You are vull-een-tiers,” he says, his French accent killing me. He actually thinks that he doesn’t have one and I love to goad him about it. He gets so mad!
Anyway, vull-een-tiers or volunteers ... either way you say it, I’m not getting paid, and that just stinks.
Jamie, Cassie, and I work with the little camper kids and the smaller ponies. When the kids take their snack break at ten o’clock and the head counselor is watching them, I like to teach my favorite pony, Cooper, little tricks. He was born at the barn over the winter. Mom calls him an “oops” baby, whatever that means. I, however, fell in love with him on first sight, and I’m saving up to buy him from Marcus. He’ll be my own foal: Super de Duper Cooper.
Today, I’m trying to teach him to bow like a proper gentleman. Jamie and Cassie are my attentive audience, laughing when Cooper doesn’t listen and snatches a treat out of my hand. But, eventually, I put the treat under his chest in just the right place and he finally gets the picture: extend a front leg, bend head toward chest, and then get the magic carrot.
“Good boy,” I say as I hug his fuzzy little neck.
Cassie glances over at the picnic table filled with happy six-, seven-, and eight-year-olds. “Can you believe it? Two cookies and a small carton of juice! That’s what it takes to keep them happy?”
Jamie snorts and that makes me laugh.
It’s true. All morning, these little kids scream and yell, not listening to a word anyone says, running around like wild maniacs. But at the first mention of a snack, they transform into perfect angels. We suspect the kids don’t really care about the ponies and neither do their mothers, who are just grateful to unload their balls of energy on us.
“So,” Cassie says as she climbs onto the fence and sits on the top rail. “Any luck getting Aiden to follow you?”
I shake my head and look over my shoulder. “Nope, and don’t talk about him around Brooke. She was really peeved over that Twitter spree.”
“Is that what you call it?”
Jamie snorts again and this time, Cassie laughs. I, however, do not find it funny. After all, I was locked out of Twitter for spamming his account! That might have been the golden moment, the one time that he may have been looking and might have retweeted or followed me and BAM! Twitter stole that opportunity from me. Jerks.
For a few minutes, we stand there in silence, enjoying our break until the miniature cowboys and cowgirls realize that snack time is over. I stare at the far riding ring where the more advanced riders are practicing their jumps over oxers and stances. I’m sure there’s a tiny bit of drool in the corner of my mouth as I watch Morgan on her chestnut warm blood. The only thing I want more than Aiden Quinn following my Twitter account, is my own horse (and Cooper’s too small to count if I ever were to buy him from Marcus). Chances are neither will happen.
“Holy mama!” Cassie’s shrill voice brings me back to the moment. She jumps down from the fence and runs over to me. “Cat, you gotta look at this!” She thrusts her phone in my face. “Look! It’s him!”
The glare from the sun makes it difficult to see the screen. “Who?” I ask as I take the phone and try to find some shade so I can see what’s so important.
“Aiden!”
I gasp. “Aiden?” Now I’m frantic for shade. Whatever it is must be earth shattering. “Is he hurt? Is he okay?”
She’s le
aning over my shoulder and pointing to the phone screen. “There was a riot!”
A riot? Oh, boy. That doesn’t sound like good news. Panic rises in my chest and I say a prayer. Please God, whatever happened, make sure Aiden isn’t hurt.
With the sun still too bright, my only option is to bring her phone to the shady tent where the minions are starting to get riled up. I run over, darting around their little bodies until I reach the far corner. I stand with my back to the kids and stare at the screen. I can see it better now.
“Whatcha doing?” a little voice says beside me.
“Shoo, go away,” I whisper, not even glancing at the little camper kid. “Go grab another cookie or something.”
“You’re mean!”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever.” There are limits to my cheerful nature and good will. As far as I’m concerned, that little camper just crossed the line.
I squint and begin to read what is clearly a news report:
Authorities had to be called in for crowd control when over five hundred young girls gathered at the Westcliffe Stampede Ranch Rodeo in Westcliffe, Colorado, on Saturday evening.
The unexpected gathering literally shut down the rodeo after Aiden Quinn, a young horse trainer from Westcliffe, Colorado, with a huge social media following, sent out a message stating that he was going to attend the rodeo.
To everyone’s surprise, at least five hundred girls showed up, hoping to meet the teen heartthrob. Following safety guidelines, Quinn had to be escorted from the event under police protection.
The Quinn family could not be reached for comment.
Holy Hannah! Five hundred girls? How is this possible? And why didn’t I know about it? I’m his number one fan, right? Why was Cassie the first one to find out about this?
“You all right?”
I spin around and hand Cassie back her phone. “No, I’m not all right! How could I be all right?”
I’m so angry right now that I could scream. Literally. I want to pull my hair and just let one rip at the top of my lungs. Of course, that would spook the horses and probably make the little kids cry, which, in turn, would get me in trouble with Marcus, and then my mom would find out, and … that would not end well for me. So I try to calm down, taking gulps of air to stop myself from hyperventilating.