Daring Hearts: Fearless Fourteen Boxed Set

by Box Set

  “However…”

  Ugh. Why is there always a however?

  “Since Mr. Fleming assures me of your advanced equestrian skills, negating the need for a tryout, you will report today to your assignment as directed and will continue with it until such time as you find a replacement. When you do find a replacement, you must return here and give my secretary a letter signed by both of you agreeing to the change. Just because I allowed you this, doesn’t mean you get a free pass. Understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said. “Thank you.”

  She gave one of her little nods. “You are welcome. Dismissed.”

  I bowed a little and turned toward the door.

  “Oh and Ms. Prescott?”

  I turned.

  “What is your current assignment?”

  “Laundry.”

  With a wide-eyed stare that I was unable to interpret, she wished me the best of luck.

  * * *

  It didn’t take long to figure out the dean was being facetious when she’d wished me luck finding someone to take my community service assignment.

  Chelly and Celia were both somewhat sympathetic in their denials, which were swift and about what I expected. Kaylee did seem sorry, but she’d just signed up for morning yoga at the sports complex and Emmie, well, I didn’t even ask her since she had such a plum assignment with her boyfriend.

  So then I had to start asking strangers. Not a great plan, but what else could I do? Although, now that it had become what seemed like an impossible task, I was starting to wonder if it was even worth it. Did I really want to join the equestrian team so badly? Did I want to end up spending so much time with Brady, who had intentionally deceived me?

  I had half a mind to go out to the stables to confront him about it, but first I had to report to Sub-basement B for my first laundry shift.

  Which explained exactly why I was never going to find anyone to take my assignment.

  Friendship

  That night, I returned from my orientation in the laundry and wanted nothing more than to fall into bed, but I had what felt like eight layers of dried sweat, bleach, detergent and other people’s grime all over me.

  “Orientation” had turned into two hours of hard labor, sorting all the laundry; sheets, towels, table linens and loads of personal clothes, putting it into the massive machines and then sorting everything as it came out again. I couldn’t believe there was so much to wash already after only a couple days on campus, but one of the full-time employees told me that most of the staff and some teachers worked year round. That meant this was just a fraction of what I was to expect starting the following week. Awesome.

  I really needed to switch assignments—forget about how much I wanted to join the equestrian team, if I continued in this job, it might just kill me. The only saving grace was that it would only be an hour and a half a day, although I couldn’t imagine doing a full day of school after all this physical work. I wasn’t in the best shape ever, but still, this assignment was beyond hard core.

  So when I got into my room, I was desperate for a shower and then bed. Thankfully Emmie was out, since I was so tired, coherent speech wasn’t possible. Kicking off my shoes at the door, I tore off my clothes right there and headed straight into the bathroom. I stepped into the tub, turning on the shower, bathing on autopilot.

  When I emerged, the room was still quiet, but it was different than it had been before dinner. It took me a moment to realize Emmie’d been up to some decorating while I’d been out; her side of the room was covered in posters. Most were for PETA (thankfully no gory ones), Fair Trade and other human service organizations. Except for the one beside her pillow that was for a tatted up punk band.

  If I hadn’t been a comatose zombie, I would have found that amusing. But all I had the brain to do was set my alarm for 5:45, because I was due back at the laundry at 6:00.

  FML.

  * * *

  Something dragged me out of a dead sleep. One of those really deep sleeps that when you wake up, you have no idea where you are or whether it’s morning or night. Or sometimes, who you are.

  I looked around, but it was still dark, so I put my head back down.

  “Brooklyn?”

  I groaned.

  “Wake up,” Emmie whispered, which seemed counterproductive.

  “What?” I moaned.

  “We need to talk.”

  “In the middle of the night?” I didn’t even care how whiny I sounded. She was being a very bad roommate.

  “It’s not even ten o’clock!”

  “In the morning?” I suddenly sprang up to seated, squinting at her as she sat on the edge of my bed. The bathroom light was on, but it was so far away, all I could see was her shadow.

  “No, silly. At night. It’s like nine-forty. How long have you been back here?”

  My upper body wasn’t able to hold itself up anymore; I fell back onto my pillow. “I don’t know. They let us leave the laundry at 9, but they just about killed me. What’s going on?” I felt it necessary to ask. I didn’t really care, but felt like I should.

  “We need to talk,” she said again, although this time I was slightly more conscious.

  I couldn’t see her face, but her tone suggested something serious. I sat up again, more slowly this time. “What’s the matter?”

  She blew out a breath. I reached for my lamp and turned it on, blinking at the sudden light. “What is it, Emmie? Did something happen with Dave at your meeting tonight?”

  “No, it’s not that.”

  She was making me nervous. “What then?”

  She exhaled again and then said, “Well, I know we don’t know each other that well yet, but it’s kind of like I feel like we really connected or something. Maybe even like we knew each other in past lives, if you buy into that kind of thing.”

  I didn’t, but I had felt the connection. I nodded.

  “Well,” she looked down at her hands, fidgeting her fingers.

  “What is it, Emmie?” The sooner she blurted out whatever it was, the sooner I could get back to sleep. Yes, now I was being the bad roommate, but I was really tired.

  “Why didn’t you ask me to trade CSAs with you?”

  I had to have heard her wrong. “What?”

  “You asked everyone else except me.”

  “Yeah. Because you have a plumb position with your boyfriend. I wouldn’t ask you to change that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Emmie, have you been drinking?”

  She didn’t laugh. “No, Brooklyn. I’m serious. Why?”

  As a stalling tactic while I tried to figure out something to say, I rubbed at my eyes with my palms. “I wouldn’t ask you to do that for me. Your thing is more important.”

  “How is my thing more important than yours? You want to join the equestrian team; if I took your assignment, you could.”

  “Yeah, and you’d be stuck in the bowels of the school doing people’s dirty laundry and you would be giving up seeing Dave all the time. Not to mention your assignment sounds like fun and not dark ages drudgery.”

  She finally looked at me. “So you’re not mad at me?”

  “You think I didn’t ask you because I was mad at you for something?”

  She shrugged. “Helping is what I do.”

  I glanced up at all the posters on her walls. “Yeah, I get that.”

  “I’ll do it,” she declared.

  Now I was sure she was drunk. “Emmie, no.”

  She nodded. “Yes. I want to.”

  “You’re nuts.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Emmie, tonight was the hardest most physical two hours of my entire life. I can’t ask you to take it. You’ll end up hating me.”

  “Never,” she said, with a decisive head shake. “I want to do it. Brooklyn, really. Let me do this for you.”

  I couldn’t imagine any reason why she would do this, unless. “Is something wrong between you and Dave?”

  “No,” she said immediatel
y. “Dave has nothing to do with it. This is between you and I. Dave is great, and spending more time with him would be awesome, but I try to live outside my comfort zone to remind me that other people don’t have everything they want. I was being all elitist earlier when I said I was happy about the assignment and if it was due to nepotism, well, I definitely don’t want it. I’d rather see you do it and get to be on the equestrian team.”

  “And anyway,” she continued, flexing her biceps. “I could use to work out in the mornings.”

  I took a deep breath and considered what she’d said. It made me feel terribly elitist, but even more than that, lucky to have her as a friend and roommate. “Jeez, you make it seem like I’ll be doing you a favor. How can I refuse?”

  She threw her arms around me in what I was starting to know as an Emmie hug.

  “So what do I have to do, just report in tomorrow morning?” she asked when we parted.

  “We’ve got to take a signed affidavit or something to the dean’s office, so I’d better go tomorrow morning. That means you have tonight to reconsider.”

  She shook her head. “Not a chance. I want to do this.”

  “Have you ever done laundry? Your own or anyone else’s?” I asked.

  She laughed. “Yes, freshman year. Why do you think my parents donated a building?” She clicked off my lamp.

  “Back to sleep for you. Sweet dreams, roomie,” she said, getting up off my bed as I lay back down. “I promise to be quiet,” she whispered.

  But I was already ninety percent asleep.

  * * *

  The next morning, after my crack-of-dawn stint down at the laundry and a hurried breakfast, Emmie and I went to the dean’s office with the letter she’d drafted for us. I’d thought the secretary would have just taken it for us, to be delivered to the dean later, but no, the dean herself was available to discuss it with us.

  Perfect.

  We sat in the outer office chairs, waiting as I had before, but not for long, thankfully. Emmie and I chatted about our schoolwork; a boring topic suitable for the secretary’s ears, only getting a few minutes in when the dean’s door opened and she called for us. Emmie, looking a thousand times more at ease than I was, jumped up out of her chair and I followed her into the dragon’s den.

  I closed the door behind me and stepped toward the chairs, astonished when Emmie plunked herself down in one of them, even before the dean got her rump down in her own.

  Undecided on how to proceed, I stood until the dean waved me toward the empty chair. “Sit.”

  I did, feeling more comfortable than if I was standing, but my back was still rod straight, like I was afraid she’d call me on bad posture.

  “So, ladies. I understand you’re here to swap your community service assignments.”

  Emmie handed her the letter she’d drawn up. “Yes, ma’am. Brooklyn will do the student liaison and I will do laundry.”

  The dean looked at Emmie for a moment, her face contorted in an expression of extreme concentration, like she wasn’t sure what to say.

  But Emmie spoke next, sparing her. “And I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t mention this to my parents. Although I’m sure you’d appreciate another significant endowment, I don’t need to deal with their elitist hissy fit over their daughter doing laundry.”

  The dean pursed her lips before saying, “Ms. Prescott didn’t coerce you into this, did she?”

  “Nope,” Emmie said casually. “Actually, I offered.”

  The dean gave her a curt nod. “And how are the plans coming for the dance next week? You’ve been working with your Westwood counterpart, as I understand it.”

  Emmie smiled. “The plans are going very well, thank you.”

  “Fine. You will see that project through to completion at the dance next Friday, and then the following week, you may switch. Until that time,” the dean paused, looking at me. “You will continue your assignment in the laundry, Ms. Prescott.”

  I can’t say I wasn’t slightly disappointed about having to do more laundry, but it seemed fair, especially when Emmie was going to be doing it for the rest of the year. Another week and a day of laundry probably wouldn’t kill me.

  The First Practice

  By Sunday morning, I was starting to get used to waking up at stupid o’clock, so I was at the stables well before seven, even having stopped at the dining hall to grab an apple and yogurt to eat on the way. Truth be told, I wasn’t exactly hungry. I was nervous to be joining today’s practice. Really nervous.

  Not only was the pressure on to perform, since Brady had exempted me from tryouts, sight unseen, but I was seeing him for the first time since that night I’d signed up. And today, I wouldn’t be seeing him as Brady, the friendly stable boy; I’d be seeing him as Coach Fleming, instructor and Olympian.

  My five blue ribbons felt really lame and insignificant next to what must have been a whole case full of trophies and ribbons. Maybe two trophy cases. And then I thought of what Emmie had said about him being delicious, which made me even more nervous. Because he was, and that he was an Olympian made him just a tiny bit more attractive.

  I made my way over to the stables, hearing voices as I approached, wishing I’d come earlier. I’d always enjoyed helping getting the horses ready; it always seemed to secure the bond between horse and rider. Or at least feel each other's mood out before getting into the arena. Being in sync was so important in riding, especially dressage.

  The big doors were open, exposing the center aisle of the stable on both ends.

  That’s when I first saw Coach Fleming. He stood, helping another student saddle Poppy who was secured in the crossties. And as though he heard me taking him in from his long boots to his tight breeches, navy polo shirt and up to his ruffled black hair, he lifted his head and those amber eyes focused on me.

  I had to force myself to breathe and continue toward him, my heart pounding hard in my chest.

  He said something to the girl that I couldn’t hear and then broke away from her to approach me. “Good morning, Ms. Prescott.”

  My last name sounded weird coming from his lips.

  I nodded. “Coach Fleming.”

  His eyes wrinkled at the corners as he worked at hiding a mischievous smile.

  “I’m not amused,” I said, sounding to my own ears like someone’s disappointed grandmother. When had I gotten so stodgy? Oh yeah, when he made a fool out of me. “You could have told me who you were,” I hissed.

  He turned his head and looked over his shoulder. The girl had stopped tacking Poppy to watch us. “Later,” he said softly and then continued in a louder voice. “You’ll be riding Charlie today. He’s second from the end on the left. Why don’t you head down and get to know each other. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

  I took a breath and nodded, walking past him, my arms crossed. “You should have told me,” I breathed, just loud enough for him to hear me.

  “Oh and Ms. Prescott?”

  Stopping in my tracks, I turned back toward him.

  All traces of humor were gone from his eyes. “I haven’t had the opportunity to tell you before today, but you’re to be here a half hour before practice to tack your horse. Keep that in mind for future.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “I will. Anything else, sir?”

  “Yes. You’re welcome.”

  You’re welcome? Ugh. And he looked so smug when he said it. But the truth was, I did have him to thank for being on the team and, indirectly, for the reassignment that was going to get me out of doing laundry in Sub-basement B. Only five more days in that hellhole. Thank God, although I did feel a pang of guilt for Emmie. Though, she did offer.

  But I didn’t have the time to think about that now; I had a horse to saddle.

  Saying nothing more, I turned back toward the barn and walked away.

  * * *

  It turned out I had every reason to be nervous about my first day on the equestrian team.

  There were five of us, which was a lot less tha
n were signed up on the form in the stables. That was my first clue that I was going to be among really skilled riders; the cream of the crop hand-picked by the coach. These girls had probably been on horses their whole lives and even took private lessons in the summers.

  I, on the other hand, hadn’t been on a horse in over two years. To say I was rusty was an understatement. And now I was on a team with an Olympian for an instructor who only put me on the team because he assumed I was good.

  I was not good. In fact, I was terrible. And everyone in the arena knew it.

  Especially the coach. I could feel his disappointment every time he called out a direction across the arena. And I now understood why Emmie called him broody; he didn’t smile once the entire time, he was all business as he took us through warm-ups and basic drills for this, our first official practice.

  Thanks to it being the first one and him going easy on us (a fact I wouldn’t have known if it weren’t for Coach Fleming helpfully informing us) I managed to get through the practice without falling off or dying, but I knew there would be much suffering later from almost five hours of riding. What was worse than the impending physical pain was the humiliation over being nowhere near the caliber of the other riders.

  Despite my exhaustion and the tightening of my muscles, I was brushing Charlie in the barn when the steady scrape of boots against the concrete told me the coach was approaching.

  Awesome.

  All the other girls were gone, but I was lingering behind and moving slowly as I finished up with Charlie and the tack. Mostly because I wasn’t sure if my wobbly legs would take me all the way back to the dorm.

  I felt him beside me and didn’t turn away from the horse, making wide circles with the currycomb.

  I took a breath but couldn’t face him, knowing what was coming. “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “For what?” He actually sounded like he had no idea what I might be apologizing for. I turned to look at him.