by Box Set
But as I opened it and saw the inner compartment was still locked, I sighed in relief, thankful that all the boys got from me was a stupid pair of underwear. Glancing back at the bathroom, not wanting Emmie to see the box, I slipped it back into the drawer, surrounding it with socks and then rearranging the underwear which had been scattered by who knew how many boys’ hands.
“Why would they do that?”
Emmie came out of the bathroom that second, stripped down to her bra and panties. “What?”
I shook my head. “I was just wondering why they would steal our underwear?”
“Silly, Brooklyn. It’s obvious: because they’re boys and they want our attention.”
“Mission accomplished.”
“And I have to admit, the pocket square thing is brilliant—that none of them let on all night? Hilarious.”
I had to agree, although it was a little embarrassing if I really thought about it. “How many were in on it?”
She shook her head. “Not sure, but we got hit, Kaylee and Celia, Debbie and Sarah next door, Chelly and Naomi…most of the girls on our floor.”
“So just juniors?” I thought about all the boys who had pocket squares at the dance. There had been quite a few. With the exception of Brady, of course.
“Yeah. Dave and his friends. Not sure which one would have been the mastermind, though.”
“I guess Brady’s not friends with them?”
“Not really,” Emmie said with a frown.
“Did something happen?”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Like to make them not like him or something.”
She blinked and then her eyes widened like she thought I was upset about them not being friends.
“Oh no, it’s not like that. They like him and all. He’s just…I don’t know, a bit of a loner type. Like I said before, kind of broody, intense. And way too mature to sneak in here and steal panties.”
She gave me a look, but I could tell she kind of loved the attention. “Children,” she muttered, not fooling anyone.
“So now what? And more importantly, can I please get back into bed?”
She waved toward my bed and I crawled back in under the sheets.
“We’re not going to play into their game. Oh no…” she said with an evil smirk worthy of any good supervillain. All she was missing was the maniacal laughter.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m leaving to go back to the lounge and the other girls; I’ll fill you in tomorrow. You look like the walking dead.”
I wanted to know what she had planned, but I felt like the walking dead, so I wasn’t even offended she’d said it. Grateful to be dismissed, I nodded at her and turned over, asleep in seconds.
Saturday Practice
I woke up in a panic, terrified I’d overslept and would be late for my lesson with Brady. But a glance at the clock told me I had plenty of time: it was only 8:30.
I stretched, extending my arms over my head until I could push against the wall, and although some of my muscles still ached from overuse, overall I felt better. Maybe my body was getting used to the abuse.
Which made me think of today’s practice with Brady. Which made me think of Brady and dancing with him the night before.
Which made me shiver because, well, because he was sexy and intense and looked amazing in his riding breeches.
And then there was the fact that the girls seemed to think he was into me. If I allowed myself to think about it as though it was happening to someone else, I had to admit I thought so, too.
But then, as I rehashed the rest of the evening, I thought about dancing with Dave, which had been so complicated and awkward, but secretly thrilling, too. Especially when I’d caught him looking at me, like something was going on. Or maybe that he wanted something to go on. Even if nothing could ever happen with my roommate’s boyfriend and I would never let it, it was still secretly exciting to think maybe he was into me a little.
And then there was Jared, the former child actor who was now a big and very masculine guy, who, as all the events of the evening really started coming back to me, I remembered was currently holding my panties hostage.
That made me smile and blush at the same time. I wondered what we were going to do to get them back. I glanced over at Emmie, but she was still fast asleep, probably tweaking her evil plot in her dreams. Sure she was up late with the other girls, I got out of bed quietly so as not to wake her, and tiptoed to the bathroom.
* * *
There wasn't enough time to really start in on any of my homework, so, although I’d be early, I got dressed for riding, plunked my helmet over my braid, and left my dorm room, leaving Emmie to sleep in. I grabbed some food on my way out to the stables, including an apple and some carrots for Charlie. I figured I’d take an extra half-hour or so to warm up and practice before Brady arrived.
Brady.
Thinking about him as I got Charlie saddled up, my heart sped up a little, and although I could try to deny out loud that he’d had any effect on me, obviously my body knew otherwise. That realization made me feel a bit dizzy.
Brady. Very cute guy who was also into horses.
And was my teacher. Ugh.
No, I corrected myself; my coach. Who was less than a year older than me. I mean, if he had just been another student helping me out with my dressage practice, I wouldn’t think it was weird if we started dating. It wasn’t like he was forty and divorced or anything. He was just a senior: totally eligible for dating.
Dating. My hand shook a little as I fastened the bridle on Charlie. I’d never really dated anyone. I’d barely even been kissed. Was I ready to do all that now?
Definitely.
“And why not?” I asked Charlie.
Charlie had no objections, so I gave him a friendly pat, finished getting him ready and walked him to the arena, laughing as he nudged me along with his nose. When I got there, the big door was already open and I realized quickly I wasn’t the first to arrive.
Brady was there already. He was riding Sir Lancelot, by the looks of it, around the arena that was set up with a series of jumps. I’d done some jumping back when I’d started lessons, but nothing over a two foot cavaletti. These jumps looked taller than me and had to be at, or at least very near, Olympic height. He circled the outside of the ring in a controlled canter, looking like he was glued to the horse by his thighs and seat.
I’d never seen Brady ride, since he conducted his lessons standing in the ring. But as I watched him, all I could think of was that phrase poetry in motion.
Because that’s exactly what was in front of me. Pure equestrian perfection.
And then he pulled Sir Lancelot in to start the course.
I held my breath as they approached the first jump, and then let it out as they soared over it. They approached the next and my breath caught again.
They cleared it without even a nick of the hoof.
The way he cantered around the ring taking jump after jump so effortlessly, it appeared he and the horse were one being.
“Wow,” I whispered aloud as I watched, stunned by how Brady took the intensity that was such a part of him and turned it toward jumping a clear round. His eyes never wavered from the course, seemingly always a jump ahead. I wondered if he competed in show jumping, too.
Finally, he finished the round and slowed, weaving around the jumps as he walked his horse. His ride, though seeming effortless, left him breathing heavy, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath.
He noticed me then and my heart fluttered as his face spread into a smile and he walked Sir Lancelot over to us.
Charlie nickered a greeting, returned by a whinny from Sir Lancelot. Funny how horses could be so open with their greetings, yet I was suddenly feeling very shy and a bit flustered as Brady approached.
“Hi,” he said, dismounting. He took a step toward me and then glanced at his horse, the one he’d told me had been dubbed Sir Bitesalot. He
stayed where he was and I kept my distance.
“Hey. I thought you were training this morning.”
“My coach is sick. She canceled.”
She? Why did that suddenly make me very jealous? Don’t be ridiculous, I told myself. It’s not like he’s even yours. Just because you thought about dating him, doesn’t mean it’s even going to happen. “Do you show jump?” I asked.
He was looking at me strangely, like he wanted to say something, but was holding back for some reason. He shook his head. “Just to let off steam sometimes,” he said, the last trace of his smile gone now.
I wondered what had suddenly changed. He’d seemed happy to see me at first, but now, he was reserved, uptight.
“You’re very good,” I said. Not trying to flatter him, but because it was the truth and I wanted him to know I’d noticed.
“Thanks.”
A silence stretched between us. An awkward silence.
“I thought he was a biter,” I said, nodding toward Sir Lancelot, figuring anything would be better than more silence.
“He’s okay with me,” Brady said. And then blushed, looking away.
Why was he blushing? And why did it make him seem even more attractive? “What’s wrong?” I blurted out.
He looked at me sideways. “He only bites girls.”
I laughed. “Charming.”
Brady smiled. “I know. He’s a crabby old guy, but he’s fun to jump.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple moving up and down in his neck.
There was another long silence.
Brady finally broke it. “Well, I should get Lance back. Why don’t you take Charlie to the outside ring today so those jumps aren’t in our way? Don’t get on him until I get back, okay? I won’t be long.”
“I was going to warm up,” I said. “That’s why I came early.”
He shook his head. “You can’t—students aren’t allowed to ride without an instructor present. It’s an insurance thing.”
“Oh,” I said. “Okay, I’ll just walk over and meet you there, then.”
He nodded and walked away, not looking back.
* * *
It wasn’t long before he returned, but it felt like long enough for an eternity’s worth of doubts to form and start swirling in my head. Had I imagined that he liked me? Had my friends? Had I done something wrong? What had changed?
I stood there with Charlie, petting his velvet nose, trying to absorb his quiet calm to help ease my jangling nerves.
It worked a little, until Brady returned, striding toward the outdoor arena, looking amazingly sexy in his riding outfit. Suddenly, like he was on a mission, he walked straight up to me. His eyes burned into mine and when he didn’t stop a few feet away, I began to panic.
Because I was suddenly sure he was going to grab me and kiss me.
My lungs froze on a breath. My heart began to race.
And then he stopped right in front of me, inside my bubble and close enough that I could smell him; leather, saddle soap, boy.
I looked up at him. His lips were turned up in a slight smile and then they parted. He reached up toward my face, his eyes taking me in with his usual intensity. My cheeks flushed, but ached for his touch. I licked my dry lips and swallowed, suddenly worried about too much saliva. I did not want to ruin this kiss. My eyes fluttered closed as he leaned in.
He cleared his throat. “You have to do this up,” he said.
My eyes popped open. “What?”
And then I realized he wasn’t reaching for my face, but for the straps of my riding helmet, bringing them together under my chin. Clicking them into place.
Oh. My. God.
It wasn’t a kiss; it was a safety precaution.
I wanted to die.
Except I couldn’t; I still had two hours of practice with him.
Counterplot
I never did get to soak in the whirlpool like I’d hoped. And it’s not because I didn’t need it after practice with Brady, either. He worked me extra hard and I seriously questioned whether he’d blown off enough steam with his morning ride or maybe he was taking something out on me. Still, I was relieved that when we got into the ring, he put on his Coach Fleming hat and was all business; I didn’t have time to think about the almost kiss that wasn’t.
Thank God.
After that, I’d grabbed some lunch and headed back to my dorm room to get my bathing suit when Emmie told me we needed to meet the other girls in less than half an hour. “I’m just finishing up this e-mail to my mother and then we can head down the hall,” she said, her back to me.
“I’m going to wash the stables off me,” I said, heading into the bathroom.
When I emerged from my shower, Emmie was standing in front of our shared closet. She looked over her shoulder at me. “Did you like that dress you wore last night?”
“Yeah. Thanks again for lending it to me.”
She waved me off and pulled the dress in question out of the closet, holding it up. “Do you want it?”
Was she offering me her designer dress? “You mean, to keep?”
She nodded. “Yes. I’m selling a bunch of dresses, but if you want this one, I won’t.”
I hardly thought she was hurting for money, but I couldn’t take her dress. “It’s nice, but no, you go ahead.”
“You’re sure?”
I nodded.
She smiled. “Okay. It’s for a good cause and that dress will probably bring in three or four goats.”
“Goats?”
“Yeah, there’s a charity where you can buy people in less privileged countries stuff from a catalog, like a goat or chickens or water pumps and stuff. It’s a smart way for them to itemize donations so people feel like they’re giving something tangible. It’s kind of a crock, but the money still goes where it’s needed.”
“And you’re selling your fancy clothes to donate?”
She shrugged like it was no big deal. “It’s my personal Gucci to Goats program.”
I laughed.
But her smile faded when she said, “My parents are so bourgeois, they will think nothing of buying a four thousand dollar dress for their daughter, but wouldn’t give one penny to a needy charity. It’s disgusting, really. But I do my part. I just e-mailed my mother, telling her I needed some gowns to choose from for the Halloween dance. Wait until you see what she sends in a week or so.”
All I could do was stare at my roommate in awe.
“What?”
I shook my head. “You’re going to run the world someday.”
She winked. “Probably.”
* * *
All the girls who’d had their panties ‘borrowed’ were assembled in the lounge, sitting at the round tables and chatting, speculating on what we were going to do next. There were fourteen of us in all—like Emmie said, just from our floor; we knew Dave and his friends were behind the prank, but not how many of them were involved. We assumed fourteen, but it was hard to know for sure.
Kaylee and Celia sat with me at a table as I tried to catch up on my French homework. They were discussing the upcoming English Lit paper, which was almost identical to one I’d done back in London, so I was going to be a good environmentalist and recycle for that, but the French assignment was new.
Our fearless leader, Emmie of course, breezed in and took her spot at the front of the room beside the microwave and fridge. I closed up my textbook, not that I was getting much done anyway.
“Hi girls,” she said, causing a hush to come over us. “So, let’s get right to it. I think everyone got one of the note cards saying that we’re supposed to be behind the aquatics center tonight. Anyone get anything different?” she scanned the crowd, but no one spoke up.
She continued. “So my assumption is that they wanted to do a prank to get our attention.”
“Uh, yeah. And it worked,” Celia said. We all laughed.
“Yes, but we’re not going to play their little game. Now they want us to meet up with them, laugh and stroke their egos and tel
l them how clever they are.”
Glancing at some of the girls around me and taking in their expressions, I got the impression they were okay with that. It was, after all, a pretty clever prank, especially the pocket square thing. And any opportunity to hang out with the boys was a welcome one.
“What do you mean?” Celia asked.
“I say we do something unexpected. Show them they can’t just come in here and steal our underwear.”
“What do you have in mind?” Naomi, Chelly’s roommate, asked.
A slow smile spread across Emmie’s face. “I want to give them a taste of their own medicine.”
There was a second of silence as everyone processed this, until Chelly whooped. “GOTCHIE RAID!”
There were a few gasps and lots of laughs, but then everyone started talking at once.
“How do we know whose to steal?” Celia asked.
“We can’t know exactly who’s involved, but I suspect whoever asked you to dance last night for the last song, is the guy who has your underwear.” She pointed at me. “Start a list, will you, Brooklyn? Everyone write down who you danced with.”
“Wait, we’ll still get to see the guys, though, won’t we?” Chelly asked, obviously not wanting to give up a chance to meet up with some boys.
Emmie rolled her eyes, which was funny, since I knew she wouldn’t give up an opportunity to meet up with Dave, but she said, “Yes, Chelly. But we’re not just going to steal their underwear; we’re going to do this right and on our terms. Isn’t that better?”
“I don’t care,” she said, “They can keep my panties and take ten more pairs, for all I care, as long as I get some action tonight.” That caused an eruption of laughter.
I tore a blank sheet out of my notebook and wrote Jared’s name at the top and then passed it to Kaylee, who wrote down Declan’s name. I had been so wrapped up in dancing with Jared, I hadn’t even noticed she’d ended the night with him.
I was about to ask her how it had gone when she looked over at me, suddenly horror-stricken. “We can’t do this,” she whispered. “We could get expelled.”