The A Circuit

by Georgina Bloomberg

  But by now, Zara’s annoyance was fading away and she was actually starting to have fun. She’d been right—this mare had spunk!

  “I knew it,” she whispered as she sank deep into the saddle and booted Ellie forward. “Let’s see what you’ve got, baby.”

  Ellie leaped into a canter again, though this time she kept her head high, evading the bit. Zara was vaguely aware that Jamie was still yelling instructions, but she wasn’t paying attention. She was fully with the mare, waiting to see what she’d do next, feeling the excitement she always felt when she climbed aboard a new horse for the first time. That rush. The sensation that anything could happen.

  The mare didn’t try bucking again, though she remained high-headed and jiggy. Zara was tempted to spin her around a few times with her nose to her boot like the stunt rider she’d met on one of her mother’s movie sets had taught her to do. But she resisted the temptation, instead just sitting chilly through it all until the mare finally started to settle down.

  After that, it only took her maybe ten or fifteen minutes to get Ellie trotting and cantering around fairly quietly. Zara knew the mare probably didn’t look anywhere near as relaxed and professional and huntery as she had with the previous rider. But she was able to canter the line of jumps a couple of times with little trouble.

  As she was coming around for a third go and thinking about asking to have the jumps raised, she heard Zac calling her name. Glancing that way, she saw a couple of pony riders coming in through the gate. Bummer. It looked like their private ring was no more. But that was okay. Zara had gotten what she needed out of the test ride. She gave Ellie a pat and a scratch on the withers, then rode her back to the gate and hopped down.

  The dark-haired billionaire girl and the skinny blonde came forward to grab the horse. “Nice seat,” Billionaire Babe said. “I guess that wasn’t your first bronc, huh?”

  “I must admit you had me nervous for a moment there,” Jamie told Zara with a wry smile. “You’ve got guts, that’s for sure! Well done. We’re here through the weekend if you want to try Ellie out in a class or two before you make a decision.”

  “That’s okay.” Zara shrugged. “A friend of my trainer’s saw one of your barn rats ride her in that show last weekend. That’s why I was interested in her in the first place. I know she can show.”

  “All right,” Jamie said. “I just thought you might want to get a feel for her in the show ring before you make a—”

  “No biggie,” Zara cut him off as she reached up to unbuckle her helmet. “I can figure her out, don’t worry.” Then she glanced at her father. “I want her.”

  Zac raised an eyebrow. “You sure, Little Z?”

  “When am I ever not sure?”

  Before anyone could respond to that, she heard a shriek of excitement. This time at least it wasn’t paparazzi. Just some embarrassed-looking pony rider’s pudgy middle-aged mom, who’d probably made out with her first boyfriend to Zac’s music back in Jurassic times. Zac was all charm as the woman searched her oversize Mom Purse for a pen so he could autograph her prize list. Zara rolled her eyes.

  “That must get annoying after a while, huh?” Billionaire Girl said quietly as the fan started gushing about what a genius Zac was, blah, blah, blah.

  Zara shot her a sharp glance. “Whatever,” she said. “It’s life.” Then she grabbed her helmet and hurried away, so totally over the whole stupid scene.

  FOUR

  West Maple Street was less than five miles from the lush green fields of Pelham Lane Stables, but it might as well have been in a different galaxy. The block where Kate’s family lived was lined on both sides with small houses set close together, most of them tidy but all definitely looking as if their best days were behind them.

  Kate was so exhausted she barely had the energy to turn the key to cut her car’s engine as she pulled to the curb in front of her family’s modest bungalow. Shows always wore her out—no sleep, bad food, and extra stress could do that to anyone, she figured. At least these days she could drive herself home from the barn afterward. For her sixteenth birthday last winter, her dad had bought her the cheapest halfway reliable car on the impound lot and even paid for the first six months of insurance. It was way more than Kate had been expecting, even though she knew it was mostly because of how much he’d hated the thought of her biking home from the barn in the dark. As a cop, he knew what could happen.

  Grabbing her duffel, she climbed out of the car and headed up the front walk, still thinking back over the show. It was one of the smaller ones Jamie’s barn attended, a low-pressure local outing meant to kick off the summer for the newer clients and ease those who didn’t travel to Florida for the winter circuits back into serious showing. Kate had ended up taking a few different horses in the ring, as she usually did. One of them was an adult client’s new horse, an experienced but opinionated Trakehner gelding who’d decided to buck instead of canter in the client’s under-saddle class. Kate had schooled him afterward, and the nervous ammy had begged her to show him for her. They’d gone in the Large Junior Hunters and wound up as division champions. The client had been thrilled, which was nice, but it still made Kate smile to remember how grateful Jamie had been. This particular adult client was easily rattled, and after seeing how well her horse had gone with Kate, she’d had the guts to get back on and jump him around a low schooling class successfully. Disaster averted.

  Kate’s smile faded as she noticed that every window in her house was blazing with light. She checked her watch. It was well after eleven, and her father always worked Sunday nights. This couldn’t be good.

  “Mom?” she called as she let herself in.

  “In here, Katie!” her mother’s thin, tremulous voice drifted back from the direction of the kitchen.

  Kate’s heart clenched as she hurried that way. She found her mother standing in front of the small, worn butcher-block kitchen island with half the pantry’s contents set out on its scarred surface. As she entered, her mother was touching each can of soup and box of noodles with the tip of one thin finger—twice, then again, then on to four, the magic number—her lips moving as she counted silently along.

  “Mom?”

  There was no answer. Kate gritted her teeth, knowing she might as well be patient. Otherwise her mother would only have to start the counting ritual over again.

  Finally Kate’s mom gave four light taps to the last of the cans in the row before her. Only then did she look up and smile uncertainly at her daughter.

  “What time is it, sweetie?” she asked. “Is your horse show over?”

  “Yeah, Mom. It’s like quarter after eleven. Where’s Andy?”

  Her mother blinked and looked around, her thin, pale face uncertain. “I—I think he’s in his room. Surely he’s resting up. He has summer school tomorrow, after all.”

  Kate closed her eyes for a second, gathering strength. She had the sinking feeling that her younger brother wasn’t in his room in the basement. He was probably still out with his rotten friends, the ones who’d distracted him enough all year to make him flunk two classes and have to attend summer school. If their dad found out he was screwing up again …

  But that wasn’t her problem to solve, and she didn’t have the energy right now, anyway. Her mother was already back at it, stacking four cans neatly atop one another, then carrying the stack to the pantry, which was standing open. She set the cans down carefully, lining them up with the matching stack of four anchovy tins beside them, then touched each can four more times.

  “How did your weekend go, sweetie?” she asked Kate after that. “Did you have fun?”

  “Sure.” Kate suspected her mother thought her shows weren’t much more complicated than the pony rides she’d begged for as a child every time they went to the fair. “It was big fun. But I’m tired—I’d better hit the sack. Good night.”

  She scurried out of the room without waiting for a response. Watching her mother in full-blown OCD mode always made her feel uncomfortable an
d slightly sick to her stomach.

  Her bedroom was in the gabled half-story at the top of a narrow flight of stairs, across from the spare room. In here, too, every light was on, and Kate saw right away that her mother had been there while she was gone. Four of her old stuffed animals were arranged atop the neatly made bed, which Kate had left unneatly unmade when she’d stumbled out of the room early Wednesday morning. The photos and other knickknacks she kept on her dresser were grouped into fours, and Kate knew that if she opened her underwear drawer, her bras and panties would be tidily arranged in little groups of four, too.

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone, speed-dialing her father’s number. He liked her to check in so he knew she’d arrived home safely. Her car was an improvement over the bike, but he still worried about her driving home alone at night.

  “I’m home,” she told him when he picked up. “How’s work?”

  “Quiet,” he said. “How’d your show go? Win any trophies?”

  She smiled. He asked the same question every time she got home from a show, referring back to her very first competition, a tiny, informal student show at her old lesson barn. She’d come in first in her walk-trot class and won a garish plastic trophy that looked as if it had come out of a gumball machine. But her father had fussed over that silly little trophy so proudly that Kate had painted it gold and given it to him for Father’s Day. Ever since, the trophy thing had been their own private joke.

  “A few,” she responded lightly. Then she paused, wondering if she should tell him that her mother was getting bad again.

  But she decided not to bother. He had to know already, right? Wasn’t that why he kept taking on more overtime? Why Andy spent less and less time at home? Why she herself escaped to the barn every chance she got?

  After she hung up, she flopped onto her bed, feeling guilty. She knew she should be more patient with her mother. It wasn’t her fault she was this way, or so everyone always said. That didn’t make it any easier to deal with—or stop Kate from wishing sometimes that she could trade lives with Tommi, or Summer, or any of the other riders at the barn, whose lives all seemed practically perfect despite their little complaints here and there.

  Kate yawned so widely it felt as if her face would crack in two. But despite her weariness, she knew she was way too wired to fall asleep yet. It was always that way after a show.

  She dialed Tommi’s number, knowing she’d still be up—she’d left the barn only a short while before Kate did, and had a longer commute back to her family’s town house in Manhattan. But the phone only rang twice before bouncing to voice mail.

  “Damn,” Kate muttered.

  Still feeling restless, she tried another familiar number. This time, someone picked up almost immediately.

  “Hey, Katie,” Natalie greeted her.

  Kate smiled. It helped to have a friend who was a night owl.

  “Hey,” she said. “What’s up?”

  Natalie had been her best friend since kindergarten. The two of them had started riding together at Happy Acres Riding Academy, and Kate knew that Nat still didn’t quite get why she’d left the homey, relaxed barn just to ride “a bunch of inbred dumbbloods with snooty Manhattan princesses,” as she often put it. Still, Kate thought of her as the closest thing to a sister she’d ever had.

  “Not much,” Nat said. “Where were you all weekend? I stopped by to see if you wanted to hit Frankie Pannelli’s party with me.”

  “Had a show.” Kate hesitated. Nat was one of the only people outside her immediate family who knew about her mother. Thanks to sleepovers in their younger days, she’d seen her in action more than once. “Um, didn’t my mom tell you that when you stopped in?”

  “Didn’t see her. Andy said you’d killed yourself by jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge.”

  Kate rolled her eyes. Yeah, that sounded like Andy, at least lately.

  “Probably just as well,” she said with a sigh. “Mom’s cheese is sliding off her cracker again these days.”

  “Really? She ever go see that shrink your dad found?”

  “I dunno.” Kate didn’t really feel like talking about it right now. Actually, she didn’t really feel like talking about it ever. She decided to change the subject. “You ride this weekend?”

  “Just when Roscoe decided to be a brat for one of the kiddies I was teaching. Had to hop on and remind him how to behave himself.”

  Kate couldn’t help wincing. Ever since Nat had started teaching up-down lessons at Happy Acres last summer, she’d gotten a little too big for her breeches, to the point where she could be kind of rough on the school ponies, who were mostly of saintly temperament but often half lame and usually less than half trained.

  “Sounds like an adventure,” she said lightly, knowing her friend would take offense if she asked too many questions or sounded the least bit disapproving. “Speaking of good old Roscoe, I saw a pony at the show that reminded me of him. Same type of markings.”

  “Hmm.” Nat didn’t sound too interested. She never seemed interested in hearing about anything that happened at Jamie’s barn or the A shows Kate attended. It seemed strange to think that the two of them didn’t have much in common anymore when it came to horses. Especially considering that horses were what they’d bonded over in the first place, playing together for hours with their Breyer models long before either of them ever got the chance to touch a real live horse.

  Still, Kate knew better than to force things with Nat. She didn’t deal well with that sort of thing. Time for another change of subject.

  “So you said Frankie had a party,” she said. “Fun?”

  “Totally!” Nat’s voice brightened immediately. “Justin swiped some vodka from his drunken mom’s stash, and snooty Stacey Wilcox got plastered and ended up making out with that loser Dave Duffy and then posting all over Facebook today how much she hates him.”

  They chatted about the latest high school scandals for a few more minutes. By the time she hung up, Kate felt better, or at least more normal. She peeled off her filthy barn clothes and wrapped herself in a clean towel—one of exactly four stacked neatly on the chair near her closet—and headed downstairs to the bathroom for a much-needed shower. A few minutes after that, clean again, she climbed into bed and fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

  Tommi opened her eyes on Tuesday morning to a beam of bright sunlight slashing across her room. Instantly wide awake, she glanced at the clock beside her four-poster and groaned. Six thirty. Her body was still on school time, even though summer vacation had started over a week ago.

  Summer vacation. Tommi stretched and smiled, relishing the thought of long summer days at the barn and nights out on the town with her friends. What could be better?

  A few minutes later, showered and dressed, she headed downstairs. Mrs. Grigoryan was in the kitchen bustling around with the dishes, and Tommi’s father was in the dining alcove with a cup of coffee at his elbow and that morning’s Times spread all over the table. He glanced up as she came in.

  “Morning, sunshine,” he greeted her.

  “Morning. What are you still doing here?”

  Her father raised one bushy eyebrow. “Aren’t you happy to see your old father, Thomasina?” he asked in a mock-insulted tone.

  Tommi rolled her eyes. Her father only used her full name when he was angry with her—which he clearly wasn’t at the moment—or when he was feeling extra jovial.

  “Usually you’re at the office by now,” she said, dropping into a chair.

  “Got a tennis date with the mayor at eight.” Mr. Aaronson folded back another page in the business section. “Figured there’s no point in heading downtown until afterward.”

  That explained his good mood. Tommi’s father and the mayor had a standing tennis date, and her father almost always won. Winning made him happy.

  “By the way,” he added, “I have some exciting news.”

  “Oh?” Tommi was already back on her feet, heading toward th
e fridge for some OJ.

  “Your sister’s coming home next weekend.”

  “Isn’t that nice, dear?” Mrs. Grigoryan cooed in her thick Armenian accent. “It will be so lovely to have Miss Callie around the place again, if only for a short while.”

  “Callie’s coming home?” Tommi stopped for a moment, staring into the open refrigerator with surprise. Then she grabbed the orange juice carton and a glass and headed back out to rejoin her father. “What’s the occasion?”

  “No occasion. She just misses her family, I suppose,” her father said.

  Tommi wasn’t sure how to feel about the news. This would be her older sister’s first trip back to New York since graduating from Yale in May and moving to DC to take a job on Capitol Hill. It would be nice to see her, of course.

  On the other hand, she hadn’t really been gone that long. Definitely not long enough for Tommi to get used to the way everyone in her parents’ social circle had started talking about how Callie would probably be the first female president someday. Tommi didn’t doubt that at all, of course—what Callie wanted, Callie went out and got. But it always made her feel a little uncomfortable when people would finish the thought by glancing at her, as if wondering how little sister could possibly measure up.

  Realizing her father was staring at her, waiting for a response, Tommi pasted on a smile. “That’s cool. When’s she coming? I’ve got a show next weekend, so I hope I get to see her.”

  “Another show?” Her father’s smile faded. “How about you give this one a pass? It’s not every day your sister comes home.”

  “I can’t skip the show.” Tommi felt her temper bubbling up, as it always did when her father refused to understand how important showing was to her. “Jamie’s counting on me, and everything’s already set.”

  Her father was frowning now. “Well, I expect you to be here for Callie’s welcome-home dinner on Friday night. Your stepmother and Mrs. Grigoryan have a nice meal planned.”

  Tommi opened her mouth to protest—she wasn’t afraid to say no to her father, even if half of Wall Street was—but then realized she didn’t have any classes scheduled until Saturday anyway. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll be here Friday for dinner. But I’m showing the rest of the weekend.”