I posted the message, wondering if Drew would see it. I’d looked him up on Chatter last night and found his handle. It had taken me until now to come up with a good enough reason to Chat at him.
Mr. Davidson, my English teacher, was monitoring the period. He was engrossed in grading papers, so I slipped my BlackBerry out from my pocket and held it under my desk. I made sure it was on silent, then typed a BlackBerry Message to Khloe.
Lauren:
What do u think abt sleepover 2nite? U, me, Lex, Clare?
Seconds later, Khloe is writing a message appeared.
Khloe:
♥! Want me 2 ask Clare if we can go 2 her place? U haven’t been there and neither has L.
Lauren:
Sounds perf. Let me know!
I put my phone on my lap and opened my English folder. My class was still working on memoirs. Today Mr. Davidson had assigned I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou. We had to read the first three chapters and pay attention for potential essay topics, listing them as we read. The syllabus said we had a paper due a couple of weeks after we finished the book.
My phone blinked. The pink smiley face on my phone screen meant I had a new mention.
BrielleisaBeauty: @LaurBell: Wish @AnaArtiste & I had a lesson w u! xx
Smiling, I typed back to Brielle, my Briar Creek bestie. @BrielleisaBeauty: Miss u and @AnaArtiste 2! Skype soon! Say hi 2 Kim 4 me.
Another message came before I exited the app.
@LaurBell: Xcited abt r lesson. C u there.
It was from Drew. Or, SwmerGuy. OMD! Should I write back? Or was this his reply to me, and then I’d be replying to a reply, which would be weird? I couldn’t decide, so I exited Chatter and tried to focus on homework.
So far I’d only read a couple of pages and the handout Mr. D had given us. He’d warned us that the book was tough subject matter, but it was something he wanted to expose to our class. Apparently, it focused on African-American issues and women’s rights.
Mom would be proud that I was learning about both of those—especially women’s rights. She always instilled her belief that women could do anything men could do upon my sisters and me. I smiled, thinking back to Take Your Kid to Work Day last year. Charlotte, my oldest sister, had been away at Sarah Lawrence College, but Becca and I had gotten the day off from Yates to go with Mom.
We’d dressed in skirts, fitted shirts and shiny ballet flats, and swapped our backpacks for purses. Mom had driven us to the law firm where she worked—an enormous steel-and-glass building. Becca and I had to check in at security, and the guard gave us badges with our photos on them. We’d ridden an elevator up ten stories to Mom’s floor.
All day we watched her do lawyer stuff. She made lots of phone calls, paced back and forth in her stilettos, read piles of documents on her desk, and drank lots of coffee. She let Becca and me take turns playing secretary and answering her phone. We had to say, “Hello, you’ve reached the law office of Ms. Towers. How may I assist you?” Then we took messages. I’d thought the day would be (sorry, Mom!) boring, but it was cool to see her in action.
I opened my English notebook, started a new page for Ms. Angelou’s book, and started reading. I’d read the first page when my phone blinked. I checked it and opened a BBM from Khloe.
Khloe:
Every1’s in! C said we should def come 2 her room. Yay 4 2nite!
Lauren:
Awesome! V xcited! C u @ the stable.
Khloe:
I saw DREW Chattered @ u! :D
Lauren:
I know! Eeeek!
Khloe:
LOL. Awe-SOME!
I went back to my book, trying to focus on the text. Soon the words pulled me in, and I flipped the pages, forgetting to be thinking about an essay topic.
“. . . dismissed and happy Friday!” Mr. Davidson’s voice jolted me out of my reading. Everyone around me shoved back their chairs, piled textbooks into their bags, and rushed for the door. I hurried out with them—I wanted to get back to my room as fast as possible, change, and get to the stable.
Whisper. Thinking her name made me smile. I hadn’t had a lot of free time to spend with her this week. I missed her even though we’d had a lesson every day except yesterday. We needed some QT stat. Mr. Conner had told each of us on the seventh-grade intermediate team to meet outside the stable. My gut said one thing: cross-country.
Back in my room, I pushed aside my dirty laundry basket and opened my closet door. I’d already tossed down my backpack and kicked off my ankle boots. I reached for the stack of breeches and pulled out a moss-colored pair. I looked at my T-shirts, going through them twice. Just pick one! I said to myself. I yanked a black V-neck with white stitching off a hanger and got dressed.
I was glad Khloe hadn’t witnessed that. She would have pointed out the exact reason why I was taking so long with a shirt for lessons. It might have had something to do with a certain black-haired, blue-eyed boy.
In the bathroom, I gathered my loose waves and pulled them into a low ponytail. I grabbed my makeup bag from under the sink and pulled out an oil-blotting sheet. I pressed it on my nose, chin, and forehead, then tossed it in our trash can. A coat of shiny gloss with SPF and I was ready. My pale skin looked stark against the T-shirt; my blue eyes were the focus of my face, since I’d kept everything else neutral; and my light-brown hair was smooth.
I grabbed my bag for the stable and left. Outside Hawthorne Hall, the September air was warm. I took my favorite route to the stable—skipping the main sidewalk and taking less populated ones to the giant black and white building.
Happiness bubbled inside me the closer I got. Horses always had that effect on me. I passed glossy fences that held beautiful horses inside. Several pastures, big and small, were separated by gates. Some horses grazed in herds, a few sipped water from the troughs, and a playful few chased one another, squealing and dancing when another horse got too close.
I laughed. There was something beautiful about seeing horses play and be free without any interaction from a person. Each horse had his or her own distinct personality, which really came through during playtime. But even during play, something was different about Canterwood horses. These horses could change from mischievous to competitive in seconds. Just like their riders. The dizzying variety of breeds—some bred for speed and others for strength—were always on. Watching the horses interact was almost like seeing riding students dance around one another.
Walking a bit faster, I stepped onto the gravel driveway in front of the stable and walked through the open double doors. The stable was packed for a Friday. No way was I going to find a pair of cross-ties. Horses and riders filled the main aisle, and the hot walker buzzed as horses followed the mechanical arm around the circular track. I stood on my tiptoes, but I didn’t see Drew.
I took a left, going down a side aisle to the tack room. Unlike yesterday, when I’d hovered outside the door and eavesdropped on Drew and Khloe, I pushed open the door and walked right inside. The tack room was almost the size of my living room at home. Rows and rows of gleaming saddles lined the walls. Bridles hung above them on pegs. A colorful array of saddle pads were paired with each saddle. We couldn’t use fun colors to show, but Mr. Conner allowed them for practice.
I reached Whisper’s gear. I put my arm under her saddle, picked out a hot-pink saddle pad, and slid her bridle from the peg and onto my shoulder. Sometimes, it still didn’t seem real that Whisper was my horse. After riding stable horses for my entire riding career, Whisper had been a gift from my parents for my acceptance to Canterwood.
Whisper and I were the newest pair on the intermediate team—we’d only been together since the summer. Imagining her sweet face made me hurry out of the tack room, down the side aisle, and back to Whisper’s stall.
“Happy Friday, girly!” I said, putting her tack on top of her trunk.
A low whicker came from inside the box stall, and before I reached the door, Whisper stuck her head over and looked at
me.
“Hi, beautiful.” I put a hand on her baby-blue halter and used the other to scratch her cheek. Whisper, the lightest shade of gray I’d ever seen, was a Hanoverian-Thoroughbred mix. She had no markings except for the black and pink snip that I loved to kiss. “You ready for today’s lesson?” I asked.
Whisper closed her eyes and lowered her head. When she opened her eyes, her flirty, curly lashes blinked at me. Liquid brown eyes looked sweet and full of understanding. Whisper was my dream horse, and I couldn’t imagine Canterwood—or my life—without her. A lot of her past was a mystery to me, and sometimes I could sit for hours and imagine where she’d lived, who’d ridden her, and how we’d ended up together.
I unlatched the stall door and lightly put my hand on Whisper’s chest to move her back. I pulled a matching lead line off the hook at the stall door and went inside. Whisper sniffed my hands and arms, tickling me with her whiskers, as I clipped the lead line to her halter.
“Not yet, missy,” I said, grinning at her. I tied her to the iron bars at the front of her stall. “You get treats after our lesson. Not before.”
Whisper gave up and let out a short sigh, disappointed.
“I think you’ll make it just fine,” I said.
I stepped outside her stall, then moved her tack to get into my wooden trunk for her grooming kit.
“Oh, hey!” I said, looking up to see Lexa. Her mare, Honor, was Whisper’s neighbor.
“Crazy busy, right?” Lexa asked. She had a purple lead line in her hands. “I’m copying you and doing the stall grooming and tacking up too.”
“Yeah, it’s not even worth trying to find a pair of cross-ties. Let me know when you’re done if you finish first, and we can go to the arena together.”
Lexa nodded.
We split into our stalls and got to work, in too much of a hurry to talk. I hung Whisper’s grooming kit on her stall door and fished out her hoof pick. Starting with her right front hoof, I used the metal to pry loose layers of dirt. I ran the metal all along the shoe’s inside, checking for pebbles. I released her clean hoof and patted her side as I moved to one hind leg. She lifted it when I ran my hand down her leg, pressed my body slightly against her, and squeezed above her hoof. After picking this hoof, I peered at the shoe, frowning.
“I think it’s time to ask Mr. Conner to schedule you a visit from the farrier,” I said. “This shoe’s growing off faster than the front.”
The rest of her shoes and hooves were fine, but I made a mental note to talk to Mr. Conner after our lesson. When I recalled when she’d last been shod, I realized that Whisper was due for a new set of shiny shoes.
Whisper treated grooming like a princess getting pampered. She made tiny grunts as I worked the body brush through her near-white coat. “Good girl,” I said. “No stains!” Keeping her gorgeous coat clean wasn’t easy. Her mane and tail took minutes—the wide-toothed plastic comb ran through the strands.
I’d braid her tail and give her mane button braids for the schooling show. Thinking about it made me shiver. The show was only two weeks away.
Stop obsessing! Go back to thinking about braiding, I told myself.
I liked using a needle and thread and making the bunlike plaits that showed off my horse’s neck whenever I competed. “It’ll be the first time I’m braiding you,” I said to Whisper.
“Tacking up!” Lexa’s voice carried over the stall wall.
“Me too!”
I grabbed a clean cloth and ran it over Whisper’s muzzle and eye area, then picked up her tack from outside the stall. I lifted my Butet saddle onto her back and lowered it onto the clean saddle pad. I tightened her girth and moved to her head. After slipping off her halter, I put the bit in the palm of my hand and raised the bridle over her head. She took the snaffle bit without pause, chomping on it for a second while I bucked the straps. A recheck of her girth and we were set.
I grasped the rubber-grip reins I loved using during lessons. The rainbow reins were perfect for practice, especially jumping. They kept my fingers from sliding, and I didn’t need gloves.
Lexa and I met outside our horses’ stalls. Whisper’s ears swiveled as she listened to the sounds of other horses and riders around her. Honor, seemingly uninterested, kept her head near Lexa’s arm, her body relaxed. The strawberry roan was beyond used to the noise of the stable.
“Let’s go,” Lexa said.
We strapped on our Lexington helmets and maneuvered our horses through the busy aisle. Outside, puffy clouds muted the sunlight, and the air was warm but not hot.
Cole, another rider on our team, was waiting and mounted on his black gelding, Valentino.
“Hey,” he said to Lexa and me. “Friday! Finally, right?”
“If I had one more class, my brain would explode,” Lexa said, halting Honor.
“Same,” I said. Whisper stopped beside Honor, and I swung myself into her saddle. “You doing anything fun tonight, Cole?”
He nodded, grinning. “Going with a group of guys to see the new slasher flick at the media center. This week at school was scarier than anything I’m going to see on the screen.”
We laughed.
“We’re sleeping over at Clare’s,” Lexa said. “Since Her Highness, aka Riley, is away, we’re actually allowed to hang with Clare and visit her room. Khloe’s coming, too.”
Cole patted Valentino’s neck, looking up at us with teasing bright green eyes. “Aw, you girls are going to paint your nails, braid each other’s hair, and have a pillow fight.”
“Totally,” I said. “Don’t forget the pints of Ben & Jerry’s we’re going to eat.”
Hoofbeats struck the gravel, and Clare, followed closely by Drew, headed for us. They greeted us and both mounted. I tried not to look-slash-stare at Drew immediately.
“Did I hear someone say something about Ben & Jerry’s?” Drew asked.
Okay, now that he’d spoken, that made it legit for me to look at him. I glanced over at him. We’d formed an irregular kind of semicircle in the yard.
Drew looked très parfait on horseback. He sat tall on Polo, his blood bay gelding. His cropped black hair was hidden beneath his helmet, and his dark blue eyes stood out against his pale skin. A swimmer and a rider, Drew had an athletic body. He was in shape but didn’t look as though he spent most of his life in the gym.
“Yeah,” I said to him. “The girls and I plus Khloe are sleeping at Clare’s tonight. We’re going to raid the freezer for anything with chocolate, sprinkles, caramel. You know, anything of the ice cream variety.”
Drew and Cole shot each other glances. “What if one of us wants ice cream?” Drew asked, tilting his head and smiling.
“You’re really going to leave us frozen-dairy-less?” Cole asked, mock-wide-eyed.
“We are,” Clare said, grinning. “But maybe we can be persuaded to leave you guys something.”
“Girls versus guys?” Lexa asked. “Whichever team does better during today’s lesson wins first shot at the freezer.”
The girls looked at each other, but I stared at Whisper’s mane. I reached for my throat and played with my necklace. The beryl birthstone necklace my parents had gotten me for my birthday was one of my fave pieces of jewelry. I always rubbed the pool-blue necklace when I was anxious. We were doing cross-country. There was no way I’d be better than Cole or Drew.
“Um, the numbers are unfair,” I interjected. “There are three of us and two of them.” I grasped my necklace, hoping my observation would get me out of the competition. “I’m totally willing to play but not be judged. Then it’s two on two.”
“No way,” Clare said, shaking her head. “Please.” She looked at Cole and Drew. “You guys threatened by another rider on our team?”
Drew’s eyes met mine. There was a flicker of something.
He smiled at us. “I’m totally cool with three against two. But if Lauren doesn’t think it’s fair and wants to sit out, she should.”
Cole, catching on, nodded. “I agree. Totally
up to you, Laur. We’ll either take you all down or you can watch Drew and me decimate your friends.”
I couldn’t help laughing when he said “decimate.” Cole was the nicest, sweetest guy and the least likely among all of us to “decimate” anyone.
I let go of my necklace, glancing at Drew. “Well, when Cole puts it that way . . . I can’t let my team be destroyed without me. I’m in.”
Drew smiled, and Lexa and Clare whispered to each other. I’d made the right decision. I was done backing down.
“Who’s judging?” I asked.
That made us pause. Boots crunched in the gravel, and the five of us looked up at our answer.
BOYS VS. GIRLS
“GOOD AFTERNOON, CLASS,” MR. CONNER said.
The tall, dark-haired instructor was dressed in a crisp white polo and black breeches. He carried his usual clipboard, and a pen peeked out of his shirt pocket.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Conner,” we replied.
“I asked you all to meet me here so we could head out to the cross-country course together. It’s an area I want to spend time on with each of you today. We will not be doing any of the more advanced courses.”
Whew.
“The goal will be to tackle the obstacles in front of you with well-timed approaches, clean landings, and within the time I designate for you to finish the course.”
I kept my eyes on Mr. Conner, trying to ignore my pounding heart. I wished I could make Pepto-Bismol appear in front of me. The idea of cross-country was making me a little nauseous. I reached down, rubbing a hand on Whisper’s shoulder. The mare didn’t seem nervous at all, thankfully. Instead, she seemed happy to be outside—her eyes were wide, she flicked her ears at the tweets of the birds, and she felt relaxed beneath me.
Lexa raised her hand, a mischievous smile on her face. “Mr. Conner? We were talking before you came, and we wondered if you’d help us with something. It would up our riding game.”
Mr. Conner squinted, looking curious. “How can I help?”
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