Lauren:
I was @ 1st, but I knew they weren’t right ones for me. I’ll find the one—I’ve got all summer to look.
Taylor:
Def
Lauren:
Got any plans on Fri? Haven’t seen u 4 a while. Miss you.
Taylor:
Miss u 2, L. No plans. Want 2 go out?
Lauren:
Luv 2. Let’s both think abt options and then talk abt them ltr.
Taylor:
Perf. And msg me abt the horses 2mrw.
Lauren:
I will. TTYS.
Taylor:
I put away my phone and pulled up Canterwood’s Web site for the umpteenth time since I’d gotten my acceptance letter. I looked through the photo gallery of dorms, classrooms and—I stopped on the stable page.
That’s where my horse was going to live.
I untacked a STUFF FOR HORSE <3 list from my board. Mom had said to go to State Line Tack online and put everything I needed in a cart. Later, she, Dad, and I would go through it together and see what I’d added before placing the order.
Shopping for horse stuff made it feel real.
Soon I’d be lacing a brand new halter onto my horse!
WHAT IF . . .
MOM, DAD, BECCA AND I PILED INTO THE Range Rover on Wednesday afternoon. It was a trip I’d been dreading.
We were on our way to pick Charlotte up from the airport. I tried everything I could think of not to go, including an attempt at faking sick that had ended very poorly with me sticking the thermometer against a lightbulb that had been on in my room for hours. Needless to say, I had to »fess up when Mom nearly had a heart attack after reading the temperature of my light bulb—108.5°—and momentarily thought she’d have to call an ambulance for me. Stupid lightbulb.
I’d gotten a pretty bad burn on my index finger—a blister had appeared there!—and a good talking-to. My already frazzled mother ended with my least favorite phrase: “I’m very disappointed in you, Lauren.” Then, worse yet, “You’re still going.”
It went without saying that my mood wasn’t the best. I’d tried another horse yesterday and it hadn’t gone well at all.
The horse, a beautiful Quarter Horse/Arabian mix, was sweet, but there was no chemistry between us. She did everything I asked, but there weren’t any sparks. She seemed bored with every exercise we did.
Kim tried to reassure me that I’d only tried three horses and there were two more great options available on Thursday at Jeffrey’s.
“You have all summer,” she’d told me.
Everyone kept saying that, but this summer felt so short! Every day was going by faster than I’d ever imagined. Even though school had just let out, I already felt like Canterwood was going to happen way earlier than I was ready.
There were so many things to do, and finding the right horse to take to school was the most important.
“You look nervous,” Becca observed from the seat next to me. Her voice was low. “Don’t worry about Charlotte. She’s going to be busy with friends, and you’ll be at the stable all day. You’ll spend more time with Taylor, Brielle, and Ana—you’ll hardly ever even see her.”
I rifled through my metallic gray purse, looking for some gum but more than anything wishing I had a cup of chamomile tea to calm my jangly, knotted nerves.
“It’s just . . . it’s my last summer at home before I leave for Canterwood. I wish it could just be the two of us.”
Becca tugged down her graphic black T-shirt with a white heart on the tiny front pocket. She looked as though she wished the same thing but didn’t want to say so. “Just try and go into it acting friendly. If she acts like a brat, then at least you know you tried. I’ll do my best to run interference, too, if I have to.”
“Thanks.” I smiled at her and squeezed her hand in a silent gesture of gratitude.
Mom slowed the SUV, pulling up to the airport entrance. Planes roared overhead and a jumbo jet flew over us, heading toward the landing strip. The Union airport was tiny so it wasn’t very busy. It was easy to find a parking spot near the entrance.
We walked through the glass doors and waited for Charlotte’s plane. Mom and Dad kept their eyes on the exit, waiting to see Her Majesty come out.
“Ohh, she’ll be out any second,” Mom said excitedly.
I stood back and stayed by Becca, where I felt safe and invisible. I shifted my purse from one shoulder to the next.
A shock of white-blond hair stood out among the rest of the passengers. Dad stepped forward eagerly.
“Charlotte!” Mom called, waving. “Over here!”
Charlotte wheeled a purple carry-on suitcase behind her. A pink-and-black Hello Kitty laptop bag was slung over her shoulder. I was furious with myself for liking it.
“Hi,” she said, letting Dad grab her in a hug.
Mom kissed her cheek.
“Hi, guys,” Charlotte said, addressing me and Becca.
“Hey,” I said.
As usual, Charlotte looked like she’d just stepped off a film set, not a plane. Her thick blond hair—newly cut, I noticed—grazed her shoulders. It was straight but full of smooth, shining volume—like she’d just had it blown out. She looked très chic and sophisticated, as usual, in black leggings with matte black ballet flats dotted with silver studs and a pink ruffle top. Her blue eyes—same color as mine—stood out against a thin line of smoky gray eyeliner. Her innocent peachy blush matched her glossy lips.
She sure was pretty on the outside. Too bad she was anything but under all of that perfect makeup and designer clothing.
“It’s good to see you,” Becca said, reaching out to hug her. I read the formal tone in Becca’s voice but only because we were so close. No one seemed to blink an eye at Bec.
For some reason, it made me feel good. It was nice to know that one person saw through Charlotte’s act.
Charlotte hugged her back, then I put an arm around my oldest sister, doing that awkward pat-on-the-back hug.
“I’m glad to be home,” Charlotte said, super chipper. “We’re glad to have you home,” Dad said. “Do you have anything in baggage claim?”
Charlotte nodded, so we headed to baggage claim and got her other suitcase.
The five of us left the speck-on-the-map airport, making the short drive back home. Mom went with Charlotte up to her room right away to help her get settled in. From my room, I could hear laughing while Charlotte told Mom all about school.
“You’re going to be such a big help to Lauren this summer,” I heard Mom say. “I know you’ll be able to make the transition easier for her with tips on decorating her dorm room, living with a roommate, and being away from home—all of that.”
Charlotte was silent for several seconds. From the safety of my room, I rolled my eyes.
“Sure, Mom,” she said finally. “Oh! So did I tell you about my history professor?”
I tuned out Charlotte and Mom, pulling my laptop onto my bed and logging into my new Canterwood e-mail. I had four new messages! Each one had a huge attachment. I clicked on the first one and it was from my English teacher. He’d sent a summer reading list and several journal assignments.
Canterwood wasn’t kidding about having high expectations from its students academically. Every e-mail had a PDF attachment with a long, detailed list of work that had to be completed before classes began. I printed out the assignments, using nearly half a pack of paper, and organized papers into separate folders, each of which I’d labeled for every class.
For a moment I sat still, anxiety taking hold of me. Question after question ran through my head and pounded against my temples.
What if I couldn’t handle the work at Canterwood?
What if I wasn’t smart enough to keep up?
What if Yates classes were just easy compared to Canterwood and I’d only thought I could do well?
What if . . . what if I failed?
The last question knocked the wind out of me. I made myself take a deep breath,
which came out sharp. I hadn’t even started yet and the pressure to excel already felt crushing. Especially since I had no idea who—or what—I was up against.
Back when I’d competed, I’d traveled the country to participate in every A-circuit show in my division, all while juggling straight As and getting up at four to practice. In Connecticut, I’d excelled academically—graduating in the top 3 percent of my class at Yates, a prep school known as one of the most challenging schools in the state. It was often compared to Choate in terms of its academic environment.
But I also hadn’t been home and off the circuit for long. Did I make a mistake? I loved Briar Creek, Yates, my friends, and being home.
Suddenly, I began to question all of my decisions. Question marks flurried around me like snow during a blizzard. I could barely see one day into the future.
Think about why you’re going, I told myself. True, I could stay here and stay comfortable. I’d continue dating Taylor, riding Cricket at Briar Creek, hanging out with Brielle and Ana, and enjoying my popularity at Yates. Or, at least, I had been popular at Yates until I’d applied to Canterwood. If I did that, I wouldn’t grow. I’d become complacent.
I had to take this chance. I’d regret it for certain if I didn’t even try. Maybe I would flop at Canterwood. But if I didn’t go and find out for myself, I’d be failing myself now.
I pulled my hair back into a messy half bun and got off my bed.
It was time for a cup of jasmine green tea, and then I’d be ready to attack the brand new pile of homework from Canterwood Crest.
Twenty minutes later my phone buzzed.
I took one more sip of my tea, put down my mug—another blue one, this time with dragonflies—and grabbed my phone off my nightstand.
There was a new BBM.
Taylor:
How’s it going?
I smiled the way I did every time I saw his name.
Lauren:
Ok. Char just got home. We’re staying out of each other’s way . . .
Taylor:
Sorry. But @ least u’ll be trying out more horses 2mrw and hopefully out w me on Fri?
Lauren:
I’ve been thinking abt Fri a lot. I’m excited 2 go out!
Taylor:
Me 2. It feels like I haven’t seen u in 4ever.
Lauren:
Same. Know what u want 2 do yet?
Taylor:
Dinner & night-walk in the park?
Lauren:
Wow—sounds perfect.
We chatted for a few more minutes. Once I finished my tea, I told Taylor I had to go start some homework for Canterwood. As I started math, my best subject, I couldn’t stop thinking about Friday. Taylor and I definitely needed some alone time.
And it was time for us to talk and figure out where we were going.
I opened the red folder I’d labeled for math and pulled out a pen and a fresh spiral notebook. After I completed the first problem, I fell into a rhythm. The homework kept me from thinking too much about Charlotte, Canterwood, horses, or anything else.
At least in math homework, they were all problems I could solve.
A WELL-KEPT SECRET
DAD PULLED THE SUV TO A HALT IN WILDEN Farm’s puddle-filled parking lot. The sky couldn’t have been any darker or thunder any louder.
It had been pouring since late last night. Usually I loved the rain. But today it felt like a bad omen. I put down my phone, which I’d played with the entire drive. I normally never did that when Dad drove me somewhere.
“What’s going on, sweetie?” Dad asked. His eyes searched my face, looking concerned.
“Nothing,” I said, pulling up the hood of my raincoat. “Let’s go.”
“Lauren.” Dad reached over and put a hand on my arm. “Talk to me.”
I sighed. The question had been nagging at me all morning, but I hadn’t been able to say it out loud.
“What if these horses aren’t right, either?” I asked. “What if we look all summer and never find the right one?”
Dad unbuckled his seat belt and turned slightly so he could look at me better. “If today doesn’t work out,” he said, “we’re going to keep looking. Kim already has more horses lined up for you to try this weekend. I know how scary this is. But you’ve only ridden three so far, Laur-Bell. I know it can feel discouraging, but it’s too early to give up. I’m going to take you to every farm in the area until we find the horse for you.”
I smiled. Dad could always make me feel infinitely better.
“You won’t go to Canterwood without a horse of your own,” he added. “Remember: getting in was the hardest part—and you already did that! Now all that’s left to do is the fun part! Picking out a horse, shopping for your dorm room—all that stuff is the part you’re supposed to enjoy! Have fun with this part. It’ll be over before you know it. Now, let’s go take a look at what Kim and Jeffrey chose for you to try today.”
“I’m ready,” I smiled. And I was.
We got out of the car, hurrying through the rain and dodging puddles as we went. When got inside, I pulled back my hood and shook off my sleeves. I’d put my helmet in a protector bag so it wouldn’t get wet.
“Hi, Gregg. Lauren,” Jeffrey said, stepping away from one of the stalls. He had a clipboard in hand. “Right on time! I just finished taking inventory on the hay supply.”
A door slammed in the parking lot and I watched as poor Kim ran through the rain holding a half-broken umbrella. A different groom came over and offered to take our raincoats and umbrellas. We all gladly handed them over.
“I’m sorry, Lauren,” Jeffrey said. “But one of the horses I’d intended for you to ride today came up lame this morning. The vet checked him out and he’ll be fine in a couple of weeks, but I’m afraid he’s not in any shape for you to try him out.”
“Oh, I’m sorry for your horse,” I said, empathy coming through my veins. I hated when animals got hurt. “I’m glad to hear that he’s going to be okay.”
I’d known that something was going to go wrong today. I just knew I wouldn’t be leaving Wilden a horse owner. We passed the hot walker where one of Jeffrey’s grooms had five horses hooked up to the mechanical arms walking in a circle.
“Tell us about the horse you do have for Lauren today,” Kim said, addressing Jeffrey.
“She’s a new one,” Jeffrey said. “Just got her. She’s a Thoroughbred and Dutch Warmblood mix.”
“What’s her name?” I asked.
“I haven’t even had time to give her one yet,” Jeffrey said. He opened the side entrance to the arena, letting Dad, Kim, and I walk in first.
I looked over and saw Bryan, the groom I’d met last time, holding a stunning gray mare. She was tall—probably sixteen hands—with a delicate face.
“Hi there,” I said, my voice soft.
I held my hand out to her, unable to stop staring. Her coat was the lightest gray and her black muzzle had a pink and white snip. I’d shied away from grays for so long since Skylight and my accident, but there was something irresistible about this horse. Seeing her coat color didn’t send me into automatic panic. I saw her.
“She’s a sweetheart,” Bryan said, smiling.
The mare reached her muzzle toward me, her chin whiskers tickling my palm. I giggled. Her gentle dark brown eyes and long, dark lashes looked gentle as could be. Her mane, thinned and flat against her neck, looked silky.
“How old is she?” I asked.
“Six,” Jeffrey said. “I bought her at an auction a couple of weeks ago. Her previous owner didn’t know much about her past—he didn’t keep great records on any of his horses. But I liked the way she moved, so I bought her anyway. Not something I usually do, but there’s something special about her.”
The mare breathed gently into my hand and I moved it to rub her neck. Her coat was glossy under the arena lights and she tipped an ear toward me, seeming to listen to my every breath. My every movement.
“Have any of your riders tried her yet?�
�� Dad asked, a hint of worry detectable in his voice. I wondered if he was thinking of my accident. “I want Lauren to know what to expect.”
“Bryan’s ridden her several times,” Jeffrey said. “He hasn’t had any problems.”
All I wanted to do was get in the saddle. I could barely contain myself. The mare was sweet, gorgeous, friendly, and gentle.
I put on my helmet and Bryan handed me the reins.
Don’t get too excited, I warned myself. I didn’t want to get my hopes up—I hadn’t even ridden her yet.
I mounted and sat deep in the saddle. The gray didn’t make even the tiniest of movements until I squeezed my legs against her sides. We crossed the arena at an even walk.
I angled her parallel to the wall.
Thunder rumbled overhead and her ears swiveled, but she didn’t lose concentration for one second.
I asked her to trot and posted, even though her gait was smooth enough for me to sit. We changed directions and I began to test her. I asked her to halt, which she did—immediately. She stood until I told her to walk again. We went through a few circles and serpentines—her movements flowing and her body supple beneath me.
We went back along the wall. I sat to her trot for a few seconds, then asked her to canter. She changed gaits without hesitation—her canter even. I slowed her, then asked her to back up. She tucked her chin, backing in a straight-arrow line.
I halted her, patting her neck. “Good girl,” I said.
Her neck arched at my touch, her long tail swishing.
If I was going to Canterwood and had plans to compete in dressage, I had to try at least a couple of complicated dressage exercises with her. Nothing that would be overwhelming for her with a new rider, but just enough to give me a feel of what she could do.
I asked her for a working trot, and she moved forward with energy. She stayed collected and supple, sustaining the movement. I moved her into a twenty-meter circle, and her body bent easily. We moved through the circle, and she kept the right spacing as if she’d done a hundred circles.
I eased her to free walk, which was straight and easy. I wondered if she had dressage training—she certainly seemed to know what she was doing.
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