“Oh man, look at all the mirrors!” DJ stared at the huge mirrors placed around the arena. “No wonder I don’t want to compete in dressage. Hey, big horse, you get tired of looking at yourself?” Herndon shook his head, his body already thrumming like a high-voltage electric wire.
As they walked around the covered arena, what sounded like hailstones pounded on the metal roof. When they passed a door, DJ glanced outside to see lightning flash, and a few moments later thunder rolled. It wasn’t hail she had heard, but huge raindrops.
Herndon flicked his ears, twitched his tail, and jigged sideways. DJ had just gotten him going straight again when another boom of thunder made him snort and settle back on his haunches, ready to jump. DJ shortened her reins and sat deeper in the saddle.
“Knock it off!” Her tone said far more than the words. With firm hands and strong legs, DJ forced him to walk forward again despite his flicking ears.
“You did well.” An older woman with a whip in one hand and a clipboard in the other entered the ring. “You folks in California don’t usually get thunderstorms like this, do you?” She looked up at DJ, her blue eyes crinkled at the edges. “As you can see, horses from around here take it in stride, unless they are out in it, of course. I’m Elma Furstburg, and I’ll be your dressage instructor for the week.”
Even though he was standing still when the next thunder crashed, Herndon shivered and stamped one front foot. DJ stroked his neck. “I’m glad to meet you. Herndon here has competed fourth-level dressage, but I’m not anywhere near that. I’ve never ridden dressage in competition.”
“Thank you for telling me that. But as you know, dressage work will make both you and your horse better athletes.”
“That’s why I do it.”
“Good.” The woman strode to the center of the arena and flipped on a microphone attached to her jacket. “Now that you are all here, I’ll give you a few more minutes to warm up, and then we will begin.” As the instructor detailed what they would cover, DJ swallowed, wishing she had spent more time with Bridget on dressage work.
The time flew by as the five riders performed all the routines Elma required. “Use your seat bones” and “Drive with your seat” seemed to be her favorite phrases, along with “More leg” and “Where are your hands?”
DJ fought her tendency to tighten her shoulders, focusing on sitting deep in the saddle, using both her seat bones. She hadn’t thought of them as separate from her body before, but she did now.
By the time she’d put Herndon away and raced to the classroom, the veterinarian who was teaching for the hour had already introduced himself.
The look on his face informed her she was late. The look on Megan’s face warned DJ she’d earned a demerit.
The look Kurt gave her made her grit her teeth.
John Mark—JM as he liked to be called—a student from Georgia, strolled in behind her and sat down on DJ’s right. His wink made her jaw relax, and she could listen to the vet again.
The sound of rain on the window and the drone of the man’s voice combined to make DJ fight to keep her eyes open. When JM nudged her arm, her eyes flew open and she jerked awake. She glanced around, hoping no one else had noticed, but the look on the instructor’s face said he had.
“You okay?” JM whispered.
“Um, I just don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Time change. You’re not used to being up this early.”
“Oh.” Of course she’d heard of jet lag. But she’d never crossed time zones like this before. DJ covered a yawn and made herself sit straighter in the chair. Slouching only made her sleepier.
“Late and sleeping, that will be two demerits.” The man handed her a slip of paper. “See that you do better tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry.” DJ took her punishment and left the room.
“Don’t let it bother you. He just gets offended if we aren’t all pumped about what he has to say.” JM walked beside her and glanced at his own paper before stuffing it in his pocket. “Anything with caffeine can help jump-start you in the morning.”
“I was fine until I sat down in there.” They stood on the long porch of the administration building that housed the classrooms, dining room, and offices. Rain splashed in the puddles, but at least the thunder and lightning had passed over.
“This is your first time here, I take it?” His gentle drawl made her want to hear him talk more.
DJ nodded. “First time for a whole lot of things.” A little bird taking a bath in the puddle made her fingers itch for her drawing pad. Next time she’d remember to put it in her backpack.
“Come on, then, let me introduce you to some of my friends.” Once they started discussing horses, the time flew and the group continued talking through the dining line and at the table. While DJ didn’t have a lot to contribute, she enjoyed every minute of it. As Bridget and Jackie had told her, the horse world was different on the East Coast. Most of these kids had started riding when they were five or six, if not earlier, and were used to horses that cost thirty grand or more.
DJ used her free time for a nap.
Like the dressage class, her first jumping hour drilled on the basics. Herndon had a hard time settling down, especially after another thunderstorm. They’d trotted their third time over the cavalletti when the thunder crashed right over their heads. Herndon reared and hit the ground running.
“Oh no, you don’t.” At least she hadn’t lost her stirrups or reins. Please, God, help. “Whoa, big horse, come on, Herndon.” His ears showed he heard her, but terror gripped his body.
They went once around the ring, and then DJ pulled him into the middle. Even when she brought him to a stop, he stood shaking. All she wanted to do was get off and walk the spaghetti out of her knees—when her heart quit hammering, that is. Instead, she stroked his neck, keeping up the gentle murmur that could calm anything but the storm raging outside.
“Are you all right?” John Hamilton stopped beside her.
DJ nodded. “He’s just not used to thunder like that.”
“You handled him well. Walk him around the ring now so he can loosen up again. The thunder is moving off, but that one hit right over us. Probably would have fried the barn if we didn’t have lightning rods.” His voice was as soothing to her as hers was to her horse.
“Thank you.” DJ had admired John Hamilton for years because of his Olympic riding, but now … now his kindness made her admire him even more. DJ tucked the incident away to think on later. Now it was time to ride.
By the second time around the arena, Herndon was walking freely again, not feeling like a firecracker ready to explode. At Hamilton’s beckon, DJ joined the class as they worked over cavalletti and low jumps.
“Timing. Timing is everything.” Hamilton must have said that five hundred times by the end of the two hours.
Back at their stalls, Megan shook her head. “Man, when Herndon bolted like that—scared me almost out of my boots. Your face was as white as your shirt.”
“He sure doesn’t like the thunder, do you, big horse?” DJ rubbed his ears and scratched his cheeks. “I was sure John would yell at me.”
“For what?” Megan unbuckled her girth.
“Losing control like that. I shoulda …” DJ stopped herself right there. No more shouldas, remember?
“Like no one else ever lost control of their horse? Get real.” Megan led her horse into his stall. “We have to groom, pick stalls, and feed before inspection at 5:30. And that means clean tack, too.”
“In other words, hustle?”
“You got it.”
The inspectors found sweat on Herndon’s bridle, so along with her tardy and falling asleep in class, DJ now had accumulated three demerits. Two more and she would be penalized in some way. The thought of drinking coffee for breakfast looked more appealing by the minute. Surely she could get it down if she put enough cream and sugar in it or mixed it with hot chocolate. That didn’t sound so bad. Now, the bridle, that was sheer carelessne
ss on her part. A good lesson right then, but still DJ felt like a little kid being scolded by the principal.
Karen, one of the others in her dorm, had racked up five demerits and received orders to rake the barn aisles during her free time. Anyone could tell by the look on her face that she was not a happy camper.
“I don’t get it,” DJ said to Megan as they cleaned up for supper. “Why the demerit thing?”
“So we learn to work as a team more and build strong character traits like self-discipline, promptness, taking the best care of our horses and our gear, and paying attention. You’ll hear the word focus until you’re ready to scream.”
“I already have that one branded on my hand so I can look at it often.” DJ used a brush to scrub under her nails. Now that she didn’t chew them, she was learning to keep them trimmed short anyway and scrubbed clean.
JM waved them to his table when they entered the dining room.
“I think he likes you,” Megan whispered.
DJ could feel her neck grow warm. Not that it wasn’t warm already since the sun had come out and created a steam house from all the puddles.
“Hey, it’s DJ of the runaway horse.” Kevin from Maine said with a laugh, his dark eyes snapping in fun.
“Yeah, and yours plowed into a fence,” JM shot back.
“And then you plowed dirt,” Jean, a round-faced girl from Long Island, added. She pointed to the chair between her and JM. “Sit here so we can protect you from the mighty K there.”
The teasing continued through the meal, keeping everyone laughing.
When Kevin asked her what it was like in California, DJ answered, “Plenty of sun and no thunderstorms.” She shook her head. “And no, not all of us are surfers.”
“Ah, you trashed my dream.” Kevin looked around the table. “Don’t you think I’d make a great surfer dude? Show horses on the weekend and ride the waves the rest of the time?”
JM shook his head. “You have to be blond to be a surfer. That’s what it says in the movies.”
Kevin ran a hand through his dark, curly hair. “That and the one time I tried surfing in Hawaii, the board tried to beat me to death. I’ll take a horse any day.”
“Even if you can’t stay on?” Megan wore an innocent look, but her eyes danced.
The movies that night were of the equestrian events from the Atlanta Olympics. John Hamilton narrated. He slowed them, reversed them, and stopped the action over and over to point out every motion of rider and horse. After a popcorn break, they went back to more movies of show jumping.
“Tomorrow night we’ll review the eventing,” he said as he turned off the television screen that was almost as tall as DJ. While she’d seen the videos before, never had she studied them like this.
There’ll be no demerits tomorrow, she promised herself just before she fell asleep. Please, God, no demerits.
Chapter • 11
The inspectors found makeup powder on the counter of their bathroom— one demerit each.
DJ felt like chewing nails. Who had time to put makeup on anyway? She thought a moment. It had to be Karen. Neither DJ nor Megan wore any, and she didn’t think Selina did, either. That left DJ with one demerit to go.
“So what do we do?” DJ crossed her arms over her chest.
“You want to take her on?” asked Megan.
“We could post a sign on the mirror.” DJ thought of Karen, who hadn’t been too friendly to begin with. Now this.
“But it has to come down by inspection time. They don’t like things like that. ‘Each person is to be responsible for her own actions.’ ” Megan parroted the last like she was quoting from a handbook or something.
“Okay, here goes.” DJ ripped a page from her notebook and wrote, “Please make sure everything is clean when you are finished.” She held up the sign.
“You got any tape?”
DJ shook her head. “Sheesh, why does everything have to be so difficult?” She went in the bathroom and leaned the sign against the mirror. “There.”
Sunday during their dressage class, the instructor stopped DJ and motioned her to the center of the ring. “Now, remember your aids, inside seat bone to outside hand. You don’t want him to drop his shoulder. All this will help make him more supple. Do you understand?”
“I … I think so.”
“Good. Go again.”
After a few strides, Elma called again. “Now, tell me where you’re tense.”
“Between my shoulders.” DJ’s answer came immediately.
“So what will you do about that?”
DJ relaxed her shoulders and checked out the rest of her body. No wonder Herndon kept moving to the center of the ring. Her right leg was too tight, and Herndon had been well taught to move away from a strong leg.
By the end of the session, DJ was dripping wet, and not just from the humidity, either. On the way back to the administration building, she realized that today she was sweating rivers from driving a fourth-level dressage horse forward. How come it took so much to push him today, and yesterday she couldn’t stop him?
After an hour’s lecture, she knew more about international shipping of horses than she’d ever thought necessary. Things from papers needed for quarantine laws to finding reputable shippers. How could she ask questions when she didn’t know enough to know what to ask?
At dinner Kurt told a horror story about shipping a horse to Germany. It had to be put down somewhere high above the Atlantic when, for who knows what reason, the horse went ballistic and half tore his crate apart. When the tranquilizers did no good, they had to shoot him.
“But at least the horse was well insured.”
His final comment made DJ catch her breath. Was that all the horses meant to him, money?
“Easy,” JM whispered from her side. “He likes to scare people, our Kurt does. Don’t let him get to you.”
DJ swallowed and sat back in her chair. He sure did manage to find her hot buttons—and push them. She hated to admit it, but she didn’t like Kurt any better now than at the beginning of camp—less, in fact.
Her list of questions for her father was growing. He’d trained and shipped so many horses, for both himself and buyers, that he’d know how to keep them safe.
DJ had bought postcards in the equestrian center’s tack shop and spent her free time writing them to her family and Amy. Though she’d called home on Saturday, the writing really made her think how much she missed them. Not that she had much time to think of anything except what was going on at camp, but still … She picked up the last card. Should she send one to Sean? After all, they never had gotten to talk on the phone the week before she left.
Quickly she drew the head of a foal up in the left-hand corner. Then she wrote, “No drawing time here, but I’m learning lots. DJ.” She checked in her notebook for his address and added the stamp. Dropping them in the mailbox, she headed for the swimming pool, where most of the rest of the campers splashed and played.
On Monday John Hamilton raised the bars on the low jumps up to two and a half feet and then up to three feet so they could no longer just pop over them. Now they were really jumping.
And DJ kept getting left behind again.
“It’s all in the timing, DJ,” Hamilton said. “You’ve done it before, you’ll do it again. Now, focus and count the rhythm. Trust your horse.”
Sure, trust my horse and go sailing by myself when he quits. DJ knew that Herndon wasn’t trusting her, either. His hesitation showed it.
When the horse in front of them quit, Herndon quit, too, and so did the one behind them.
“Okay.” Hamilton shook his head laughing. “This is getting to be contagious. You are all trying too hard and tightening up. Relax. Come on, shoulders, neck, back, hips, legs, arms, and hands.” As he named each body part, he moved his to show them how he wanted them to move. “You cannot jump your best when you are tight. If you’re tight, your horse will be, too. Horses are incredibly able to pick up your tension. Now, on the rail and tr
ot. Concentrate on relaxing.”
“At least it’s not just us,” DJ said to Herndon’s flicking ears. He snorted as if he totally agreed.
That night when they watched the videos of the day’s work, DJ recognized right when she tightened up. The suppleness went out of her, and her arch over Herndon’s withers wasn’t there. Therefore, he wasn’t rounded, either.
The next afternoon she did much better.
“So what’s the difference?” Hamilton asked.
“I relaxed. My grandmother always says if you smile, you relax. Yesterday I wasn’t smiling—and I really wasn’t relaxed.”
“You’re not behind today, either, are you?”
She shook her head. “The video of me taught me a lot.” And seeing it on a big screen like that helped, too. She knew that if she asked for a large-screen television, it would appear, but her family had given her so much already.
“I hate to ask for things.” Back in the stall, Herndon nodded and nosed her hand. She gave him the horse cookie she’d kept in the grooming bucket and stroked his neck while he munched. Of course, it took someone good on the camera to get the shots so she could see what she did. Maybe Brad could do that for her, or Joe.
At least she hadn’t gotten any more demerits.
“So, DJ, how has the week gone for you?” John Hamilton joined her at the cold drinks machine Wednesday afternoon.
“G-great.”
“You have a minute to talk?”
Do I have a minute? Does the sun get up in the East? “Sure.”
“What kind do you want?” He motioned to the machine, his coins at the ready.
“Uh, root beer.” The can clunked down and he fished it out to hand to her. “Thanks.”
He got one for himself and, popping the top, stepped off the porch. “How about over there?” She kept pace with him, sipping her soda and wishing she could think of a way to tell him how the week really had been for her.
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