The Canterwood Crest Stable of Books

by Jessica Burkhart

  “You mean it’s not true that you offered to make a truce?” I said in a pretend surprised tone.

  “Of course that’s true,” she said, her sweet tone returning. “I thought I’d try to make things better between us since we got off on the wrong foot.”

  “She did,” I said. “She said she’d even muck Charm’s stall this week as a peace offering. Wasn’t that generous?” I struggled to keep a straight face. She had no way out of this one.

  “That was kind of you, Heather,” Mr. Conner said with a hint of a smile. “I’ll let Mike know that you’ll be caring for Charm this week.”

  I kept my eyes on Mr. Conner, avoiding Heather’s glare. Charm was getting extra bran all week as an added bonus for his substitute groom.

  Mrs. Fox stood, her legs stretching for miles in expensive-looking high heels, and motioned for Heather to follow her. “We have a dinner we need to attend, but we’ll speak with you later, I’m sure.” Heather and Mrs. Fox slipped out of the office.

  Dad got to his feet and extended his hand to Mr. Conner. “I hope that’s as serious as the pranks get around here,” Dad said as he shook Mr. Conner’s hand.

  I inched toward the door.

  “Mom,” I said, tugging on her sleeve. “We should go. I don’t want to be late to meet Paige.”

  “My riders are usually quite serious about why they’re here,” Mr. Conner said. “I hope the pranks are out of their system now.” My ears reddened and I nodded. “Sasha, I’ll see that Charm gets back to his stall.” He tipped his head at us and we shuffled out of his office.

  When we left the stable, Mom and Dad didn’t say a word. Dad pointed out a picnic table under a large oak tree. “Sasha, we need to talk,” he said.

  “Let’s talk later,” I smiled. “If we don’t go, we’ll be late.”

  “Then we’ll be late. Sit.” Mom wasn’t kidding.

  Dad took a seat on the bench and Mom sat beside him, placing her fancy purse, the one she only used for weddings and visits to Canterwood, beside her.

  “What’s going on?” Dad asked. He looked as if he already knew.

  Part of me was still their little girl and wanted my mom to step in to fix everything. But I was twelve, not five. “Nothing,” I said.

  “Tell us,” Mom said, her voice soothing.

  I sat in silence.

  “Heather and I just don’t get along,” I said, finally.

  “Why?” Dad asked.

  “She thinks I’m going to make the advanced team instead of her,” I said.

  Mom and Dad exchanged a look. “Think of it as a compliment,” Mom said. “Heather must think you’re a really good rider if she’s worried about you.”

  “It’s more than that,” I said. “She’s tried everything to get me to leave!”

  Dad took off his sunglasses. “Like what?”

  I sighed. “Stupid pranks like the thing with Royal and she tried to mess me up at the show.”

  Mom’s eyes narrowed on me. “Did Heather do something to ruin Charm’s mane at the show?”

  I nodded.

  Mom snatched her purse from the table and started to stand. “I’m going back to talk to Mr. Conner,” she said. “This has got to stop.”

  “No!” I grabbed her arm. “You can’t do that, Mom. If you go in there, things with Heather will get even worse. I’ve made it this far, haven’t I? Sooner or later, Heather will give up and realize I’m not quitting.” I hope I sounded more sure than I felt.

  Slowly, Mom inched back onto the wooden bench. The angry pink faded from her face. “Are you sure? Dad and I could talk to Mr. Conner.”

  “I’m sure,” I said. “I don’t want to spend the rest of the weekend talking about Heather. We have dinner with Paige and her parents. Let’s go meet them.”

  Mom reached across the table and grabbed my hand. “You have to promise to call us if this gets out of hand.”

  “Promise,” I said, relaxing my shoulders. “Let me call Paige and let her know we’re on our way.” I reached into my pockets and got nothing but crumbs from an old horse treat. “My phone must be in the barn. Can we meet back at Winchester and then walk to the dining hall together?”

  Dad checked his watch. “We’ll see you in a bit.”

  I ran back to the stable. I rounded the corner by Mr. Conner’s office and halted when I heard a man’s angry voice. I hung back and peered around the corner.

  “When are you going to grow up?” Mr. Fox’s voice rang out. “This is just a waste of time and money if you’re not going to focus on the team.”

  “I’m sorry, Dad.” Heather looked like a scared little kid with her eyes glued to the barn floor. “I am focusing, I promise. I won’t let you down.”

  “You lost at a state show,” Mr. Fox said. “How do you expect to do at nationals? And what about the team at school?”

  “I’ll make it,” Heather said. “Don’t worry.”

  “If you don’t show improvement, we’re pulling you out of Canterwood Crest Academy and selling the horse. This is the last—” Mr. Fox started and was cut off by his insistent cell phone ring. “Go,” he said to her. “We’ll finish this later.” Mr. Fox moved off down the aisle. His loud voice made even the horses nervous.

  I pretended to be reading a flier about the Halloween miniature horse auction next week. Heather rounded the corner and almost ran into me.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  Heather pushed past me. Her eyes were red and swollen. “Stop pretending like you care!”

  Even Heather didn’t deserve the way her father treated her. I cut through the indoor arena to reach Charm’s stall. Mike or someone else had already moved him back and Royal was gone. I spotted my phone and grabbed it off the rack. I started away from the door, but turned back to him. “You okay? Sleepy?” I asked. He swished his tail and stepped up to the stall door. He put his chin in my cupped hands and I kissed his muzzle. “I love you, boy. Wish me luck.” It was almost time to meet the Parkers.

  19

  MEET THE PARKERS

  THE DINING HALL HAD BEEN TRANSFORMED for Parents’ Weekend with new table linens, blooming orange zinnias and freshly mopped floors.

  The student maitre d’ led us past the families spread among round tables with floor-length tablecloths. Candles on each table emitted a warm yellow light—a nice contrast from the harsh fluorescent ones that usually lit the room. I spotted Paige and waved.

  A pretty blond woman with soft curls stood and squealed when she saw me. “Ooooh, you must be Sasha! I’m Mrs. Parker.” She wrapped her arms around me as her lilac perfume washed over me. She stepped back and touched my elbow with her hand. “Oh, dear, you’re just as lovely as Paige said you were. Richard,” Mrs. Parker called to a man at the table who had red hair just like Paige’s. “This is Sasha and these are her parents, Gail and Jim.”

  With a wide smile, Mr. Parker stood and shook my hand. “Nice to meet you,” he said. “We’ve heard loads about you.”

  Within minutes, the dads were deeply engrossed in basketball talk.

  “I have a few ideas for you girls,” Mrs. Parker said to Paige and me. “I drew up the plans to rearrange your furniture. It will give you more space to entertain! If you throw a party in your dorm, you’ve got to have room.”

  “Oh, what a nice idea!” Mom chimed in.

  Paige and I shot each other a knowing glance.

  Mrs. Parker reached into her large bag and drew out a laminated sheet of paper. “This is a small list of things you girls could do to add fun and functionality to your room. I wrote it out in my spare time.”

  “Mom,” Paige said, her tone impatient. “We like the dorm the way it is.”

  “Just look at my list,” Mrs. Parker said as she laid the paper on the table.

  “Bathroom, closets, and general space,” I read aloud. The list was divided into color-coded sections with suggestions for improvement in each of those areas.

  “The shower definitely needs caddies,” Mrs. Parker said. �
��I’ve made one for each of you. I was going to save them as Christmas gifts for you girls, but I’ll just have to make something else for the holidays.” Mrs. Parker smiled sweetly.

  “I think the caddies are a lovely idea, Celia,” Mom chimed in. “I always wished for crafty bones. I’m barely able to handle scissors.”

  Mrs. Parker clinked her glass to my mom’s as laughter erupted from the men’s end of the table. Dad gestured emphatically with his hands while he marveled that Mr. Parker got more sports channels—twenty-seven to be exact—than he did.

  I looked over at the other tables and saw Heather sitting with Mr. and Mrs. Fox. No one spoke. Heather stared at her plate of grilled chicken and swirled her fork in her corn. She looked as if she wanted to disappear.

  We ordered our meals and within twenty minutes, steaming plates of grilled salmon and lemon chicken arrived.

  “Do you girls have any big events coming up soon?” Dad asked while he sipped his coffee.

  “We have a charity auction for miniature horses next weekend on Halloween,” I said.

  The adults nodded and smiled.

  “I’ve got a gardening seminar off campus that weekend,” Paige said. “I can’t wait!”

  Mrs. Parker beamed.

  “What are your plans after dinner?” Mom asked Mrs. Parker.

  “Unfortunately, we’re due back home, but we had a lovely visit with Paige. Didn’t we, darling?”

  Paige nodded. “We did, Mom.”

  “Oh, before I forget,” Mrs. Parker said, “I’ve got to show you this. Now, if you look at my diagram, which is drawn to scale, if you each move your bed five centimeters in opposite directions, you’ll have more room around your coffee table.” Paige and I peered harder at the diagram. That didn’t sound so bad. Maybe we should both embrace the reigning queen of dorm décor.

  By the time the waiters brought out the apple cobbler, Paige and I had promised to move our beds and send Mrs. P. a picture of the updated room.

  “I’ll call you, Gail,” Mrs. Parker said. “I’ve got lovely ideas for a simple fall garden.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” Mom said, grinning. “Thank you.”

  Mom, Dad, and I stood to leave, so Paige could have a minute alone with her parents before they headed home. “Here’s a late housewarming gift, Sasha,” Mrs. Parker said. She handed me a tiny potted plant.

  “African violet,” Paige whispered into my ear.

  “A beautiful African violet,” I repeated.

  “It’s one of the easiest potted plants to care for, so don’t worry too much about it,” Mrs. Parker said.

  I held the plant carefully and hugged her with my free arm.

  I watched over Mrs. Parker’s shoulder as Heather and her parents got up from the table. Heather slunk out of the room behind them, looking herself like a wilted bloom.

  20

  SOMETIMES, EVEN BLOND SMURFS PLAY NICE. BUT ONLY SOMETIMES.

  IT WAS HALLOWEEN NIGHT, AND CANTERWOOD Crest Academy was hosting a charity auction to benefit the Lucky Horse Rescue Center.

  The spooky stable was full of skeletons, pumpkins on the counters, bats hanging from the ceiling, and candy corn stickers on the stall doors. Inside the arena, Mr. Conner stood with ten miniature horses from the local horse rescue.

  The horses were under four feet tall at the withers. They’d all been rescued from neglectful or abusive homes.

  The arena was bustling with students, miniature horses, and center directors. Callie and I had been assigned a black mare named India. One of the stable volunteers from Lucky Horse handed me India’s lead line and we led her to crossties in the stable aisle. India stared shyly at the ground. Callie found the master list of available costumes and we read over the options.

  “She would look adorable in the dragonfly costume,” Callie said. “Or the bumblebee.”

  I took the list, smiling at the thought. “A clown isn’t original enough and a princess is overdone.” My eyes kept scanning. “How about a fairy?”

  Callie snatched the list and looked over the costume pieces. “I love it!” she said. “You go get the costume and I’ll start brushing her.”

  I ran to the arena before anyone could steal our costume. By the time I reached Callie, she had already brushed and buffed India into a shiny ebony. India blinked at us and let out a contented huff. My fingers ran over a jagged scar on her shoulder and I tried not to imagine where it had come from.

  “I’ll comb her mane flat and we can braid sparkly ribbons into it, okay?” I asked. “Then we can put on the costume.” The costume bag contained pink wings and a shimmery girth to hold them.

  “Definitely,” she agreed as she combed the tail. “She’s going to look beautiful!” While Callie finished the tail and tackled the braids, I brushed thick, glittery pink polish on India’s hooves.

  Charm watched us, peeking out from a couple of stalls down. He probably wanted a costume, too.

  Callie fastened the elastic band around India and secured the wings on top. “We need to spray her with glitter.”

  I held the spray can away from India’s face and put my finger on the trigger.

  “What are you doing?” Heather asked, folding her arms across her chest. Her eyes scanned India’s nearly finished costume.

  “We’re finishing our costume,” Callie said. “Shouldn’t you be finishing yours?” She took a soft purple brush and ran it across India’s hindquarters. The horse stamped a hoof and tossed her head against the crossties. The longer we groomed her, the less shy she became.

  “Julia and I would be working on Sahara’s costume, but apparently the rules don’t apply to you,” Heather said slowly, as if she were speaking to children.

  “Rules about what?” I asked.

  “If you and Callie had been paying attention like the rest of us, you would have known there’s a sign-up sheet for costumes. The fairy costume was taken because I signed up for it. You two, on the other hand, didn’t sign up for a costume.”

  “Sorry.” I shrugged. “Do you guys mind looking at other costumes? We’re almost done.”

  Heather glared at me. “I do mind,” she said. “Take it off and hand it over. I signed up for that costume—it’s mine.” She handed Callie a sheet of paper. I peered over Callie’s shoulder and sure enough, Heather’s name was printed neatly next to the fairy costume.

  “Can’t you guys just get a different costume?” Callie asked, putting down the hoof polish.

  “Take it off and stop wasting my time,” Heather said. She stepped in front of Callie and tapped the toe of her boot against the floor. “If you don’t, I’ll tell Mr. Conner.”

  While Heather blabbed away, India waited patiently for us to finish her costume.

  “Like Mr. Conner will care about a stupid costume,” Callie said.

  Heather put a hand on her hip. “Give me the costume or I’m going to Mr. Conner. Your choice.”

  “No,” Callie said, turning away from Heather.

  I stepped up to Callie and whispered in her ear. “Let’s just give her the costume. We’ll get another one.”

  Callie stopped brushing India and stared at me. “Are you serious? We have twenty minutes until the auction!”

  I reached for India’s back and gently removed the wings. “Just give it to her.”

  “Are you on her side now?” Callie asked. “She’s crazy! It’s just a costume.”

  “She followed the rules,” I said.

  “Fine,” Callie said. “But if we don’t hurry, we’ll be late and none of us will get credit for volunteering.”

  Heather stood by silently as Callie and I dismantled the costume and handed the pieces to her.

  “You know, you’re not as dumb as you look, Silver,” Heather said brightly. She clutched the costume and skipped away. For a second, I fantasized about spraying her with the blue glitter. She’d look like a glittery blond Smurf.

  Poor India was ready to get off the crossties and go for a walk.

  “Give me
the sheet and I’ll go get whatever’s left.” Callie took the paper and went off to grab another costume. I swiped the polish-removing solution off the counter and wiped the paint off India’s hooves. “You’re not going to like this,” Callie called to me.

  “What?”

  Callie forced a green blob of fabric into my hands.

  “What is this?” I cried.

  “It’s a leprechaun.”

  “Like Lucky Charms-rainbow-and-pot-of-gold leprechaun?” I asked.

  “Yep, that kind of leprechaun. We’ve got fifteen minutes to get her dressed and there were no other costumes, believe me.”

  We had no time to fight about the outfit. “Let’s do it,” I said, shaking the can and spraying India’s tail.

  Callie grabbed green hoof polish and repainted India’s hooves a bright emerald green. We took the small green blanket with a silver four-leaf clover in the lower right corner and firmly attached the elastic straps around India’s girth. I applied green clover stickers to India’s neck and withers while Callie sprayed her mane with green glitter spray. For the final touch, we placed a large top hat on India’s head and attached it to her halter. Callie and I stepped back and surveyed our handiwork. We had four minutes to spare.

  “I love it,” I said, standing shoulder to shoulder with Callie.

  “I think I like it even better than the fairy costume,” Callie said.

  We unclipped India’s crossties and led her forward.

  “Wait.” Callie placed a sparkly clover sticker on my cheek and I did the same to hers.

  Five of the horses sold at high prices to eager buyers interested in aiding the Lucky Horse Rescue Center. The students led the horses around in circles while the crowd exclaimed over the costumes. The pirate costume on a scrappy gelding drew loud applause and a mare in a motorcycle outfit got the crowd on their feet.

  “Ladies and gents, may I now draw your attention to India,” the auctioneer called. “This dainty black mare stands at seven hands high and is five years old. India was found starving and neglected at a local breeding farm but has bounced back as a lovely leprechaun! The bidding starts at one thousand.”