Initiation

by Jessica Burkhart

  “Zack and Garret?” I asked. “Huh. I never thought of it. Well, I’ll get their numbers and see if they’re free this week. Maybe do pizza with Zack one night. Maybe a movie with Garret the next.” I shrugged, holding up both palms as though I were carrying a tray of pies in each hand. “Who knows? Life can be so strange.”

  Riley’s eyes widened. I made eye contact with Khloe— holding her gaze for a second. She must have understood, because she slid her elbow into Lexa’s arm. Riley was in too much shock to even notice. If looks could kill, I’d have been sipping tea with Coco Chanel and my Gran Hazel by now. But I was still here, so I looked right at Riley and drained my iced tea. “Right?!” I said.

  Riley’s phone chimed three times before she remembered to close her mouth—and that it wasn’t polite to stare. She took her phone from her pocket and frowned. “I have somewhere to be,” Riley nearly spat. She walked over to her nearby table and grabbed her tray and bag. She was halfway across the caf before a confused Clare had time to hurry after her friend. But Riley had long since exited the caf.

  “That,” Khloe said, “was the best! She had no clue what to do with you.”

  “No clue,” Lexa agreed. “You might be my new personal hero.”

  I giggled with Khloe and Lexa. “So does that mean,” I asked, “you’ll help me plan my dates with Zack and Garret?”

  “We’ll do you one better,” Khloe said. “Your hair and makeup. I bet Zack prefers beachy waves. And for Garret?”

  “Flatiron?” We all said at once. The three of us laughed.

  At least I’d told Riley the Reiler one very true thing: I was beginning to feel very comfortable thanks to two people I hoped I’d always call my friends: Khloe and Lexa.

  EXCUSEZ-MOI?

  “BONJOUR,” MME. LAFLEUR SAID. “Bienvenue á la classe de français!”

  “Merci,” the class said together.

  Mme. LaFleur turned around to the whiteboard and uncapped a blue marker.

  Je m’appelle Madame LaFleur.

  She glanced back at the class and nodded at a girl in the first row. “Comment vous appelez-vous?”

  I relaxed a little. I’d expected to walk into French III and have the teacher speak entirely in French, not use a word of English for the entire period, and lose me in translation. Instead, Mme. LaFleur started off easy by asking each of us our names.

  “Je m’appele Jordan,” the girl said.

  “Enchanté,” Mme. LaFleur said.

  Mme. LaFleur looked to the student behind Jordan. She started to ask the same question when the classroom door opened.

  “Je suis désolé,” Riley said. “Je m’appele Riley.”

  Mme. LaFleur folded her arms, listening to the apology.

  “I was in the cafeteria,” Riley continued. “One of the lunch staff dropped a stack of trays with food. I couldn’t just walk around them and leave them to clean it all themselves. Again, I’m incredibly sorry. And no, I didn’t want to make any excuses—I’m late. It won’t happen again.”

  I raised an eyebrow. No way would Mme. LaFleur buy Riley’s lame lunch lady story.

  “Non, Riley. C’est très bonne. Merci pour ton assistance,” Mme. LaFleur said. “Maintenant, s’il vous plaît.” She gestured toward an empty seat.

  “D’accord,” Riley said. “Merci.”

  She hooked her Chanel over the back of the chair. The second Riley’s back was to Mme. LaFleur, she smirked right at me.

  For the rest of the period, I didn’t glance in Riley’s direction once.

  Mme. LaFleur explained what we’d be learning throughout the semester and we went over a few intermediate phrases that had become a little rusty for me over the summer. My head stayed bent over my desk as I took copious notes.

  Mme. LaFleur dismissed us at the end of the period without any homework—win!—and I was one of the first students out the door, leaving Riley behind. Are you going to let her run you out of the room after every class you share? I asked myself as I slowed in the hallway.

  The answer came immediately:N-O-N.

  I was in autopilot all through gym. In my gym uniform— hunter green shorts and a white T-shirt—I made a lap around the outdoor track, stretched, and did whatever else Coach Warren told our class to do.

  Riley and Clare were in gym with me, but they stuck together and left me alone. Testing had me so preoccupied; I didn’t even realize until I left to change that the guy I most definitely was not crushing on from the Sweet Shoppe—Drew—had been in my class.

  That pulled me out of my haze a little. I tried to remember if I’d done anything embarrassing during class. Not that it was important. I wasn’t interested in boys right now—school and riding would be my two true loves . . . at least until the end of first semester.

  But for those few minutes I thought about Drew, I stopped thinking about testing.

  BBM, SET, GO!

  AFTER SCIENCE CLASS, I RACED OUT OF THE building and through the campus to Hawthorne. Science hadn’t held my attention, either. Nothing would right now.

  Lexa had been in the class with me and I liked Ms. Meade, but my focus was gone. I promised myself I’d pay extra attention to the science syllabus tonight.

  Khloe wasn’t in the room when I got there. She’d had something to do but said she’d be at the stable waiting for me when I finished testing. I yanked off my school clothes and slipped into breeches and a grape-colored T-shirt with light gray stripes. I redid my pony-tail then turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on my cheeks.

  If I rode Whisper while I was this nervous, she would pick up on it. Calm down and breathe.

  I put on socks and tall black boots, all the while telling myself:You’ll feel better the second you see Whisper.

  I forced myself to walk at a normal speed to the stable and even posted a Chatter update while I walked:LaurBell: Going 2 test 4 CCA’s riding team. *gulps* Okay, that didn’t help.

  At the stable, it was much quieter than it had been over the weekend. The tack room was empty. I looked at Whisper’s tack. It wasn’t even close to being dirty, but it wasn’t gleaming either, and everything had to look perfect when I rode for Mr. Conner.

  I checked the time on my BlackBerry. There was plenty of time to wipe down the saddle and bridle, but I admonished myself—I should have done it earlier. Certainly not the day of testing!

  I grabbed a soft cloth from a communal bin of rags and sponges for tack cleaning. Instead of deep cleaning with oil, I sprayed the cloth with Lexol leather cleaner and rubbed it over Whisper’s saddle, taking extra care to clean the stirrup leathers which always trapped dirt.

  I did the same to her bridle and tossed the towel in the bin for dirty saddle pads, cloths, and blankets. Now Whisper’s tack had a subtle sheen—much better. I took a stark white saddle pad from my pile and put all of her tack over my arm.

  When I reached her stall, I put down the tack and peered over the stall door. Whisper was sound asleep in the back corner of her stall. Très adorable! Her head was down and her eyes closed. A hind leg was cocked and she blew out gentle breaths that sounded like tiny snores.

  “Hi, baby girl,” I whispered, not wanting to startle her. “I’m so happy to see you!”

  Whisper flicked an ear toward my voice and blinked. I opened the stall door and walked up to her. I loved watching her curly eyelashes flutter.

  “You’re so cute. You made me feel so much less nervous about testing today and all you had to do was be yourself. We’re riding for Mr. Conner to see which team we should be on. I really want to make the intermediate team, but not if Mr. Conner doesn’t think we’re ready. We should be on the right team for us. If it’s the beginner team—okay.”

  I’d thought about it some last night. I was once a nationally ranked dressage champion. I’d even ridden at some of the best stables in the entire country.

  But my accident had changed a lot.

  It hadn’t changed my abilities as a rider—it had affected my confidence. Building back con
fidence was something I worked on every single day.

  “Let’s get you groomed and tacked up, missy,” I said to Whisper. “We’re going to make you extra pretty today.”

  Whisper seemed to understand the P-word. I stepped half out of the stall and took her baby blue halter off the rack. I buckled it over her head and led her out of the stall. Our usual pair of crossties was free. Within moments, Whisper’s beauty treatment was under way.

  “I never told you this,” I said to her. “But when I was looking for a horse, I secretly hoped I’d find a mare.” I swept the body brush across Whisper’s back. “You look très belle in candy pink and pale blue—my favorite colors. Ordering gifts for you this summer was so fun.”

  Brielle, Ana, and I had spent hours online ordering glittery bell boots; a pale blue water bucket; pink, violet, blue, and yellow saddle pads; and soft cotton halters in a rainbow of colors.

  It took minutes to make Whisper’s gray coat shine. Her mane and tail were next, then I picked out her hooves. I ran the hoof pick along the edges of each shoe checking for any tiny pebbles I might have missed—all clear.

  I opened my tack trunk and pulled out hoof polish. “Polish time!”

  Crouching down, I applied generous coats of shiny black polish to all of her hooves. They’d have plenty of time to dry before we hit the arena. For fun, I often painted her hooves with glittery polish. But today was a glitter-free zone.

  When I’d been on the show circuit, I had a routine before my class. I told my horse about my fears so they were out of my head, spent extra time warming up, and when I entered the arena, I imagined Taylor, Becs, Brielle, Ana, and my parents in the stands ready to cheer me on.

  I picked up Whisper’s saddle pad, running my hand over it to smooth out any wrinkles. Her ears flicked lazily back and forth, her hind leg cocked.

  “Looks like one of us isn’t worried,” I teased. “I want to be cool like you. Not put so much pressure on this. No matter what class we’re in, we’ll still be training. From everything Kim told me about Mr. Conner, he won’t put us on a team if he’s not a hundred percent sure that we’re both ready. Maybe we need to start on the beginner team so that we can grow best together as a team—I don’t know.”

  Both of Whisper’s ears swiveled back as she listened. I patted her shoulder before picking up the saddle. Hoisting it into the air, I placed it gently on her back and positioned it just right.

  “Everything changes today, Wisp,” I told her softly, tightening the girth. “Everything.”

  I picked up her bridle and unhooked the crossties. Suddenly, something wonderful occurred to me. “I’ve never shown on my own horse, Wisp! Can you imagine?! I can’t even imagine hearing the announcer say it! ‘Lauren Towers riding her horse—Whisper.’ I’ve only ever heard my name called along with a stable horse.”

  Holding on to Whisper’s reins, I put her tack box on top of the trunk, shut the stall door, and made sure I hadn’t left anything out in the aisle. I checked my clothes to make sure I was ready.

  Shirt: clean.

  Breeches: spotless.

  Boots: shiny.

  Grin: ear to ear.

  I put on my velvet show helmet. I intended for Mr. Conner to see that I was taking today seriously.

  “Ready, pretty?” I asked. “We have . . .” I checked my watch. “Plenty of time to warm up and then head to the big arena.”

  I picked up my BlackBerry to type a quick text to Becca. I was sure she hadn’t forgotten about my test, but I wanted to be sure she was sending big-sister-good-luck vibes at four-forty on the dot.

  My phone blinked. BBMs.

  Becca: Lauren, you are going to KILL it. I have no doubt. I’m awesome and we share the same DNA so . . .

  I laughed and kept reading.

  BBM the sec ur done & tell me abt it. Kiss Whisper 4 me. Love u both! xx

  Taylor: I know ur testing today. GL, LT! You’ll b perfect!

  Brielle: You don’t need luck 4 2day! BBM or Skype me later!

  Ana: Don’t b nervous. Ur going 2 b amazing.

  I locked my phone and put it in my trunk. I knew I wouldn’t need to message Becs. Not only had she remembered—every single one of my friends had remembered about today.

  Wow.

  Just because I wasn’t in Union didn’t mean they’d forgotten about me. I smiled, feeling their warmth all the way in Canterwood.

  I led Whisper down the aisle.

  We passed the big indoor arena where a girl in my history class trotted a blue roan in circles.

  Mr. Conner, broad arms crossed, watched and wrote on the paper held in place by an obviously well-worn clipboard.

  Keep walking. It’ll only make you nervous if you stay in one place.

  Turning Whisper away, I walked her to the other arena. Six or seven other riders warmed up inside. I recognized two—Kacie Freeman and Jayllex Mason—from some of my classes. Khloe had told me that they were trying out for intermediate. And she’d been honest when I’d asked. She’d said they were both good riders.

  I settled into Whisper’s saddle and pretended I had blinders on. I didn’t allow myself to watch anyone else.

  Whisper walked on a loose rein to the arena wall. I made sure the positions I’d learned from day one of riding were correct: toes up, heels down, a light hold on the reins, knees bent at the right angle, back straight but not too much, and elbows tucked in.

  Someone stood in the doorway, a bright orange shirt that caught my eye.

  I glanced over. Riley stood in the entrance, leaning against the wall. She waved, giving me a huge smile.

  I didn’t know what she wanted, but I knew one thing: I was not going to let her throw off my practice.

  Whisper eyed the other horses, craning her neck to look. I squeezed my legs against her sides and did a half halt to get her attention back where it belonged: on me. I made sure I did the same in return and made sure not to look at Riley.

  I asked Whisper for a trot and her gait was smooth as could be—the transition seamless. Her hooves barely made a sound in the arena dirt.

  I took her through easy exercises during our warm-up— nothing that would exhaust her. And, though I didn’t look at Riley once, I felt her there, still in the doorway.

  I eased Whisper from a trot to a walk. “Good job, girl,” I said. I leaned forward and patted her neck. “You did great.”

  I checked my watch. Time to head over to the arena. Whisper and I could go inside in a few minutes. Dismounting, I eased the reins over Whisper’s head and headed for the exit.

  Riley, her long hair in a high ponytail, walked up to us.

  Treat her like any other competitor, I told myself. She can pull the mean girl act all she wants, but I will be professional.

  “Lauren, wow,” Riley said, smiling. But her smile wasn’t warm—it was subzero.

  “Thanks,” I kept walking. “We have to get to the arena.”

  Riley caught up and walked beside me. “I’m sure you’ll do the best you can with all of the pressure. We’re all so lucky to be here and riding for Mr. Conner. He’s one of the best instructors in the country.”

  “True. We’re all very lucky,” I said, walking a bit faster.

  “A lot of riders are intimidated by him,” she persisted. “I can tell that you’re not. I don’t know how you’re so calm. I thought about everything testing meant and how it would affect my entire year. It scared me that this was the one chance I had to determine what team I’d ride for until I could test again next spring.”

  “I’m not focused on what team I’ll make,” I said. “I’m riding for Mr. Conner. That’s it. Whatever decision he makes is mine to respect.”

  “Just as well. The beginner team sounds like a better fit for you,” Riley said. “Less pressure, new student, you know the drill.”

  She was trying so hard to shake me, it was almost humorous now.

  We reached the big arena. There were still five minutes before I could go in. The horse and rider I’d seen b
efore were gone now. Mr. Conner shifted through some papers on a long wooden table along the wall.

  “Riley,” I said. “Your pep talk was exactly what I needed to hear.” I kept a smile on my face and sarcasm out of my voice. “As Madame LaFleur would want us to say, ‘Merci!’”

  “De rien,” Riley said, her tone not so cheery. “Got to go!”

  When she was gone, I buried my face in Whisper’s neck, giggling.

  “That was way too funny,” I said. “Maybe she’ll think twice before trying to mess with us again.”

  I took a slow breath in. It had taken so much to get to this point. Gratefulness for so many things overwhelmed me.

  My dream horse. The opportunity to ride for Mr. Conner. My acceptance to Canterwood. New friends. Old friends. A family that supported me.

  No matter what team I made, I was proud to say I was a student and equestrian at Canterwood Crest Academy.

  “Let’s do this, girl.”

  I mounted, and Whisper stood still as I lowered myself into the saddle. I didn’t wait another second. I squeezed my legs against her sides, and she walked through the entrance. This arena was huge. It had room to jump, practice dressage, and do group work with many other riders.

  The vaulted ceiling’s wooden beams were light and polished-looking. On the far side large windows let sunshine inside. At the front of the arena, an empty skybox looked like prime real estate. I wondered if we were allowed to watch the advanced team or even the YENT practice. If I ever got to watch Sasha Silver ride . . .

  Mr. Conner walked to the exit door and handed a sheet of paper to the groom named Doug. Doug, tan and lanky, took the paper and left. Mr. Conner looked every bit the serious, high-level instructor. His dark hair was cropped short. He was tall and muscular, and he had an obvious tan from constantly working outside with the horses. I couldn’t imagine him putting up with much from girls like Riley.

  He smiled and walked over. “Hello, Lauren,” he said. He extended a hand to me, his brown eyes warm.