by Toni Mari
As I used my hands and legs to control Windsong’s zig-zagging path, an amazing hush fell over the crowd. The spectators stilled, respecting the tradition of silence when a competitor entered the ring. I easily heard the judge’s bell and, with shaking hands, halted Windsong on our starting mark. My gaze strayed to the expectant crowd hanging on the wooden fence. My fingers turned icy, yet a trickle of sweat slithered down my ribs.
I shifted in the saddle, causing Windsong to sidle forward a few steps. Not meaning to, but my numb hands jerked Windsong’s mouth as I tried to hold him still, and with horror, I felt his hind end begin to spin sideways.
Out of the corner of my eye, something white moved, snagging my attention. From where he stood by the gate, Cory waved his hat gently. His blue eyes locked on mine as he replaced it on his head. He circled his fingers around his eyes like binoculars. Focus. Melinda held up her thumb, a big encouraging smile on her face. Support.
Just me and Windsong—not a thousand eyes watching. Just the horse and this freestyle—not my entire future. Just the music and my joy floating across the arena—not my lies to my parents. Pulling in a restoring breath of oxygen, I lifted my chin and raised my hand to signal the start of the music.
Not a thing disturbed our concentration. Windsong, soothed by the familiar work, focused his energy on my aids. His heart murmur, his nerves, even his age had no bearing. He performed like the champion he was bred to be. And I strove to ride him as he deserved to be ridden, tamping down my nerves and letting the rhythm flow through me.
I swallowed a lump of pride as we floated down the centerline. Windsong could not have given me more than he did in this test. I blinked back tears of gratitude when his feet settled into the dirt perfectly square, his neck softly rounded, and his lips wiggling the bits.
As I dropped my hand and my chin for the final salute, the spectators erupted with noise. Windsong bolted forward, and I laughed with the judge. Poor thing, he did not appreciate the love of a crowd, but I hoped the applause meant I didn’t look half bad compared to Robert.
With big pats on his neck, I turned Windsong to exit the ring, nodding and waving. Again, I spiraled into the past, recalling Erica on Santos leaving the arena after an electrifying performance, interacting with her fans the same way.
Is this how she felt? Grateful but a little overwhelmed by their expectations?
Cory, Kate, Melinda, and Michelle were waiting for me at the gate. After the ring steward checked the legality of my equipment by poking a rubber-gloved finger into Windsong’s mouth, Kate patted Windsong’s neck. “Lovely ride, a few tense transitions, but overall quite nice.”
“Nice ride. You’ve come a long way since I saw you over the summer.” Michelle held her hand up for a high five. “Don’t forget after you untack to meet me at the EMA vendor booth. We’re doing one more prize drawing today and I want you there for it.” She gave Windsong a scratch and then turned to leave.
Determined to make up for yesterday, I nodded. “After I’m done taking care of Windsong.” Slouching like a trail rider, I was glad I didn’t have to walk all the way to the barn myself. A tiny spear of guilt flashed when Windsong tripped wearily on some loose stones, and I decided to dismount anyway. Cory caught my waist as I slid off, and I leaned into him.
“Tired?” he asked.
“Tired and hungry,” I replied. I straightened up and pulled the reins over Windsong’s head. He shoved me with his nose, and I tickled his muzzle.
“I can take him,” Cory offered, holding out his hand for the reins.
“No, I’ll do it.” I shuffled toward the barn.
Taking the reins anyway, Cory patted my shoulder. “It’s okay.”
Like yesterday, he began to lead Windsong away with Kate following behind, except this time, I followed too.
Cory led Windsong right into his stall and immediately pulled the bridle off. The black, sweaty horse plunged his nose into the water bucket and sucked down half of the water. The long walk back to the barn had cooled him and his breathing was normal, so I didn’t take out the stethoscope. He was doing just fine.
After getting the sweat off his coat and covering him with his wool sheet, I was ready to collapse in the trailer. My phone buzzed with a text.
Michelle was sending a golf cart to pick me up. I had forgotten about the promo booth. She wanted me in my formal black and whites, so I couldn’t even change.
“See you later.” With envy, I watched Kate and Cory head back to the trailer. I climbed on the golf cart.
Chapter 16
It wouldn’t have been so bad if I was able to sit through it. But Michelle had me standing and greeting people who came up to the booth. I was supposed to encourage them to enter the contest by pledging a donation, large or small. The sides of the U-shaped cubicle were covered in photos of rescued horses. Some included volunteers at rescue operations. Erica was prominent in many of them, and the famous poster of her with the tiny pony, Lucky, held a place of honor in the middle of the back wall.
Someone handed me a steaming cup of coffee, and I sipped it gratefully. Kate came up, and I wanted to whine at her to rescue me but rubbed my aching back instead. I took a second look at her. She had that grin on her face, the one that said I won, and she was carrying a test. Had I won? That was impossible—but did I? My knees sagged.
“No one can say you’re inconsistent anymore. You got the same exact score you had at Regionals.” She hugged me tightly before handing me the test.
My heart thudding, I wished I had a chair. With a deep breath, I turned the paper over. There was a three in the upper corner. Third. My shoulders slumped.
“What is it?” Michelle asked, holding out her hand. “Third? Excellent! Let me take a picture so I can post it online.” She laid it on the table as she pulled out her phone. She didn’t seem disappointed.
I frowned. “I didn’t win.”
Kate was still smiling. “Nope, Robert and Samantha Deciliano beat you. Robert’s score was only two points higher than yours, though. Congratulations.” She hugged me again, bubbling with excitement.
Samantha was a well-known rider who had won several world and national titles. “Only two points?” Could that be good enough?
I finished helping Michelle with the drawing, and then we met Robert for dinner. He praised me, saying that he had stayed to watch my ride and that I had improved greatly from the team championships.
Samantha also stopped by our table and chatted with Robert about his horse and his plans for the Olympics. Her disheveled dirty-blond bun and soiled white polo were in sharp contrast to Robert’s always fastidious appearance. But she spoke clearly and confidently as if the Olympics were just another horse show to qualify for. Robert treated her respectfully, without the casual teasing he did with Kate. A good half foot shorter than me, she raised her head to look at me when Robert introduced us.
“Good job today,” she said politely. Her eyes shifted back to Robert. “I better watch my back with this one, Robert. She’s nipping at my heels.” When she turned back to me, her expression was flat and hard to read. “I’ll see you around, Jane.”
Was that a challenge? Or a threat? My ears burned as she walked away.
“Is it that simple to qualify for the Olympics?” I asked Robert, staring after her.
He picked up his napkin and spread it on his lap and then looked up at me. “Simple?” He shrugged. “There are no breaks at that level. No, I wouldn’t say simple. But with hard work, a strong and talented horse, and determination, absolutely doable.” He smiled. He would know; he had already done it six times.
I slept most of the way home, abandoning Cory and Kate and lying down on the back seat with a pillow under my head. It was dark when we finally pulled in to the barn driveway, and I plodded into the barn with my arms full, keeping my eyes half closed, as if that would keep me from waking up all the way. Heading to school and studying were not going to happen. “Cory, can I crash with you tonight? I’m too tired. I’ll d
rive back in the morning.”
I tossed my books—never touched the whole weekend—on the back seat of my car.
The next morning in the lecture hall, I sipped a cappuccino and flipped through my notebook. One seat separated me from Carly. Students were arranged every other seat for the exam so there would be no cheating. I read the words on the page, trying to cram in a few more facts, but my brain wasn’t absorbing much. Visions of victory gallops and cheering fans still danced in my head. How important was this one history test when my future was shining so bright?
The professor passed out the exam booklets and gave us instructions. As he said the words “You may begin” a silence fell over the room similar to the hush of the crowd as I had prepared to start my freestyle. I closed my eyes and relived that moment. I had lifted my arm to signal and then the music had taken over my body. Windsong had lightly cantered down the centerline.
The sound of Carly turning the page, her pen scratching furiously over the paper, brought me back to this test. Sighing, I opened the book and started.
Carly waited for me outside the lecture hall. I trudged out, dragging my book bag behind me.
“How did you do?” she asked, humming with pleasure.
“Bad. I forgot most of the dates. How about you?”
Her face fell. “Really? I thought it was easy. I think I did great. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You studied hard. You probably aced it.”
“You’ve been distracted, I know. I’ll help you study for tomorrow’s Statistics exam. Let’s pick up some munchies and get right to work.”
“Really?” I hugged her. “Thanks. My treat.”
Propped up in bed with pillows tucked all around me, I flipped pages in my notebook. “Did I ever tell you that I hate Statistics?” I groaned.
Carly, who was sitting on her bed in a similar pose, laughed. “At least twenty times a day. Did I ever tell you I love it? And science, and writing. Good thing, if I want to be a vet, huh?”
“Oh, shush. I’m studying.” I threw my eraser at her. For all her partying, Carly kept a flawless grade point average. I had no doubt that she would be at the top of the class at the end of four years and get into vet school no problem.
Missing all of those classes made it hard for me to learn the information I needed for the exam. I regretted not opening a book all weekend. The good thing about college? They expected you to be responsible for yourself, so there was no way for my parents to know what was going on, including with grades, unless I told them.
Just as well, since we seemed to be on opposite sides of the fence these days. I was so proud of what I had accomplished with Windsong, and I didn’t understand how they couldn’t see what a great thing that was. School was still here after it was all over, and here I was studying.
Now that I was back, my deception seemed silly. I should have had an adult conversation with them and simply informed them of my plans.
“Stop staring into space and get to work,” Carly ordered without lifting her gaze from her book.
“I am. I am.” I was going to ace this Statistics exam. And then my English literature test at the end of the week. And my parents wouldn’t be able to say a thing about me going to Kentucky without telling them. They would see that I had it all under control and that I was right.
Friday evening, when I was standing in front of the Statistics professor’s office where exam results were taped to the wall, with my finger on my name, I realized I was so wrong. F. I had failed the exam. I stepped back to let the others check their grades. I had failed my history exam as well and was hoping for a D on my English lit. I slumped down on a hard wooden bench in the entrance of the building. The only decent grade I had in my history class was the first paper I wrote way back in September. From there on, my quiz grades and make-up work never received anything higher than a C. I won’t even go into Statistics. I was so sure it would all work out and my final grades would be passing though not on the Dean’s list.
If this was a horse show and that was a dressage test score, Kate would just raise her eyebrows at me and say, “What did you expect? You didn’t do the work to prepare. Nothing just happens on its own.”
The truth is, I knew that. That’s why I spent so much time going home to ride Windsong. But for school, Statistics especially, I was unmotivated and struggling to convince myself that this grade was just as important as my score on my dressage test.
Was that an immature attitude? I expected to graduate, to get a degree eventually. I expected to look for employment. But that seemed far in the future and my success in the show ring was happening right now. I only placed third in the Finals, but Robert praised me. He had noticed how much I had improved, and if he thought I was good, I was going somewhere. People valued his opinion and he would tell them that I was a promising competitor. I would be asked to ride talented horses, I would help EMA stay in business, and I would inspire other riders by my great accomplishments. It was clear how important my success at Finals was.
Failing my courses was going to make my father mad and that was bad. I promised him that I could do both. But give me a break, I had a lot to manage and I didn’t do it that well. It was my first semester, though; I just needed time to get myself organized. I would have no problem next semester. I learned my lesson, I won’t push the books aside, I won’t skip classes. I’ll sign up for better class times so I could go home to ride Windsong without missing them. I would manage it all so much better now that I knew what I need to do.
I rose from the bench, hefted my backpack onto my shoulder, and headed back to my dorm without bothering to check on my final grade for English literature.
Chapter 17
Holding the front door open with my back side, I put the strap of my smaller bag in my teeth and lifted my suitcase over the threshold. My mother rushed up the hall, drying her hands on her apron. “Let me help.” She took the bag from my mouth and closed the door. “Is there more out there?”
Sticking my chin out, I air-kissed her cheek. “Hi, Mom. This is everything.”
She one-arm-hugged me. “How did exams go? I made a great roast and veggies for your first dinner home.”
The aroma was making my mouth water; the school dining hall never smelled that good. “I can’t wait to eat it. Let me drag these bags upstairs and hit the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
“Sure, sweetie. Your father will be home any minute, too. You can fill us in on your exams over dinner.”
I started up the stairs, inwardly groaning. Give it up, already, with the exams.
Through dinner, I successfully steered the topic of conversation clear of academics until I was on my third helping of mashed potatoes and gravy. Humming in appreciation, I complimented my mother again. “I don’t know how it is possible to screw up smashing potatoes, but the dining hall somehow manages it. Their mashed potatoes taste like cardboard. These are amazing, Mom.”
My luck ran out right after she smiled.
My father wiped his mouth with a napkin and turned a direct gaze on me. “Tell us how exams went. Do you think you did well? Statistics was my worst class in school. But you always do well in math. Did you ace it?”
Shoving a mounded spoonful of potatoes in my mouth, I bought myself a few seconds to think. Unfortunately, the creamy smooth potatoes didn’t need much chewing. Sighing dramatically, I went for evasion and misdirection. “I am so glad to be home and done with exams. I am sick of cinder block walls and immature kids. I’m looking forward to just hanging out with you guys.”
My father’s keen business mind wasn’t buying my obfuscation. “I was always glad when exam week was over, too. Did you check you grades before you left?”
“They weren’t all up yet, but I left anyway. I couldn’t wait to be on my way home.” Not exactly a lie, since I didn’t go check my English lit. With another noisy sigh, “I am glad I don’t have to think about exams or studying or anything about school for a whole month. Let’s talk about Christmas.
I have shopping to do. When can we get the tree out to decorate?”
My mother started gathering dinner plates. “We can go get it right now. I’ve been so busy at work, I haven’t had a chance to start decorating. I’m glad you’re here to help.”
I pushed back my chair and jumped up to help with the dishes, making plans to go shopping over the weekend and keeping my eyes averted from my father.
Ten busy, festive days passed without another question about my grades. I followed my mother into the house, our arms full of shopping bags.
“Don’t look, Dad! I have one of your presents in here.” I laughed. I was so unprepared for my father’s wrath.
He was standing in the foyer, arms crossed. The force of his stare stopped me short.
“What’s the matter, Warren?” My mother set down her bags, concern in her voice.
He held up an envelope. “This came in today’s mail. It had Jane’s name on it, but it was from the university, so I figured it was her grades. I opened it.”
I rushed to speak over his voice. “Wait, Dad. I can explain.”
“Two Fs!” he shouted. I flinched like his words would hit me on the way past. “And a D and a C. Seriously, Jane, did you even try?”
My mother’s mouth dropped open and the look she gave me brought an instant sting to my eyes. Before she spoke, I dropped the bags and held up my hand. “It looks bad, but I can retake the courses next fall. I already checked. This was my first semester. It was different from high school, you know. With Regionals and Fi—. I mean, it was busy, but I get it now. I’ll be more organized, do better from now on,” I tried to explain.
My father threw up his hands. “You’re blaming the horse! I told you that you couldn’t handle both. That’s it. It needs to go. I’m selling it. These grades are atrocious. I told you the horse was distracting you.” He tossed my report card on the hall table, spun on his heel, and stalked into the living room. “Get out of my sight. I am so angry with you right now.”