The Perfect Distance

by Kim Ablon Whitney

  “Yeah,” I added. “I can just see it. ‘No, Rob, we’re not riding without stirrups today.’ That would go over well.”

  We all laughed pretty hard thinking about saying no to Rob. Like that would ever happen. We talked for a while longer and I looked at my watch to find a whole hour had slipped by.

  “I better get going,” I said.

  Dad would be wondering where I was and if Finch was okay. He wouldn’t be thrilled either if he found out I was hanging out with Colby. “So I saw you’ve met the new boy,” he’d said to me after I’d given Colby the tour yesterday. I could tell from those few words alone that he didn’t love the idea of me spending time with Colby.

  “So you two are both staying on the farm, too?” Colby asked.

  Before Katie could explain how she lived here temporarily and I lived here permanently, I said, “Um, yeah.”

  “Great, so I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Thanks for coming by.”

  “No problem,” Katie said. “Just think of us as the welcome wagon.”

  When we were far enough away from the pool house to be out of earshot, Katie said, “He’s really cute, huh? A little weird, but cute, don’t you think?”

  “I guess so.” I didn’t want to let on that I thought he was beyond cute and interesting, too. He wasn’t just a dumb football jock like Doug. But I was sure there was no way he would be into me.

  Katie shook her head. “You know, Francie, someday you’re going to actually like a boy.”

  “Maybe,” I said. Katie might not know it, but I was pretty sure that it was already happening.

  Chapter Six

  * * *

  Day nine of boot camp and I was so sore that I soaked in the tub every night, downed two Advil before bed, and still could barely walk the next morning. Only three more days to go before the regionals, but I wasn’t sure I would live that long. By fourth-period English, I was already so exhausted I didn’t think I’d make it through the rest of the day. At the end of class Mrs. Hanson passed back our papers.

  “How’d you do?” Becca asked as we straggled out of class.

  I knew I’d done better than her—I always did. “A-minus,” I told her. “How about you?” I didn’t really care so much what she’d gotten, but I knew it was the right thing to ask. Tracy would have asked.

  Becca showed me her paper: a C+. I would have been devastated with that grade, but she just shrugged. “With everything with Doug, I’m totally tanking my classes right now. Did I tell you we hung out after the game this weekend?”

  “That’s so cool,” I said. I thought about telling her about Colby, but it just seemed stupid because nothing had happened at all. In the past few days we had talked more, but that was about it. I was sure that anything I might have felt between us was a figment of my imagination.

  As we headed downstairs to the cafeteria for lunch, I could already smell the chili.

  Becca groaned. “Not again. Gross.”

  “We can just get salads,” I offered.

  “Definitely.”

  I loved Tuesdays and Thursdays because Becca and I had English right before lunch and ended up eating together. On the other days, she had sixth-period lunch and I had fifth, which meant I often ended up eating alone.

  The salad plan shattered, however, when Doug turned the corner, shrugging on his football jacket.

  “Hey, we were just going into the cafeteria for lunch,” Becca said.

  “No, we’re going out for lunch,” he announced.

  “Um . . .” Becca wavered, casting me an “okay?” glance. I wasn’t sure if her look meant “okay, you wanna come?” or “okay, I’ve gotta go.”

  Then Doug said, “Come on, Peters and Pepper are already in the car,” and somehow I was swept up in the whirlwind and walking with them to the parking lot.

  Billy Peters and Billy Pepper were linemen. Besides playing the same position and sharing the same first names, both also had red hair. One was never far from the other, and people called them the twins; even though they weren’t related, they should have been.

  Peters was in the passenger seat. Pepper was in the backseat. Doug climbed behind the wheel as Becca and I slid into the back. I was in the middle next to Pepper, who sat with his legs splayed, taking up a good two-thirds of the bench.

  “Who’re you?” Pepper grumbled, looking at me like I was an exotic animal yet to be classified.

  I wasn’t sure how I should respond, and I wanted to just disappear. Thankfully, Becca answered for me. “This is Francie. She’s cool.”

  After Pepper’s warm welcome, I was content to remain mute while they argued over whether to go to McDonald’s or KFC. We ended up at KFC and then hit Dunkin’ Donuts for Coolattas. The whole time I hardly said a word, but just being with them was kind of cool. Doug and the twins recounted their top ten worst practices. Number one was when their coach made them run hills piggybacking each other.

  “And I get Pepper here,” Doug said. “What do you weigh, Pep?”

  Pepper looked up from his bucket of wings. “Two-oh-five.”

  “I’m carrying two-oh-five up the hills. And I weigh one-seventy.”

  Pepper grinned. “He was light as a feather.”

  “But we won against West that year,” Doug said.

  There were two high schools in town—West and East—and the big matchup always came the Saturday after Thanksgiving.

  Becca spoke up. “Did you know Francie’s like this amazing horseback rider?”

  At the sound of my name I almost choked on my biscuit. I had been so happy just being a fly on the wall.

  “She’s ranked in the top ten in the country.” Becca turned to me. “Right?”

  “Um, we don’t exactly have rankings,” I said. I was very aware that Doug and the twins were staring at me. I knew they couldn’t care less about my riding, and I wished Becca hadn’t brought it up.

  “But you’re one of the best, right?” Becca said.

  I shrugged. “I guess so.” No one was there to say otherwise, and what was I supposed to say, “No, actually, I’m not that good?”

  There was a moment’s pause. Then, to my complete surprise, Doug said, “That’s cool.” I wondered if I could have heard him right.

  “Yeah,” Pepper added. “I loved Seabiscuit.”

  “That was that one we saw about the racehorse?” Peters said, and Pepper nodded. “Me too, man, good flick.”

  I smiled. Who knew the twins had a soft spot for horse movies?

  On the way home Doug blasted the radio. It was a song I usually hated, but Doug, Becca, and the twins started singing along, and all of a sudden I got the urge to sing, too. I couldn’t believe I even knew the lyrics. I opened my mouth and sang the chorus very quietly, testing if anyone would notice and tell me to shut up. They didn’t, and I sang louder.

  Doug tapped out the beat on the steering wheel. “This song totally rocks,” he said.

  And right then, it did totally rock, because I almost felt a part of things. For a second, I wasn’t just the horse girl.

  As we pulled into the campus parking lot just in time for next period, Becca asked me, “What do you have next?”

  “Chem. You?”

  “Spanish,” Becca said.

  It always felt a little weird that people took classes in Spanish or, really, that I didn’t because I already spoke Spanish fluently.

  Doug groaned. “I have math.”

  “You studying, man?” Pepper asked.

  “No, I’m failing,” Doug reported. “Test next week. I’m totally dead.”

  “You can’t fail, man.” Pepper again.

  “We’d be totally screwed without you.” Peters.

  “There’s gotta be a way. We gotta get you a tutor or something.” Pepper.

  That’s when Becca chimed in. “Wait—Francie’s like a god in math.”

  I elbowed her. “I am not.” It was bad enough that Becca had gone on about me being such a great rider, but a math god? Very uncool.

&n
bsp; To me: “You totally are.”

  To them: “She took precalculus as a sophomore.”

  From the backseat Becca placed a tentative hand on Doug’s shoulder. “Maybe Francie could help you. She keeps all of her tests and assignments. She’s like the most organized person on the planet. She could totally tutor you.”

  I didn’t really have time to tutor Doug, but I couldn’t help wanting to say yes, to be a part of things again.

  “Wait, who’d you have for precal?” Doug said, suddenly all interested. “Please say The Greek.”

  “Mr. Yannakopoulos?” I ventured, never having heard that nickname before.

  “The Greek!” Doug cried. “Score! You still have the tests?” He didn’t wait for me to reply. “Well-known fact: the Greek only changes one or two questions from year to year.”

  I waited for Becca to speak up. To say something like, “I said she can tutor you, jerk, not help you cheat.” But she didn’t say anything, and in case we didn’t get it the first time, Doug offered again, “If I fail, I’m off the team.”

  I never agreed to help “tutor” Doug. He just assumed it was a given. I guess he was used to getting whatever he wanted. We got out of the car and Doug reached for Becca’s hand. “Your friend totally rocks,” he told her.

  I knew this had nothing to do with me totally rocking. It only had to do with me having the tests. Suddenly, being in the car, going out with them for lunch, feeling part of things didn’t matter. There was no way I could give Doug one of my tests.

  When we walked into school, we ran into Tracy coming out of the cafeteria. “Where were you guys?” she said.

  “We went out to lunch,” Becca said. “Sorry, I didn’t see you anywhere before we left.”

  Tracy looked at me like she couldn’t believe I’d been invited. “You all went?”

  “Yeah,” Becca said.

  “Oh,” Tracy answered, sounding surprised.

  When I headed off to class, Becca called out, “See you later.”

  “Later,” Doug added, and the twins even waved. I would say I walked away, but suddenly it was more like floating and I had forgotten all about the test. All I could think about was how I’d gone to lunch instead of Tracy.

  But that didn’t mean the test stayed out of my mind altogether. Pretty soon I was back thinking about it again. For the rest of the day I kept thinking about what I would say to Becca when I saw her again. I had decided that honesty was the best policy. I would just say that I didn’t feel right about giving Doug the test, that then he wouldn’t be learning anything. If she really wanted, maybe I could somehow find time to tutor him during a free period.

  I finally saw her after last period at our lockers. I took a deep breath, ready to launch into my explanation, but before I could say anything, she said, “I’m sorry about that, earlier in the car with Doug. The calc test thing . . .”

  “No big deal,” I said, totally relieved that she’d come to her senses and I wouldn’t have to give her my whole lame speech about him not learning anything.

  Becca pulled her jacket out of her locker. “You wouldn’t mind, though, would you? Just giving him the test?”

  I paused, my tongue suddenly on strike. Then I managed, “That doesn’t really seem fair.”

  Becca put on her jacket and turned to me. “But how are you supposed to know Mr. Yannakopoulos gives the same tests? It’s his fault if he doesn’t change them.”

  I tried to remember everything I had planned to say, but the only thing that came out of my mouth was, “Well . . .”

  “Come on, Francie,” Becca pleaded. “If you don’t give it to him, I’ll look like a total loser and I don’t want to ruin this. You know how long I’ve been into him.”

  I knew I should have said no, but all I could think about was back in the car when we were all singing that song—how it felt to be a part of things. And how Becca had said I was cool. And how Tracy had looked when she’d found out I had gone with them to lunch.

  “Please?”

  I hesitated another moment and then said, “Okay.” What was one test?

  On the walk home I came across a gum wrapper (gross, left it there) and a penny (picked it up, boring, but at least good luck). Not a super great day all around. I couldn’t believe I had said I’d give Doug the test. What if Mr. Yannakopoulos found out? I could lie to Becca and say I’d checked for my old tests and actually my dad had raided my room on a junk-purging spree and had thrown them all out. Or that Bandit had mistaken them for chew toys. But she’d never believe me, and it would be obvious I was lying. She’d end up thinking I was a total loser, and then I’d eat lunch alone every day, not just on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

  During our lesson my mind was still on the test and I was totally distracted. Rob asked me to go first, and I went off course.

  “Stop,” he said after I’d jumped a wrong fence. He shook his head. “Two days left and you’re going off course? Come on, Francie, you should know better.”

  “I’m sorry,” I told him.

  “Don’t be sorry. Just get it right. Maybe watching a few more will help.”

  He told Tara to go, and then I had to sit through everybody else’s rides before he gave me another chance.

  “Guess I know not to go off course if I can help it,” Colby said to me afterward when I was sweeping the aisle. “You should add ‘never go off course’ to the rules.”

  I had the impulse to throw the broom across the aisle and pretend I wasn’t working, but I decided there was no point. So he knew I was a groom? I didn’t really think I had a chance with him anyway. And if it mattered to him that I was a groom, then I wouldn’t like him. Or at least that’s what I told myself.

  When I got home that night, I looked through my old class notes and tests. I had them all organized in file folders and labeled, so it was easy to find the test that Doug wanted. Right then I really wished I wasn’t such a super dork about my school work. Couldn’t I have just thrown them out like normal kids did? I had gotten only one answer wrong, for a 98. Even now, seeing the grade filled me with pride. As I looked at the test, I wondered if Doug could be wrong: maybe Mr. Yannakopoulos didn’t recycle his tests. Or maybe one or two questions would be the same, but not the whole test. I took out a Sharpie and blacked out my name. Then I stuffed the test in my book bag.

  Chapter Seven

  * * *

  The morning of the regionals Dad’s alarm on his phone went off at four o’clock. I was already wide awake and doing the dream. It wasn’t a real dream, because I wasn’t asleep. It was more like a daydream. I always did the same one, and if I did it with people around or if I was in class and someone interrupted me, I had to start over from the beginning. It had to be the whole thing, even though each time it was exactly the same. I guess maybe it was like the visualization Katie said she did with the sports shrink.

  It started just before I headed into the ring, when Rob told me to “nail it.” I nodded and cantered off like I knew I was going to put in the ride of my life. I rode the course flawlessly. The crowd got quieter with each jump, and Rob locked his eyes on me. When I jumped the last fence, Rob whooped and clapped. As I was leaving the ring, he said, “Nailed it.” He was grinning at me.

  In my dream I nailed the second round, too. I went back in first place for the test and all Rob’s other girls had messed up, even Tara. I was it. Rob’s only shot. I rode the test and I laid it down again. In my dream I don’t feel nervous at all; I’m all confidence, just like Tara. The last jump was a hand gallop, which some riders never do. They’re too scared to risk it and never really gallop. But I went for it, finding the perfect distance. When I was riding my closing circle, Rob said to the trainer next to him, “That’s it; I just won.” Of course, if it were real life, I wouldn’t have heard him say that part, but since it was my dream, I got to.

  In the winner’s circle, I said to Rob, “You didn’t think I could do it, did you?” He didn’t say anything back but just smiled and the cameras f
lashed. The photo would be up on ChronofHorse.com. “Francie Martinez brings Rob Renaud another Maclay win.”

  This time the wake-up call interrupted the dream right before I went back for the test, which seemed like it might be a bad omen. Dad rolled over in the bed next to mine. I headed into the bathroom, ran the water full blast, and, thanks to my nerves, threw up what was left of last night’s dinner into the toilet. So much for being all confidence.

  We pulled into the show grounds at four-thirty. The tent was soon busy even though it wasn’t yet light out. Not busy with the riders, though, because most wouldn’t show up until six-thirty. Dad handed me a pitchfork and I grabbed a wheelbarrow. I passed Stretch’s stall on the way to Finch’s. Camillo was mucking it out and had already put the magnetic blanket on Stretch.

  In the next stall, Randi, bundles of yarn looped through her belt, hunched on a stepladder over Riley’s neck, his mane half-braided.

  When I finished cleaning Finch’s stall, I moved on to Tobey’s. He was standing with his head hanging low. He perked up when he saw me and nickered softly.

  “Good morning,” I said, stepping into his stall. Before I started cleaning, I leaned close to him and mumbled into his neck, “Today’s the big day, Tobe. We’ve made it through every year before, and we can’t not make it in our last year. Okay?”

  He flicked his ears back and forth as I talked like he understood every word. All I cared about right then was making it through. I didn’t have to win. I didn’t have to be amazing. I just had to get my last shot at the Maclay Finals.

  “Okay,” I answered for him.

  After I finished Tobey’s stall, I braided his mane and tail. We couldn’t afford Randi’s rates, and over the years I’d gotten pretty good at it. Sometimes I even braided other people’s horses to make some extra cash for entry fees. Next I emptied and refilled Tobey’s water buckets, took off his wraps, and brushed him.

  “Francie,” Dad called from down the aisle. “Ginger’s got a stain that needs work.”