by Sarah Price
Morality versus love.
“She’ll kill me, Alex,” I whisper.
“But …” He holds up his finger. “…only if she finds out.”
“Why’s it so much money?” I just can’t begin to understand this. They were only fifty dollars the other day. And that’s when I realize the answer to my dilemma. If the tickets were still only fifty dollars, I’d do it. Without hesitation. That means my morality is already out the window. It’s the same sin, regardless of whether or not it’s two hundred or twelve hundred.
“Scalpers.” He says it as if I should know what that means. “So you in or you out?”
I take a deep breath and hear myself blurt out one word: “In.” There’s no turning back now.
He clicks a few buttons and then throws his arms into the air as if he’s victorious. Spinning around in the chair, he grins at me. “Voila! You’ve got four tickets, Cat. And I even got one for free.”
Quickly, I try to configure the math in my head. Nine hundred. Okay, that’s a little less sinful than twelve hundred.
“Really?”
He nods, clearly very proud of himself. “I’ll print them out when they email them and you’ll be all set.”
“How will Mom not know?” The better question that I should ask is how does he have access to her credit card information, but I figure that’s just something I should probably not know at all. After all, if I get nailed and go down, he’ll go down with me. At least this way, he’ll be extra careful that we don’t get caught.
“Depends if she looks at her statement or not.”
Oh. That doesn’t sound so promising, but it does buy me time.
“Thanks, Alex,” I say. I wonder if we’ve just crossed some major turning point in our relationship. Maybe the days of getting punched or having dolls broken, or even being locked out of the house, are over.
He looks a little embarrassed, probably because he senses that I really am grateful. “Hey, you’ve been following this kid since your birthday. I felt kinda bad for you when he didn’t follow you after you tweeted him a bazillion times and got thrown off Twitter.”
My mouth drops. He knew about that? Brooke! How could she betray me like that?
“But don’t get used to it,” he says, back to his snarky old self. “I still think you’re weird, and this Rodeo Rage thing sounds ridiculous!”
I leave his room and I’m smiling. Maybe I am weird and maybe it is ridiculous. But he cared enough to help me get the tickets. Tickets to the event of a lifetime. And this time next week, I’ll be in the same room with Aiden. Now, to just figure out a way to actually meet him with these overpriced general admission tickets.
One thing at a time, Cat, I tell myself. One thing at a time.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Countdown to Topsfield
One week. Seven days. One hundred and sixty-eight hours. Ten thousand and eight seconds. That doesn’t sound like a lot, but it feels like years. An eternity, actually. During the first part of the week, I’m completely antsy at camp. That barn manager, Ashley, finally confiscated my iPhone because she said I was neglecting the minions. I wasn’t. Not really. I was simply checking social media. That’s not really neglect, is it?
At home, Mom noticed that I was on edge, and on more than one occasion, she asked me what was wrong. I blamed it on my period and that stopped the question PDQ—that’s pretty darn quick, in case you didn’t figure it out. It always does the trick.
By Thursday night, we only have two thousand eight hundred and eighty seconds left until the Rodeo Rage show. I can hardly focus on walking and breathing. In just a few days, I’m finally going to meet Aiden Quinn. Well, maybe not meet him, but we will be breathing the same air! And, seriously, if he’s there meeting other girls, how hard can it be to sneak up and say hello?
Jamie and Cassie are sitting on a horse trunk. The campers have already left for the day and we have an hour or so before our parents pick us up (or, in my case, before Brooke gives me a ride home).
I’m pacing in the barnyard, leading Cooper around behind me. He’s a small little black and white paint pony that isn’t even one year old and Marcus said he’ll give me five dollars to exercise him on the lead line. I need the money, so Cooper and I are a package deal each day when camp is over.
One of the other counselors, Bea, walks over to us. “What’s going on?”
I can’t respond so Jamie chimes in. “Cat’s nervous because we’re going to the Rodeo Rage on Saturday night.”
“Oh, cool! The meet and greet with the social media rodeo guys?”
I’m impressed that she knows about it. She’s eighteen and I consider her a really awesome person. If Bea knows about Rodeo Rage and thinks it’s cool, then it must be. She’s another one like Brooke, though. The long brown hair that has perfect waves. Big sky-blue eyes that are full of life. And she’s always happy, except for when Carl is around. I don’t know what it is, but she can’t stand Carl, one of the barnyard workers. Personally, I think he’s kinda cute.
The only problem with Bea is that she doesn’t have a driver’s license. Apparently, she’s a horrible driver and failed her test like three times. Her parents gave up on her so she uses Uber to get everywhere.
“So did you make posters or anything?” Bea asks.
I stop walking and Cooper bumps into my leg, knocking me forward when my knees buckle. He might be small, but he sure is strong. “Dude!” I snap at him as if he can understand me. Instead, he tilts his alien-shaped pony head and blinks his blue eyes. He’s simply too adorable, so I give him a carrot. Then I turn my attention back to Bea. “Posters?”
She nods and slips onto the tack box next to Jamie and Cassie. “Yeah. You know like decorated posters that you make. You take them with you, hold them up, and maybe he’ll notice you.”
No one told me about this. How did I miss this? What kind of a fan am I if I don’t even know the basics?
I stare at Jamie and Cassie, wondering if they knew about making posters. I can tell that they didn’t: They look as lost as I feel.
“We have to make posters!” I feel desperate. This is my one shot. I cannot mess it up or do it wrong. My whole entire existence as a teenager depends on it!
Out of the corner of my eye, I see someone emerge from the stall a few doors down from where we are sitting. Without even looking, I know that it’s Creme’s stall, so there’s no need to guess that the person walking toward us is Jenny. She’s one of the regular riders and is always taking care of Creme after camp. She’s in love with that chestnut thoroughbred horse.
“What posters?” Jenny asks as she approaches our small group.
She’s another one. Fifteen, almost sixteen. Blond hair, blue eyes, perfect smile, flawless skin, and a cute little figure. And she’s nice. Super nice. So nice that all the boys love her.
I hate her.
“For the Rodeo Rage show on Saturday!” I sound like I’m ready to cry. I think I am. No one is helping me with these rules. And I’m running out of money. I’ve walked Cooper enough to pay for Brooke’s gas, but I have zippo toward parking, and let’s not even talk about the cost of the tickets, although, technically, Mom paid for them. “I didn’t know we had to make posters! I don’t have poster boards or cool things to make one!”
Jenny smiles. “I have stuff at home. I can bring it over tomorrow.”
Changed my mind. I love her!
“I’ll even help you make them!” She turns to Bea. “Wanna help, too?”
She’s so bouncy and positive. I bet she would have made an awesome cheerleader. But I think she’s into volleyball as well as Creme. I know that Marcus likes her because she’s always the first one to volunteer and she’s been working the camps for two years now. This year, I think she’s actually getting paid.
Naturally, Bea is excited to help. Even though she’s older, she says she likes us better than people her own age because they aren’t real. I’m not certain what that means, but I think it’s a compliment.
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“Glitter,” Bea says. “Lots of glitter. And we’ll need glue. Anyone have some?”
The ideas start flying back and forth. Cut-out letters, twinkle lights that operate on batteries (Jenny is apparently a pro at this), and my Twitter handle in dark marker written so large that he has no choice but to notice it.
Suddenly I have a support team—a real squad!—to make the most awesomest-bestest-must-get-me-noticed Aiden Quinn posters for Saturday night. For a moment, I feel myself getting a little overwhelmed and emotional. I can’t believe how much everyone is championing my cause.
Last year at this time, when my mom was going through chemotherapy, I thought most of these girls hated me. I’d show up at the barn, my head lowered and staring at my feet as I hurried to saddle up a horse for my lesson. I never stopped to talk to any of them. I probably didn’t even say hello. I knew that they were probably making fun of me, so as soon as my lesson was over, I’d race home. Even though Jamie was there, our schedules were different so I rarely saw her at the barn.
The turning point came when my mom made me participate in a special riding program with all of them. Despite being sick, Mom kept a positive attitude, and when she noticed that I was hanging out too much in my room, she kicked it up a notch and dragged me to the program.
“Gotta work on that self-esteem, kiddo,” she had said.
I tried to tell her that my self-esteem was just fine, thank you very much. But once Marty gets an idea in her head, there’s no stopping that woman. She’d be googling the topic to-death and I’d never hear the end of it.
So there I was, thrown into the mix of these girls for a six-week after-school program. I had no choice but to talk to them. Suddenly I realized that they weren’t making fun of me and they didn’t hate me. They were actually really nice, although there was this one girl who always glared at me and whispered behind her hand when I walked by. But after she did that to one too many people, Marcus politely asked her to ride elsewhere. He has a strict policy of a “No Diva Zone” at his barn.
Now, one year later, they are my besties and helping me achieve my dream of meeting Aiden. Funny how things change in just a few short months, if you only give them a chance.
“Cat!”
I cringe when I hear that familiar French accent bellowing for me from the inner barn. The girls scatter as Marcus stomps over to me.
“What’re you doing?”
I look around and realize that I don’t have a good answer. “Uh ... nothing?”
“Good!” Only it comes out sounding like gud. He claps his hand on my shoulder in a fatherly sort of way. I’d be impressed by the fatherly gesture, but with Marcus, I know that he wants me to do something for him. I’m not going to complain. I’ll do what he asks if only to avoid any question about what I’m doing with construction paper and glitter. “I want you to tack up Levi and do a little Western riding demonstration for the Girl Scout badge group in the third ring. Think you can handle that?”
Well, now! Isn’t that a surprise? Usually when he wants me to do something, it’s boring like leading a two-year-old on a pony ride or cleaning saddles. Riding Levi? That’s a step up for certain.
“Sure thing, chicken wing!”
He gives me a sharp look, as if he’s suspicious that I may have just insulted him.
“It’s just an expression, Marcus. Geez ...”
He raises one eyebrow, clearly not believing me, and stomps off.
Whatever. Delighted with my new assignment, I hurry off to Levi’s stall. Finally things are going my way!
Five minutes later, I lead Levi to the barnyard, and after checking his cinch, I grab his mane and hop into the saddle. Wahoo!
“Helmet!” a voice screeches from behind me. She repeats the word at the top of her lungs, twice.
I roll my eyes. It’s the helmet police officer, otherwise known as Barn Manager Ashley. “Cowgirls don’t wear helmets!” I shout over my shoulder.
“They do at this barn!” She’s practically racing over to me, and once she’s beside Levi, she practically tackles him, grabbing his reins, as she yanks me off the horse. “Now get down and go fetch your helmet!”
Seriously?
“You’re lucky you didn’t get hurt!” She stands there holding the reins with a fierce look in her eyes. Her tendency at being overly dramatic makes her one of my least favorite people at the barn. In fact, I do everything I can to avoid her. Her short blond hair (which no one can see because she insists on wearing a helmet even when she’s nowhere near a horse!) makes her look like a boy. She would also benefit from gaining some weight. Her legs look like sticks. She has the darkest eyes I’ve ever seen, and they’re constantly flitting around as if she’s looking for danger where none exists.
But I’m not about to argue with her and have her go tattle-tale to Marcus. For some reason, he thinks Ashley walks on water. Of course, she never tells him to wear a helmet. Sometimes, I think she’d wrap all the little kids in bubble wrap, if she could, before they get on a horse. Her campers don’t like her, either, because they have to wear helmets all day, even when it’s a bazillion degrees out and sweat is pouring down their faces.
When I get back, my helmet dangling from my fingers, I give her a big, fake smile. “Happy?”
“Put it on, for crying out loud!” She makes a move as if to put herself between me and Levi. “He could kick out, you know!”
Is she serious? “He’s ten feet away from me!”
“They can really reach, you know that.”
Not unless he’s made of rubber bands! But I give in, slap the helmet on my head, and start to mount up.
“Snap it.”
OMG. I give a big sigh and snap the strap under my chin. “You know, I do know how to ride, right?”
She glares at me and keeps holding the reins while I hop back into the saddle. Then she takes five super-huge steps backward as if exiting a danger zone. I shake my head, take the reins, and give Levi a gentle kick with my heels. He starts to walk and I fight the urge to pretend I’m scared, just to give Ashley a good fright. But, knowing her, she’d call the paramedics and take me to the hospital to make certain I’m okay.
I don’t know what it is about the barn and crazy people, but they sure do seem to flock there.
Out in the third ring, the little Girl Scouts are waiting for me. They sit politely on the bleachers and grin when I trot up to them. “Howdy y’all!” I say in my best cowgirl impersonation. “Who here wants to see some Western reining?”
The girls clap. They’re very subdued in comparison to the camp kids I’ve been working with all week.
I guide Levi into the ring and encourage him to lope around the ring. More polite applause from my little audience. Then I give him a kick and lean the reins forward. He starts to canter. Another ride around the ring and then I get him into full gear: galloping. When I approach the section where the girls are sitting, I guide Levi into the center of the ring ... at full speed. Then I let my weight settle, lean back just a touch, and say, “Whoa!”
Levi skids to a stop, leaving a perfect trail of hoof prints behind him.
Now the girls are getting excited.
I tug gently on the reins and give him little kicks so that he starts walking backward, and then I lay the rein on against his neck, urging him to rollback so that he’s facing the audience.
When I look up, they’re glowing.
I love talking about horses and reining so I take advantage of their enraptured attention and tell them all about Western riding. I talk about the perfect tracks Levi left when he skidded to a stop. “If they look like an eleven, he did it right,” I tell the girls. I see all of them peer over at the footing to see if there’s two parallel lines. There are.
And then I start telling them about barrel racing and roping, two events I love to watch on YouTube. When I’m done with my little demonstration, the girls give me a nice round of applause. I see the mothers who are chaperoning nod their heads in approval as they, too,
clap.
Not many people ride Western in New Jersey. Even fewer ride that style at our barn. I’m always happy to demonstrate it and share my passion for Western reining with others. It doesn’t help with the teasing I get for not wanting to compete in English hunter or jumper competitions. Sometimes I do, but it’s not where my heart lies.
I see Brooke riding out for her demonstration. She, of course, is the picture-perfect hunter/jumper equestrian. She smiles as she enters the ring, and that’s my cue to exit. So I give Levi a little kick and trot past her.
“Thanks for warming them up,” she whispers.
Yeah, yeah. I know. She’ll wow them with jumping three-foot verticals, and my amazing slide and rollback will be all but forgotten. But at least I had my fifteen minutes.
Back in the barnyard, I untack Levi and give him a good brushing. Too many girls don’t bother to do that, and it really irritates me. Riding horses is not just about jumping in the saddle and cantering over jumps for forty-five minutes. It’s about caring for the horse … the connection between the horse and the rider.
I like to groom the horses. And Levi is special. My mom bought him from Marcus and that’s how they met. Without Levi, I wouldn’t be around the horses as much, so I always play extra attention to him.
When I’m finished, I walk him out to the paddock and let him graze on the grass while I sit on an overturned crate. What can I put on a poster that will attract Aiden’s attention? How can I make it stand out from all of the other girls’ posters?
I feel warm breath on my neck and hear a clunking noise. Levi. He’s standing behind me on the crate. When he reaches his big ole head down and nuzzles at me, I reach back and touch his hoof.
“Silly goose,” I say to him.
But then an idea hits me. That’s what I can do! Create a huge poster cutout of a horse! I bet no one else will think of that! And without doubt Aiden will see it!
“Levi! You’re brilliant!” I kiss his nose and then get up. Grazing time is cut short because I need to get back to the barn and plan how to create this amazing poster for Topsfield!
