Massie

by Lisi Harrison

  The well-heeled JACC spectators sprang to their pedicured feet and cheered wildly when Massie and Brownie shot back into the holding pen. Instantly, Massie’s heart soared like a first-place helium balloon. So what if the applause was for someone else? Soon it would be for her.

  As long as the jar tucked into her velvet blazer pocket lived up to its promise.

  “Another stellar landing by Molly Gold-Starr!” Lill raved, her thin, coral-covered lips pressing against the tabletop mic in the center of the ringside judges’ table.

  The crowd whooped and hollered even louder.

  “Bringing the Mane Mamas’ scores up to a near-perfect twenty-eight out of thirty.” Lill’s brittle, mousy brown hair clung to her long wrinkled neck as she delivered the devastating news.

  “Massie, where have you been?” Whitney called from the row of hitching posts, where she, Jacqueline, and Selma had been pacing the tips of their shined boots muddy.

  “We’re up next!” Jacqueline stuffed a fresh stick of Stride in her mouth, adding to the giant clump she was already chewing.

  Massie jumped off Brownie and tied him next to the other horses.

  “What’s the point?” Whitney glared at Selma, who pretended not to have heard the insult.

  “Shhhh.” Massie covered Brownie’s ears. “Animals can feel our stress.”

  She soothe-rubbed Brownie while tracking the four ponytailed brunettes, who began blowing handfuls of cocky kisses to their fans while they victory-pranced out of the arena. A storm of pink, red, and white rose petals hailed down around them, practically spelling out the word winners as they landed in the hoof-marked dust.

  “Team huddle!” Massie shouted.

  Her girls formed an instant prayer circle while their horses waited dutifully in the background.

  “We’re going to take five and clear the field,” Lill announced. “And return with our final team of the day; six-time JACC champions the Galwaugh Goddess—I mean, Galwaugh Girls.”

  Massie rolled her eyes at Jacqueline, silently re-reprimanding her for the helmet typo.

  “Is it too late to sign up for tennis camp?” Jacqueline swallowed her gum, then immediately replaced it with a fresh piece.

  “We still have a chance.” Massie smirked at Selma, arching a glossy brown brow.

  Instinctively, Selma took a small step back.

  “A chance at third, maybe.” Whitney sighed as the Mane Mamas returned to the holding ring, exchanging a round of it’s-in-the-bag high fives with the stable hands, counselors, and coaches.

  “Trust me.” Massie grinned as she pulled the brown glass jar out of her pocket.

  “Leather glue?” Jacqueline twirled another black curl.

  Massie bit her glossy lower lip and nodded slowly.

  “Whoa!” Whitney gasped, catching on. Her green eyes widened with a mix of amusement and disbelief.

  “Come on, we have to work fast.” Massie hurried over to Latte.

  “Stay away from her!” Selma shouted, her voice suddenly shaky with panic.

  Massie slid her black boot in the iron stirrup and lifted herself up to the saddle. Whitney and Jacqueline rushed to her side.

  “Stop! Get down!” Selma tugged the back of Massie’s olive pant leg. But Massie, struggling to balance in the wobbly stirrup, swatted her away like a flea.

  Once stable, she unscrewed the silver top of the glass jar and lifted out a small black paintbrush. Thick, sticky glue dripped slowly off the bottom of the brush in teardrop-shaped globules. She spread the clear mixture across the entire seat, covering the red embroidered S with a glassy layer of the super-adhesive.

  “What are you doing!?” Selma grabbed Massie’s leg.

  “What she should have done a long time ago.” Jacqueline lunged forward and pried Selma off.

  “This is illeg—!” Selma shouted. But Whitney covered her mouth and silenced her before anyone overheard.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Lill began, her piercing tone sending a trio of nesting robins into flight overhead. “We are now ready to conclude this very exciting competition with our first rider from the Galwaugh Girls. Miss Selma Gallman!”

  Soft courtesy claps welcomed her to the ring.

  Massie jumped to the ground and tossed the glue bottle behind a giant poo-stack by the hitching posts. “Get awn!” she whisper-hissed to Selma.

  Whitney and Jacqueline snickered into their palms.

  “No way!” Selma whisper-hissed back.

  Massie placed her hands on her hips. “Um, Selma, are you a talking horse?”

  “No, why?” she asked.

  “Then stop being a nayyyyy-sayer!”

  The girls snickered again.

  “Miss Selma Gallman?” Lill’s voice sounded like it was personally searching the ring. The microphone crackled.

  “Awn!” Massie cracked her riding crop against the ground, causing a puff of dirt to shoot up angrily. “Now!”

  “Fine.” Selma grabbed the stirrup bar. “But this is not over!” In one swift motion she pulled herself up. She swung her back leg around the horse but lost her footing and landed sidesaddle.

  “Lift your leg!” Jacqueline snapped.

  Selma’s face turned bright red as she strained to move. “I can’t! It’s stuck!”

  “Miss Selma Gallman!” Lill insisted one last time over the loudspeaker.

  “Good luck!”

  Massie smacked Latte’s butt with her crop and off they went, dashing straight toward the first jump, a six-inch hurdle that Selma had never managed to clear in practice.

  “Whoa!” Whitney blurted suddenly. Her black-and-white spotted horse, Oreo, flapped his ears. “She’s going for it!”

  Massie silenced her with a palm-lift. Latte, picking up speed, lifted his legs and soared over the hurdle. Massie held her breath and double-crossed her fingers. Jacqueline and Whitney leaned forward in their saddles. Massie squeezed her eyes shut.

  “She landed it!” Jacqueline hugged her palomino, Zac Efron, around his caramel-colored neck.

  Selma was still riding sidesaddle, her head and shoulders bobbling around like a rag doll on a jackhammer.

  “It wasn’t pretty, but she didn’t fall,” Whitney shouted over the crowd’s applause.

  “Second jump!” Massie called, as Selma went up … up … up … and yes! “Ehmagawd, she cleared it!”

  Her form was awful. She was slumped to the side when she should have been leaning into the jump. But Selma was still on the horse, and that had to count for something.

  Massie looked up at the blue, cloudless sky and winked. It was her way of apologizing to Gawd for sticking her tongue out at Him earlier. A soft breeze rustled the lush green leaves on the trees on the outskirts of the holding ring. It was His way of saying, “You’re welcome.”

  Latte cleared the final two jumps, and Selma went along for the ride. When they were done, the crowd jumped to its feet and began chanting, “Sidesaddle, sidesaddle, sidesaddle,” as she cantered toward the exit with glee.

  “This is the first time in the history of the JACC we’ve ever seen a rider compete sidesaddle,” Lill announced to the cheering crowd. “And that should bode well for her score.”

  The Mane Mamas raced over to the judges’ table waving their arms in protest.

  “Whoa!” Whitney leaned across Oreo and high-fived Massie. “You did it!”

  “No,” Jacqueline corrected. “Glue did it!”

  They giggle-shimmied to the edges of their saddles and group-hugged.

  “It worked!” Selma called, punching her fist in the air as she and Latte trotted through the open gate.

  “Excuse me, Selma?” called the Horse & Rider reporter from outside the ring. “Would you mind answering a few questions? Your approach was very refreshing. Our readers would love to know what gave you the courage to try such a risky position.”

  Selma released the strap of her helmet and sidesaddled her way over to the lanky redhead.

  Massie contemplated feeling jeal
ous but decided against it. Let Selma have her stupid interview. It was the cover that mattered.

  “Next up is Miss Whitney Bennett.” Lill’s voice came over the crowd again.

  The girls exchanged a good-luck hand-squeeze before Whitney took off. But luck was no longer needed. Selma had come through. And if they scored like they usually did, the

  ribbon was theirs.

  And the Horse & Rider cover was hers.

  “We better help her down,” Massie suggested, jumping off Brownie and racing toward Selma, who was struggling to separate her butt from the saddle.

  “Is everything okay?” asked the reporter, her pencil at the ready in case the answer was no.

  “Um, yeah.” Selma’s cheeks turned purple as she strained to lift herself off. “I’m just a little stuck.”

  “Must be all that popcorn you ate,” Massie said quickly, trying to cover. “Salt can be so bloating. It really packs on extra weight.”

  “I’ll push, you pull.” Jacqueline stepped in the stirrup and hoisted herself up behind Selma.

  “’Kay.” Massie grabbed Selma’s legs. “On three. Ready? One … two … three!”

  Jacqueline pressed both her hands against Selma’s back and shoved, while Massie grabbed her by the ankles and yanked.

  Rrrrrip!

  Selma toppled over in a lifeless heap, landing on Massie and knocking them both to the mud-covered ground.

  Massie immediately pushed Selma off her and leapt to her feet while the medics raced toward Selma for the second time that day.

  “Ahhhhh, my pants!” Selma cupped her hands over her saggy, emoticon-covered underwear and backed up against Latte for cover.

  “Here they are,” Jacqueline ripped a patch of oat-colored jodhpur off the saddle and waved it around like a victory flag.

  The reporter began snapping pictures of Selma reaching for it as a bemused crowd gathered around them.

  “What’s going on here?” Lill demanded, as she forced herself past the tight circle of snickering onlookers.

  Massie checked the arena. Whitney was still riding for the judges, but the audience had abandoned the bleachers and raced over to witness the sideshow.

  “What happened to your pants?” Lill folded her thin arms across her flat chest and glared.

  Slowly lifting her eyes in shame, Selma squinted against the bright sun, her chubby dumpling cheeks pressing up against her sparse lower lashes. “They kinda got glued to the saddle.”

  Lill folded back the sleeves on her crisp white button-down while she waited for a better explanation.

  Massie glared at Selma, silently warning her not to confess.

  “Ms. Galwaugh, are you going to tell me what happened, or would you rather explain this to your grandfather?” Lill pressed.

  “Galwaugh?” Massie mouthed to Jacqueline.

  Jacqueline shrugged.

  “I thought your last name was Gallman,” Massie couldn’t help interrupting.

  Dozens of other campers nodded in agreement, their velvet riding helmets sliding forward and back. Well, that explained how she’d gotten into the exclusive riding camp.

  “I only said that so you’d like me for me and not because my grandfather owns this place.” Selma lowered her eyes.

  “Well, that didn’t work, did it?” Jacqueline blurted.

  Selma’s lips pursed into a puckered O. Her chest rose and fell in short, quick bursts, and her droopy eyes narrowed to a hate-squint. “She made me do it!”

  Jacqueline quickly checked over her shoulder, a loose black curl whipping against her high cheekbone. “Me?”

  The crowd stared at her with contempt.

  Slowly, Massie backed away from the angry circle. Until …

  “It wasn’t me, it was her!” Jacqueline pointed at Massie. “The bottle’s over there, behind the poo. Check it for prints if you want.”

  “Is that true?” Lill asked. “Did you dare glue a Galwaugh?”

  Massie stared at her blankly, unsure of what to do next. Muster a fake apology to Selma? Deny, deny, deny? The answers escaped her. All she could do was stare at the redheaded Horse & Rider reporter and wonder what she was scribbling on her yellow legal pad.

  “Well, Massie? Are you responsible for this?” Lill asked in her shaky old-lady voice.

  “Nope,” Massie answered with wide who-me? eyes.

  Lill exhaled sharply. “Well, if an individual doesn’t take responsibility, I’m going to have to disqualify the entire team for cheating.”

  “It’s better than losing,” Massie muttered under her breath.

  “But I rode sidesaddle!” Selma stomped her foot.

  “And I haven’t even gone yet!” Jacqueline inched up next to Selma in solidarity.

  “Well, then, will someone please tell me who did this?”

  “She did!” Jacqueline and Selma shouted, their white-gloved fingers pointing straight at Massie’s heart.

  “You can’t blame this whole thing on me!” She stared into their scorn-filled eyes. How dare they blame her for doing the only thing a true leader would do?

  And then everything went quiet; the rustling leaves, the chirping birds, and even the clip-clop of Whitney’s horse. The crowd glared at her; the staff looked disappointed, the campers shocked and disgusted. Not a single friendly palm lifted to high-five her ingenuity.

  Finally, the reporter’s muted snicker broke the silence. Everyone turned to face the slender redhead. “Sorry.” She giggled. “But I think it’s actually quite clever.”

  The reporter’s smile widened. And Massie felt whole again.

  She would get her cover after all.

  “I think the glue is giving me a rash.” Selma scratched her exposed bottom. “Wait until I tell my grandfather.”

  “There’s no need for that, is there?” Lill quickly dabbed her powder-covered forehead with a folded yellow linen hankie.

  “There will be”—Selma smirked—“if she’s still around.” She pointed at Massie again.

  “Don’t you wanna hear my side of the story?” Massie asked, winking at the reporter.

  “Your side of the story is over,” Lill huffed. She tucked her mousy hair behind a pointy ear. “You have one hour to gather your things.” Then she turned to the reporter. “And if one word of this is printed in your magazine, I will see to it that Mr. Galwaugh takes his advertising dollars straight to Fashionable Filly.”

  The reporter click-closed her blue Bank of America pen and dropped it in her beige Horse & Rider canvas tote.

  “Wait… .” Massie searched for a friendly face.

  But everyone slowly backed away. Even the Horse & Rider reporter—the one person who’d understood heringenuity in the face of a challenge.

  She hurried toward Brownie and hoisted herself into the saddle before the pre-tears pinch behind her eyes turned into full-blown sobs of humiliation.

  “I was wrong, B,” She told her horse as she cued him to leave. “Losing isn’t bad.” She cantered past her ex-friends, leaving them behind in a cloud of dust. “It’s awful.”

  GALWAUGH FARMS SLEEPAWAY RIDING CAMP

  HORSE STALL A

  Monday June 8

  12:06 P.M.

  “Wait up!” Jacqueline called from Zac Efron. “I said I was sorry!”

  Massie checked her side-gloss mirror. Zac and Jacqueline were at least five stretch-limo lengths behind Brownie, galloping up the rocky trail. And Whitney and Oreo were two more behind them.

  “Let’s go,” she muttered in Brownie’s ear, then leaned forward and triple-tapped his leg. The horse picked up speed and didn’t stop until they were inside the stable.

  Massie jumped down, hitched her horse to the side of the wood stable, and then raced to the open barn door. She gripped it with both hands and leaned forward, using all of her weight to slide it shut. Then she kicked it with her black Hermès riding boot. Her eyes filled with tears—not because she’d scuffed the black leather, or because she’d been asked to leave Galwaugh after six years
of riding excellence, but because Jacqueline and Whitney, her summer GLUs,* had betrayed her. And that hurt more than her throbbing big toe.

  * GLU = Girls Like Us. Though really, only the Pretty Committee could be truly considered GLUs. Whitney and Jacqueline were hot-weather friends only, the kind that, after classes started, Massie might see once, maybe twice. They’d try to hold on with e-mails and JPEG swaps but would quickly realize it wasn’t the same without horses. These girls were Forever 21 Friends—poor quality that didn’t last.

  “Open up!” Jacqueline banged from the other side of the heavy wooden door.

  Massie dried her eyes on the velvet sleeves of her blazer. Salt was terrible for the material, but so what? The entire outfit had been exposed to friendship betrayal and was now soiled for life. It was dead to her. Just like—

  “What about me?” Whitney whined. “I wasn’t even there.”

  “Go away!” she called, and meant it. It wasn’t like a fight with her real friends on the Pretty Committee.

  “We’ll make Selma call her grandfather and have him—”

  “It’s too late, Jacqueline.” Massie unclipped the strap on her Galwaugh Girls helmet and tossed it into a murky water trough. “You’re supposed to have my back, not stab it.” Massie pressed her ear against the barn door, listening for their response.

  “Forget her,” Whitney’s muffled voice told Jacqueline. “Let’s hurry back to the cabin and get her shelves before Selma does.”

  Seconds later, they giggle-galloped away on their horses.

  Massie faced the door, numb with disbelief. The clip-clopping sounds of Oreo and Zac Efron faded and then vanished completely,

  Pore-clogging dust particles hung in the light-streaked stable air, but Massie walked through it without concern. She would have plenty of time for facials now—a reality that was still sinking in. Thoughts of angry parents, summers without Galwaugh, and too much free time drifted in and out of her mind, each one competing to be the thing that drove her to tears. But she refused to give Lill or Selma or the Forever 21 GLUs that much power. Massie Block was stronger than that. Way stronger.

  Until she made eye contact with Brownie.

  He batted his gold-glitter lashes and sighed peacefully when she wrapped her arms around his warm neck.