Riding on Air

by Maggie Gilbert

  I drew a shaky breath and blinked sweat out of my eyes, thinking that, all things considered, that had gone fairly well. I turned Jinx towards the gate and palmed his sweat-darkened neck with a grimace. He was going to need hosing down to clean him up, although his breathing was slowing, a good sign that his basic fitness was still pretty good. I looked up and saw William opening the gate for us. For a moment I’d forgotten he was there.

  “Nearly lost him,” I said as I rode Jinx through the gate. William glanced at me briefly, his expression hard to read, and without a word to me, turned around to close the gate.

  Uh oh. I didn’t want to stop Jinx, who was hot and sweating and needed walking a bit until he cooled down, so I kept going, turning in the saddle to look back at William.

  William turned back from the gate and waved me off. “I’ll meet you at the tack room,” he said. I nodded to show I’d heard him and turned around, steering Jinx out into the lane. Whatever was bugging William, maybe it hadn’t anything to do with me. Just my usual paranoia at work.

  Chapter 15

  It seems my paranoia in this instance wasn’t misplaced.

  William waited until we’d got Jinx unsaddled and cleaned up and all the gear put away; something he did the lion’s share of without even asking. He just did what needed to be done. I came out of the paddock where I’d let Jinx go and went to stand beside William as he closed the gate. I watched Jinx fold his knees and lower himself to the ground for a roll, absent-mindedly sliding the halter and lead up my forearm so I didn’t have to hold it in my hand.

  Wordlessly, William took hold of the halter and slid it carefully off, holding it in one hand.

  “Thanks,” I said warmly. “And thanks so much for all your help with Jinx, getting him ready and then hosing him off and everything.”

  William coiled the lead into his palm, looking down at the red and white striped cotton and my tatty old faded-blue halter. I noticed again that he had eyelashes most girls would kill for, thick and long and dark. I was standing close enough to see that they were a goldy-brown on the ends, bleached lighter by all the time he spent out in the sun. Just like the thick waves of bronze-tinted dark hair that curled away from his sun-browned neck. I longed to run my fingers through that hair again, but the fiery ache in my knuckles warned me off trying it just now. A bubble of fear rose up inside me and I squashed it quickly. This was just a bad flare, that was all. I’d been banging my hands around too much. It would get better if I just gritted it out like I always had.

  “I think you need to get Gary or Brendan to ride that horse.”

  “What horse?” I asked, brain sluggishly trying to process what seemed like a random comment. “Jinx?”

  “He’s way too full of himself at the moment.”

  “He’s just a bit fresh,” I said dismissively.

  “He got away on you, just like he did last weekend at pony club.” William looked up and his dark blue eyes pinned me. “And, I suppose, just like he did at camp when he dumped you on the cross country course.”

  Prickly heat crept up my neck and flushed my cheeks. I couldn’t hold that blue gaze. I lowered my eyes and scuffed at the dirt with my riding boot, feeling his eyes still on me, judging me. My stomach folded into an origami shape and then rolled over to play dead, leaving me nauseated, strained and horrified that William had all of a sudden fallen off his Ideal Boyfriend pedestal. Taken a headlong dive, more like it.

  How dare he criticise my horse or the way I rode him? And how dare he do it in a way that brushed so closely to my deeply-hidden fears that I couldn’t think how to defend myself? Hot with betrayal, stomach churning, I stood and simmered and wished I was anywhere but there as I tried to think of something to say.

  “Melissa,” William said gently, “I’m not picking on you or Jinx. I’m just worried, that’s all.”

  “About what?” I asked, cautiously relieved to have some kind of response to make.

  “About you getting hurt. You were lucky not to have broken anything on that fall at camp. It was pretty nasty.”

  I frowned. “How do you know?”

  To my intense surprise, William’s denim gaze slithered away from mine and it was his turn to go red with fluster.

  “Did you check up on me?” I demanded.

  “No, no. I saw Sally at the dance and she mentioned it had been a real bruiser.”

  “Sally.”

  “Yeah, you know, your squad leader. Sally.”

  “Sally,” I repeated. “At the dance.” I knew very well who Sally was. Sally of the perfect hair and hands and perky C-cup or bigger boobs. Jealousy jumped into the mix to start a little party with the anger and anxiety already twisting my stomach and I had to swallow against a rush of bitter bile. Since last night I had a new appreciation for how important boobs really were to a guy. That at least had been no urban myth. And no way could I compete with Sally in the boobs department.

  William looked up, perhaps alerted by the tone of my voice. No doubt I sounded as green with jealousy as my insides felt. The thought of Sally dancing with him at the camp dance I’d been absent from, oh so casually bumping her hips into his—ugh.

  “Don’t tell me you’re jealous of Sally,” William said and grinned.

  “Don’t be stupid,” I snapped, snatching the halter out of his hand, not caring that it hurt my joints. I was too angry to worry about the price I’d have to pay for that tiny moment of temper. I’d deal with it later. I should have stuck to being pissed off with him for picking on Jinx.

  There was like an unspoken agreement between all the kids I knew. You could disagree with someone’s taste in music, actors or movies. You could argue about politics, sex, religion, clothes, hairstyles and relationships. You could rubbish your friends even though you wouldn’t let anyone else do it and you could even (carefully) diss boyfriends and mutual friends. Brothers and sisters were fair game. But you could never criticise someone’s Mum or Dad and, if you were horsey, you could never ever say anything bad about a friend’s horse, even if it was ugly, disobedient, untalented and in the habit of kicking innocent bystanders and biting small children. William had crossed that line and I was still reeling. And now he was admitting to flirting with the one girl guaranteed to give me nightmares. He had to know how insecure I was.

  “You are jealous,” William said, laughing.

  I stared at him for a long painful moment with, I’m sure, my mouth literally hanging open and then I turned around and stomped down the lane, muttering obscenities as I went.

  “Hey, stop, I’m sorry,” William called and then I heard the light thuds of his boots on the grassy lane as he ran to catch up. “Melissa, wait.” His hand closed gently on my upper arm and I stopped short.

  It was the gentleness that did it. Even flustered and running after me he could remember to be careful. It struck me then how he was always careful, but in such an unobvious way that I’d started to take it for granted, even when I had realised he knew where it was safe to touch me. It usually annoyed me when people where careful, because they couldn’t help making a big production of it and they were awkward and embarrassed, and so was I. But when William did it, I felt completely different. I felt—cherished.

  I looked down at his hand on my arm, acutely aware of the warmth and weight of it, even more conscious of the responses it provoked in my body, from the prickling of my skin to a faster heart rate. William had always made me feel clumsy and obvious. That first time I’d catch sight of him when he was visiting my brothers, riding past at polocrosse or whenever, would inevitably tie my stomach in knots. But being with him like this, this put me in an almost constant state of gut-churning nervous anxiety. I didn’t understand how he could affect me so much.

  My knees quivered and I braced the muscles in the fronts of my thighs, locking my knees so he wouldn’t be able to see my legs shaking. There’s no hiding anything in jodhpurs. Fantastically comfortable to ride in but totally unflattering if you’re not on a horse; they’re a complete l
oss in the fashion stakes (yes, despite occasional and unfortunate trends).

  “I’m sorry, I guess I shouldn’t have laughed. But I can’t believe you’d be jealous of anyone, let alone Sally.”

  “She’s heaps prettier than me.”

  “What, is this a girl crush of some kind?”

  “Huh? No way.”

  “Just as ridiculous as thinking I fancied her.”

  “Most guys do.”

  “I’m not most guys.”

  I was silent. I totally agreed with him on that score, which made it really hard to keep up my end of the argument.

  “Sorry,” I said, following my usual policy.

  “Don’t be. I like it that you’re jealous.” He put his other arm around me, pressing his fingers against my back. I was wearing an old polo shirt and I could feel a distinct impression from each finger, splayed out against my spine like a starfish.

  “You d—do?” I almost yelped the last word as his fingers burrowed under the hem of my shirt to go strolling across the bare sweaty skin of my back. I wriggled, aware that I’d just got off my horse and was sweaty and stinky, which he might find a bit of a turn off.

  “Yes,” he said, pulling me closer. I stared up at him, yielding to the pressure of his hands on my skin, deciding that if he didn’t mind a rumpled girl who smelled of sweat and dirt and horse then I was good with it.

  “Why?” I breathed, mesmerised as he lowered his face towards mine.

  “Because the only girl I fancy,” he said, moving closer, “the only girl I’ve ever fancied, is you.”

  He kissed me then, stealing away my breath and my mind. Any thoughts I might have had about Sally flew right out of my head.

  Chapter 16

  “You know, Eleni, if you didn’t want to ride Jinx you could have just told Melissa that. She wouldn’t have minded, would you?”

  “Shut up,” I replied at exactly the same time Eleni did. We grinned at each other, although Eleni’s grin was definitely a bit ratty around the edges. She sat awkwardly on the edge of her bed, the afternoon sunlight streaming in through her bay window—something I totally drooled over every time I was here in her room—only showing just how tired and strung out she looked. Which was hardly surprising considering she’d busted her collarbone that afternoon. Her face was about as white as the sling holding her left arm bent up near the top of her right shoulder.

  “You look awful,” I said without thinking and Tash burst out laughing.

  “Sorry,” I added, mortification setting my face on fire.

  “It’s OK, I feel awful,” Eleni said. She was even talking gingerly, as if just speaking hurt her.

  “Didn’t they give you any decent drugs?” Tash asked, prowling around the room as usual. Her too-long jeans, now that she’d left her boots down by the front door, swished on the polished floorboards. I stared at Tash’s feet as she passed me, envious of the electric blue polish she’d painted her toenails with. She saw me looking and stopped in the middle of Eleni’s braided rug. She stuck her foot out. “You like?”

  “Oh yeah,” I said.

  “Want me to do your nails the same?”

  “When?”

  “I’ve got the polish in my bag,” Tash said and went to rummage.

  I turned my attention back to Eleni, not entirely sure I wanted my fingernails electric blue right that minute but knowing any such debate with Tash was a lost cause before I even began. Besides, painting my own nails was impossible these days; I couldn’t close my fingers enough to do it without making a horrendous mess. And anyway, if I decided I didn’t like it Jennie would take it off for me when I got home.

  “Did they give you anything?” I asked Eleni.

  “Nah. We’ve got some stuff leftover from when Mum had that tooth out and that’s all they were gonna give me anyway.”

  “Is it bad?”

  “As if she’d tell you if it was,” Tash said, approaching with a sparkly blue bottle in her hand. I noticed her fingernails were a gorgeous silvery burgundy colour.

  “Ooh, have you got that one with you?”

  “Nah, sorry. Still want the blue?”

  “OK.”

  “Sit here then.” Tash grabbed a pile of books off the chair at Eleni’s desk and jerked her head imperiously. With another shared grin with Eleni, I sat down and arranged my hands the way Tash wanted them.

  “What do you mean?” I said, my brain glomming on to what Tash had said a few sentences ago. “Why wouldn’t she tell me?”

  Tash snorted and gave me the eyeball briefly before looking carefully back at the bottle of polish as she unscrewed the lid. “We both know what kind of pain you live with. We’d have to lose a limb before we’d dare complain.”

  I didn’t say anything, keeping my eyes on Tash’s movements as she began to glide glossy blue onto my fingernails with delicate, deft strokes of the tiny brush. I was silenced by a sudden rush of resentment, not just for the disease that swelled my knuckles into irregular blobs but also for making my friends feel like I held their injuries and illnesses to ransom. A rare rush of almost-loathing had temporarily stolen my words, I was so freaking jealous that Tash’s long nimble fingers could grip that tiny, tiny brush and put polish on my nails with such delicate precision. I would never, ever be able to do that, short of some miraculous scientific breakthrough.

  I made myself speak, eventually. “You don’t ever have to do that, you know. I would never compare, I’d never think—”

  “We know,” Eleni interrupted tiredly. “If I wasn’t so sore right now I’d kick you, Tash.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Ever hear of engaging brain before opening mouth?”

  Tash gave Eleni a puzzled, slanting look. She blew on my nails, her breath cool on my knuckles. Her forehead wrinkled as she obviously, strenuously puzzled over what Eleni meant.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said.

  “Yeah, you’ll hurt yourself,” Eleni said and she sounded so little-old-ladyish that I snorted laughter.

  “Careful!” Tash paused, glistening end of the brush poised above my right thumb.

  “Sorry,” I said, subsiding. I glanced over at Eleni and smiled. She returned it and despite the sun washing out her olive skin and the painful way she held herself, she looked so beautiful sitting among the patchwork quilts and pillows. I knew better than to tell her, though. She’d never believe me.

  “You’ve got such strong healthy nails,” Tash said, “but god you could do with a manicure. Why don’t you look after them?”

  Eleni and I looked at each other a bit wildly and Eleni’s face twitched horribly.

  “Don’t laugh, jeez, Melissa, don’t. It’ll hurt too much,” she mumbled.

  “No,” I said shortly, clamping my lips together.

  Tash looked up, brush poised in the air.

  “What?” she said.

  Eleni did laugh then and ended up with tears streaming down her face because it did hurt, but in a good way, she said. I wasn’t sure I believed her, but I didn’t argue. I knew all the tricks to put people off when they asked you how much it hurt. I knew when someone was using them too, so I wasn’t going to argue with Eleni. She mostly gave me the same courtesy.

  “I still can’t believe you did this to yourself falling off your bike.”

  “Me either.”

  “What on earth were you doing riding a bike anyway? You hate it. You haven’t been on a bike since we were little.”

  Eleni’s face shifted rapidly from greyed-out white to hot pink. Tash glanced at me and then back at Eleni. She put the nail polish brush back into the bottle and carefully screwed on the top. “Don’t move a muscle or you’ll smudge,” she said to me before swinging around to stare accusingly at Eleni.

  “Don’t give me that look.”

  “So don’t tell me you were riding the stupid bike trying to lose weight.”

  “Nothing wrong with exercise.”

  “You have an event horse in full work. You don’t need
any more exercise than that, surely.”

  Eleni’s blush deepened.

  “I keep getting puffed on the cross-country,” she said, shamefaced. “Iris wants me to shape up a bit so I can ride Ace better all the way to the finish.”

  Tash opened her mouth and shut it again. Iris, Eleni’s instructor, was a screaming tyrant but Eleni wouldn’t hear a bad word about her. And her loyalty was mostly justified; she’d been with Iris since she was little and it was largely thanks to the demanding instructor that Eleni had got where she was, which was pretty far already.

  “What’s Iris gonna say about a broken collarbone, hmm?”

  Eleni’s face took on a series of odd shapes as she seemed to consider and discard a number of responses.

  “Probably something like ‘How long until you can ride?’,” Eleni said eventually.

  “More like ‘stupid cow’ I bet,” Tash snorted.

  “Tash,” I said and she just shrugged her slender shoulders irritably.

  The thing about Tash was she wasn’t stupid. She could seem dumb, the way she’d just come out with what everyone else was thinking and carefully not saying, and because she was blonde and gorgeous, people made assumptions. But she wasn’t thick and she wasn’t even really insensitive. She just had no patience for bullshit. In any quantity or variety.

  “You’re probably right, as usual,” Eleni said. “She’ll tell me off for falling off the bike even though she suggested it in the first place.”

  We nodded agreement. Neither Tash nor I said anything comforting about that not being fair, Tash because she was a realist and me because I knew it didn’t make any difference. Whether something was fair or not didn’t have any impact on what you felt about it or how it affected you.

  It wasn’t fair that Eleni had fallen while riding her bike—something we’d all been doing without injury since we were in kindergarten—and had broken her collarbone. It wasn’t fair that she now would have to scratch from competitions she’d already paid entry fees and stabling for, or that her instructor would be annoyed about the setback in their training. It was particularly unfair that she’d broken the collarbone on the wrong side and although she wasn’t able to ride, she was still going to have to go to school, which really sucked. I thought she could probably talk her Mum out of that one, though, at least for the rest of this week.