Ever.
At my old schools, I’d always been too busy with riding. It had been my only priority. Riding was still my primary focus, but I’d always secretly wanted to sing and perform. My first day at Yates, I’d noticed an audition sheet by the guidance counselor’s office. I walked past the sheet at least six times before I’d finally scribbled Lauren Towers on the paper, below dozens of other names. The chance to be part of an activity that depended solely on me and not a thousand-pound animal had sounded so exciting—so different. Riding had always been a fifty-fifty thing—part of my performance depended on me and the other part was up to my horse. But with something like glee club, whether I sang well or not, was all in my control.
I’d auditioned for Mr. Benson, singing a few lines from one of my favorite songs—“Begin Again.”
Mr. Benson had thanked me politely—he hadn’t given the tiniest hint if I’d made it or not. He just told all of the people who’d auditioned to come back the next day after class. Then he’d told us we’d all done a wonderful job and that if he called our name, we’d made it. When Mr. Benson called my name, I’d almost fallen off the stage. The girl who’d thought she was only good at one thing—and maybe not even that—had been chosen for glee club! To sing and dance in the spotlight. I’d been ecstatic.
Now Mr. Benson sat in front of the piano, his fingers flying over the keys. I reminded myself to stay focused on energy and when we started singing, Jared started clapping and got the whole group’s energy up. I was grateful.
Jared, our glee club leader, always gave extra energy to the group even on the longest, gloomiest days. He was so friendly and he always gave advice to anyone who needed it—he wasn’t a solo hog. Jared wanted our entire club to do well and he never acted like he had the best voice, even though he did. He could sing anything—his range was incredible.
Our voices did that magic thing where they all just seemed to melt together, and when we finished the song, we fell silent, looking to Mr. Benson for his opinion. But even before his face broke into a smile, we all knew we’d nailed it—thanks to Jared.
“That’s exactly what I was hoping to hear, guys,” Mr. Benson said. He bowed his head to us, slapping a palm on top of the piano with excitement. “As long as you keep practicing on your own over the summer, we’ll be ready to start competing in the fall. We’ll keep in touch via a locked glee club message board that I’ve been working on. We have something to discuss already: It’s time to decide on a name for our club.”
“Cool!” Jared said. “It’s about time we got a name.”
I smiled along with Jared and everyone else, but part of my happy look was fake. I loved the club and I’d been a member all year, but would I be here when we got a name? Or when we started competing? My feelings about Canterwood versus Yates changed daily. One day, all I wanted was to be a student at what looked like my dream school. The next, I wanted to stay where I felt comfortable—where I fit in and had friends and was even popular.
A place I could excel even if . . . even if I could never jump again. I loved riding, but I didn’t know if going back to a life of equestrian competition was what I wanted. Sometimes, I thought it was. Other times, I wanted everyone to forget that I was a “good” dressage rider and I thought I’d be happy just pleasure riding Cricket from now on.
Would the right decision be to start all over again and risk everything at a brand new school? Was it wrong if I started feeling comfortable enough at Yates to be just another normal student—one who studied hard and got good grades and did nothing but safe, fun glee club after school? No one shouting at me about confidence, or moving past bad memories. Would it be so wrong to be part of an ensemble for once rather than to ride solo?
You’re getting ahead of yourself. You don’t even know if you got in. So stop obsessing until you get an answer—which will very, VERY likely be thanks, but no thanks.
But when I got home, I couldn’t help myself—I walked over to the wire mail bin where whoever checked the mail placed it for everyone else to look through. Dad’s mail was already gone and Becca had a card from Gram in a bright orange envelope.
Nothing for me.
I stared at the basket for a while—not sure if I was disappointed or kind of glad that there was nothing from Canterwood.
DESIGNER BOOTS TO FILL
THE FINAL VERTICAL LOOMED IN FRONT OF me during Wednesday’s group riding lesson. It looked higher than any jump I’d ever attempted. Sure, I’d cleared fences higher than the approaching blue rails before. But ever since I’d applied to Canterwood Crest Academy months ago, the jumps—and the stakes—had gotten higher.
“Lauren!” Kim, my riding instructor, called across the outdoor arena. “Tighten your reins and slow Cricket. She’s trying to rush the last jump.”
Come on, I told myself. You’re supposed to be Lauren Towers. You should be able to do this stuff.
I pushed my weight into the saddle to signal the Welsh-Cob pony mix to slow. Jumping wasn’t my strongest area, but it was Cricket’s. The school horse, sweet and, more important, smart, knew just when to try and catch me off guard.
Cricket hesitated, almost as if trying to decide whether or not to listen. She could be a little hard to handle sometimes, but that had been Kim’s intention when I’d come to Briar Creek. She’d wanted to challenge me by giving me Cricket to ride. I’d disagreed at first, especially after . . . no, NOT thinking about that now. I shut the memory out of my brain and tried to focus on my ride.
Cricket’s small hooves churned up the arena dirt and she tossed her head, not wanting to slow. I did a half-halt, but Cricket surged ahead. Panic rippled in my stomach.
It didn’t help that a group of students gathered along the fence, watching my ride. At the opposite end of the arena, I spotted Ana, offering me silent support. Brielle hadn’t been able to make it today because she had to babysit.
In my head, I could hear Ana yelling at me, telling me these were the basics and I should have this. There was no excuse—I was making beginner mistakes.
“Lauren! Get Cricket’s attention!” Kim shouted.
I could feel my face getting red. Everyone’s eyes were on me and the last thing I wanted was to mess up in front of them.
We were strides away from the jump and I was too nervous to relax. In my mind, the handful of people watching turned into a crowd and they were judging my ride. The jump rushed toward us at a dizzying pace and fear took over. Spots swam in front of my eyes. This was almost like before.
I yanked Cricket’s right rein, turning her away from the jump. The sudden sideways movement almost tossed me out of the saddle. Frustrated, Cricket threw her head in the air and half-bucked as I cantered her far away from the jump. I gripped as hard as I could with my knees, fighting to stay on.
I slowed her to a trot and, finally, a walk. My heartbeat seemed to slow the farther away from the jump we got.
“Lauren,” Kim said my name again. She walked over to Cricket and me. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “I’m sorry. I—I couldn’t do it.”
I didn’t look at anyone who was watching. But I was sure they were all whispering about what had happened. That was one of the worst performances I’d had in a long time. I was supposed to be the Lauren Towers. Now everyone probably thought I was a joke.
“Everyone else is finished, so I’d like you to cool and groom Cricket, then come by my office. Okay?” Kim asked.
I nodded.
Kim touched my shoulder, then turned to address the other riders. But I didn’t hear her. It was like a silent movie. Everyone dismounted and started toward the stable. I watched Ana hand her horse to one of the girls who’d been watching and then make her way toward me.
I dismounted, patting Cricket’s neck.
“We’ll get it next time, girl. Promise,” I said. We’d jumped a million times before—I had to keep reminding myself of that. But it wasn’t easy.
I took off my helmet. The warm May air had made my long, dark bro
wn hair stick to my forehead. I let my hair down and then gathered the natural waves into a ponytail. Afterward, I loosened Cricket’s girth and started to lead her in a circle.
“Is everything okay?” Ana asked, reaching me. Her eyes were wide with worry.
“I was so ridiculous,” I said. “Cricket was set to jump and I stopped her. I . . . got scared.”
“That’s okay,” Ana said. “You have every right to be nervous about jumping.” She ran her fingers through her light brown hair. “But what matters is that you don’t beat yourself up and that you remember you have done this before. And really well!”
“Everyone’s probably in the stable laughing at me,” I said.
“No, they’re not,” Ana said firmly. “Don’t worry about that. Next time you jump, you’re going to fly over it without a problem. I know it.”
I smiled a little. Ana had been one of my biggest cheerleaders since I’d started at Briar Creek.
“I’ll be ready next time,” I said. I tried to make sure what I said sounded like a statement and not a question.
Ana nodded. “You so will be.”
Ana stayed with me for a few more minutes before her mom came to pick her up. Before she’d left, Ana had switched the subject to the weird mystery smell in homeroom. She’d made me laugh and I’d gotten past my bad ride with Ana’s help. I had conquered a lot of jumps since my accident, and just because I hadn’t today didn’t mean I was a failure.
I walked Cricket out of the arena and past the wooden fence boards that had been painted a light brown last month. Kim had been busy making all kinds of repairs to the only riding stable in town.
I hadn’t been living in Union, Connecticut long, but since I’d been here, Briar Creek had become my oasis. It had given me what I’d needed—an escape and time off from competition. It had also taught me how to really love horses again.
Kim had played a huge role in the way I felt about Briar Creek. She was one of the best instructors I’d ever had. The most exciting part about Kim was that she’d taught the stable’s star, Sasha Silver, all she’d needed to know to leave Briar Creek and get into Canterwood Crest Academy.
Kim, familiar with the process because of Sasha, had helped me with my application. I’d sent transcripts from Yates, a DVD I’d made of myself riding, and two letters of recommendation—one from Kim and the other from my French II teacher.
I asked Kim to tell me everything she knew about the equestrian team at Canterwood. Kim told me everything, especially about how tough the instructor, Mr. Conner, was on his students.
The biggest shock had been when Kim told me that I’d been here when Sasha had come to visit one day. Sasha Silver had been on the grounds and I hadn’t even known it. I wondered if she’d seen me.
That’s why I’d been checking the mailbox every day since January fourth. Every day since I’d applied to Canterwood Crest.
Briar Creek was so different from Canterwood. Kim was the only instructor here and there were riders of every level and age. A few adult riders schooled young horses in the metal, orange round pens that Kim had spaced out on the grassy sides of the drive.
A college-age girl smiled down at me from her black-and-white Appaloosa as she headed out for the trails. That’s where I wished I was going—anywhere but Kim’s office to talk.
It couldn’t be good and my gut felt knotted. Maybe Kim wanted to take back her recommendation letter.
I untacked, groomed, fed, and watered Cricket, then led her into her stall. She took a dainty sip of water before turning around in the deep sawdust to grab a bite of hay.
Reluctant to leave her, I walked down the quiet aisle to Kim’s office. I wished that Ana or Brielle could come in with me. I reached Kim’s office and tapped my fingers against her half-open door.
“Come in,” she said.
I smiled as best I could and sat in the chair across from her. Behind Kim, photos and paintings of her beloved horses covered the reddish-brown walls. Her tiny office had a cluttered desk, an overflowing metal file cabinet, and multicolored ribbons strung along the wall. There was a shelf of trophies and the biggest one wasn’t hard to miss. Its shiny gold gleamed, and the name etched on to the plaque was familiar to everyone here—Sasha Silver.
“Lauren, don’t look so down,” Kim said, smiling at me.
“I’m sorry about the jump,” I said. “It’s not going to happen every time.”
Kim folded her hands into a steeple on her desk. “Of course it’s not—you’re a good jumper. And I’m not upset with you. But I want to talk to you for a second about something else.” She paused. “About Canterwood.”
The words sent my heartbeat into overdrive. I nodded.
“As I’ve said many times before, I believe you’re a perfect candidate for the school. But Lauren, I can tell as decision time gets closer that your nerves are affecting your ride.”
I lowered my head. She was right.
“We are so privileged to have you here at Briar Creek,” Kim said. “It’s been an honor to have you as a student. But when I first found out that you were coming, we talked. And you told me you’d come for one reason. . . .”
I swallowed, not wanting to think about it.
Kim stared at me expectantly, waiting for me to continue her thought.
“I came to get away from being Lauren Towers,” I said. “The nationally ranked junior dressage champion. I came to learn what loving riding meant again. And I have.” I smiled. “You gave me that back.”
Kim’s happy expression matched mine, but I knew she wanted me to continue. To voice the one thing I’d purposefully left unsaid.
I took a breath. “And . . . I came to get my confidence back after my jumping accident.”
Just saying the words was as far as my brain would let me go. I wasn’t ready to think about it yet. To relive any of it. Any of the sounds, or smells, or worse than anything, the feeling. The total loss of control—the helplessness.
“Confidence that was there all along,” Kim said. “Since your family moved to Union, you’ve done nothing but move forward. You’re incredibly talented for most riders—let alone a twelve-year-old.”
“Thank you,” I said. “But when I think about my application to Canterwood, I get scared all over again.”
Kim’s smile was gentle. “You know who else was terrified when she applied to Canterwood?”
I shook my head. “Who?”
“Sasha,” Kim said. “She talked to me almost every day about how scared she was.”
“Sasha Silver? Really?” I couldn’t believe the superstar rider, only a year older than me, had been nervous about going to Canterwood. I’d watched dozens of DVDs of her shows—Kim had always used her as an example whenever she wanted to encourage my riding class.
“Really. She almost didn’t go to Canterwood because she was worried that she wouldn’t measure up to the other riders,” Kim said.
She glanced up at a picture of Sasha and her horse on the wall. “But she couldn’t stay here,” Kim continued. “Briar Creek was her home for a little while. But it was really just a bridge to Canterwood. That’s what I hope it will be for you. You’re ready to compete again, Lauren. The only way to quiet your fears is to face them.”
I was still for a moment before I responded. “I guess I’ll know in a few weeks if I’m ready or not, huh?”
“Either way,” Kim said. “It’s time for you to stop worrying and go enjoy the rest of your weekend! Who knows—you may not have many more of them left here.”
“You sound so confident, like you’re sure I’ll get in.”
“Your application was strong,” Kim said. “Especially your DVD.”
“This might be completely out of line,” I said. “But did you tell them about my jumping problem?”
Kim nodded. “I did.”
Those two words had sealed Canterwood’s decision. There was no way I was getting in now.
I held back tears, refusing to cry in Kim’s office.
&nb
sp; “Lauren,” Kim’s voice was soft. “I told them you’re working past your accident and that you’re getting stronger with every jump you take. An experience like you had will make you a stronger applicant in their eyes. You’ve overcome so much to get where you are.”
But I barely heard what Kim said. My application to Canterwood had gone right in the trash—I knew it. And my DVD? The one Kim had said was “strong”? That was a giant fake. I’d practiced and practiced and practiced on camera, then had taken the footage home to watch it. I’d chosen the segment of tape where I’d done my absolute best and erased the rest of the footage. There weren’t any outtakes to erase at Canterwood.
“ . . . so don’t think that what you’re working through is going to prevent you from being accepted,” Kim said when I finally tuned in again. “The instructor will see a talented all-around rider who needs practice—like you’re doing every day—to do well at your sport.”
I nodded, forcing myself to smile. I didn’t want Kim to think I was ungrateful—she was busy enough and she’d taken time to write me a recommendation.
“Thanks, Kim,” I said. “You’re right. And I better go—my dad’s probably waiting.”
Kim’s lips parted, like she wanted to say something, but she let me go.
Outside the stable, an odd sense of relief came over me. At least I knew for sure what Canterwood’s answer was going to be. The only thing I’d be checking the mailbox for now was an official rejection.
In the distance, I watched a chestnut graze. He made me think of Sasha’s horse, Charm. Sasha’s going to remain the only Union girl at Canterwood, I thought. She had left some giant Ariat boots to fill, but I was definitely not going to be doing that at Canterwood.
LAUREN TOWERS KNOWS STYLE
DAD AND I TALKED NONSTOP THE ENTIRE drive home from Briar Creek. I’d kept up the chatter and steered clear of anything Canterwood related. I’d always known in my gut that I wouldn’t get in, so the confirmation hadn’t been too disappointing. I was glad, even. Right . . . ?
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