As we pulled into our driveway, Dad reached over and squeezed my hand. His cool blue eyes, the same shade as mine, were steady. I loved that our eyes matched even though he was my stepdad. My real dad had died when I was a just baby and Gregg was the only—and best—dad I’d ever known.
“I know you better than you think, Laur-Bell,” Dad said. He put his sunglasses on top of his head. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I said. “Totally fine.”
Dad glanced at me before putting our black SUV in park and turning off the ignition. “Totally fine, huh? You’re sure nothing’s wrong?” Dad prompted, his tone gentle.
“I was just . . . talking to Kim about Canterwood. I really don’t think I’m going to get in, but I knew that already.”
Before Dad could continue the conversation, I opened the door, hauled my riding bag out with me, and hopped out. The more I said the school’s name, the more I realized I was a little more upset than I’d told myself I was. But you never counted on being accepted in the first place, so stop it, I scolded myself. Focus on something else.
I looked at our new house as we approached it. We’d moved a few hours north to Union from Brooklyn, and having a house felt massive compared to our old apartment. On the outside, the five-bedroom home was light with dark gray stones all the way from the bottom of the doorway to the white peak of the roof. Near the peak, a window in the attic stared over the lawn. The rest of the house had eggshell-colored siding, and a three-car garage sat off to the right. Along the landing, shrubs flourished in the dark soil that our gardener had just churned up and the leafy greens added a pop of color in front of the gray house. The grass, trimmed low from our lawn service, made the house look tidy and perfect. I followed Dad along our sidewalk, past the small black lampposts that lined either side and up two white-brick stairs to the front door.
Through the gold-etched glass, I could see Mom coming to open the door as Dad fumbled in his pocket for his keys.
“Hi, guys,” Mom said, pulling open the door. Her honey-colored hair was back in a skinny gray headband. She had a white V-neck T-shirt over Michael Kors black leggings and, guessing from the pen and papers in her hand, she’d just come out of her home office.
We greeted her as I took off my boots and put them in the coat closet. I pulled off my sweaty socks and dropped them in a laundry basket that was along the wall near the kitchen.
In the kitchen, I realized that Ellen, our housekeeper, must already be here.
“Any mail for me?” I asked, following Mom through the foyer. I wanted the letter, to get it over with.
“Sorry, sweetie. Nothing from Canterwood.” She put down the pile of manila folders she’d been carrying on a cherry-wood end table and took my hand. “It’s going to come, Lauren. Just have patience. Go shower and I’ll make you and Becca a snack. I’ll eat with you girls, then I’ve got to get back to my office to read a few legal briefs.”
Mom’s office was off to the side of the library. It was filled with case files and documents I couldn’t even try to understand. She was a partner at the biggest law firm outside of Union and that meant she was always working. Dad said I got my drive to work hard at riding from my mother.
I left the foyer and started up the spiral staircase, my hand gliding on the dark wooden rail. My bare feet sank into the plush beige carpet as I crept to Becca’s room.
“Hey,” I said, pausing in her doorway. There was a red-and-white polka dot swimsuit on her bed.
“You have a good lesson?” she asked.
Beautiful, blond Becca was two years older than me and we had a relationship all of my friends envied—we were sisters and best friends.
“It wasn’t the best.”
“Sorry,” Becca said. “I’m sure the next one will be better.”
Becca, sitting on her dark purple comforter, motioned for me to come into her room. She had a night table on either side of her bed, each of which held piles of brightly colored books and clear lamps with plum shades. Her room was a fun mix of deep purple and white—from the cloud-white shag rug in front of her bed to the flowy, purple velvet curtains over the windows.
“You still look down,” Becca said. “I know what this is about, Laur.”
My sister knew me too well.
“I couldn’t jump,” I said. “And Kim told Canterwood that.”
“What? No,” Becca said. “What are you talking about?”
I told Becca what Kim had told me.
“Laur, Kim did the right thing,” Becca said. “She told them that Lauren Towers is a rider who’s working on overcoming her fears. A rider who didn’t give up and one who wants to get into a school where she’ll be challenged.”
Becca smiled, shaking her head at me. “You’re so getting in. I should start helping you pack now.”
“There’s no way,” I argued. “They’ll see me as a failure. The girl who had an accident and is still afraid a year and a half later.”
“Okay, so they’ll think you’re scared. But you’re scared and jumping anyway.”
I looked at Becca—the sister who’d never lied to me and who always made me feel better. For some crazy reason, I almost believed her.
Almost.
“I mean, c’mon,” Becca said, her tone light. “When have I ever been wrong?”
Her Cheshire Cat grin made me smile—I couldn’t help it. “Oh, please,” I said, rolling my eyes and laughing.
“When you get in, I’ll be right—again. Like always. So I’d start hoping again that you see the acceptance letter soon,” Becca said.
I didn’t know if I wanted to shake Becca or hug her. She’d just raised my hopes. A teensy bit. A microscopic bit.
“I guess this is the one time I really want you to be right,” I said. “So, I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”
“Good. In the meantime, you’ve got plenty of things to do—starting with hanging out with me in the pool after we eat.”
I smiled, knowing what she was doing but letting her.
“I turned up the heater in the pool so it’s not so chilly,” Becca said. “I know Mom’s making snacks, so I’m going to eat and then work on my tan for a while. I so need someone out there or I’ll be bored.”
“I guess I can help with that,” I teased. “And my muscles are sore from riding.”
Becca’s cell phone rang and she reached over to answer it. I could tell just by the look on her face that it was her boyfriend, Grant.
I left her room and went into my own, tossing my riding clothes in the hamper and then shutting myself in my bathroom. My color scheme was very different from Becca’s. I liked softer shades and things with a delicate, classic style. My bathroom matched my bedroom—light blue and white towels, alternating in color, hung clean and fluffy on the towel rack, and the blue shower curtain with white pinstripes pulled the entire look together. Style was important to me. My fashion icons were Audrey Hepburn and Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis—two beautiful women who embraced classic American style with clean lines and gorgeous, ornate accessories, such as a pair of oversized sunglasses or a single strand of pearls.
After my shower, I changed into a red bandeau top and bikini bottoms. I threw on a white oversized tissue T-shirt and headed down to eat.
Becca, already seated at the kitchen island, had a violet Pottery Barn pool towel wrapped around her shoulders. Mom put a plate in front of each of us.
“Thanks, Mom,” Becca and I said.
Mom had put out a side of applesauce and tiny single-serving cartons of ice cream. That’s where Becca and I differed—she was a chocolate freak and I wasn’t. Phish Food for her and Dulce de Leche for me.
We ate our snacks together, and then headed through the living room and out the sliding glass doors to a maple-stained wooden deck. I tossed my towel on one of the five lawn chairs, the wooden planks warm under my feet. Off to the side, Dad’s massive—like, ridiculously huge—grill was along the wall near the door to the sauna.
Becca and I went to the pool close
t and looked for our rafts—one purple and one blue. Mom and Dad’s matching red rafts were off to the side with Charlotte’s. My older sister had left last fall to attend college at Sarah Lawrence in Bronxville, New York—outside of New York City. I missed her, but there had always been a rivalry between us. I was the athlete, the rider who had to be number one, and she was the overachiever who studied until two a.m., was in every imaginable club, and also had to be number one.
I tossed my raft into the clear water, causing ripples. Holding on to the railing, I dipped a French-manicured toe into the perfect stillness that eventually settled around the raft.
“It’s amazing,” I said. “The water feels sooo good.”
Becca started down the stairs, wading into the shallow end of the pool, swirling her fingers in the water. I walked alongside the pool to the opposite end and stepped onto the diving board, balancing with my arms out as I reached the end and sat down, dangling my legs. It felt good to be out here—away from the stable and everything related to riding and Canterwood. Plus, Becca was an expert at keeping my mind off things I didn’t want to think about.
Becca, now situated on her raft, put on her sunglasses and glanced over at me.
“It’s weird to see you out here,” she said. “But I’m glad you’re here.”
“Weird? Why?” Playfully, I kicked a bit of water in her direction.
“Lauren!” She half-sat up on her elbow, looking at me. “I’ll come up there and push you off the diving board.”
I stuck my tongue out at my older sister. “Answer my question. What’s weird about me being in the pool?”
Becca skimmed her fingertips across the top of the water. “I’m just not used to seeing you so . . . relaxed,” she said. “You’re always either at the stable or obsessing over shows. But after the . . . ” She stopped, chewing on her bottom lip. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s okay.” I realized I was making the diving board shake with my dangling feet. “I have to start talking about it sometime. It was a long time ago.”
“You don’t have to talk about it. We came out here to chill.”
I stood up, balancing on my toes at the edge of the board. “You know, you’re right.”
Without another word, I bounced up and down on the board, arching my back, then pushing off with my feet and diving into the water.
I kicked to the bottom of the deep end and touched my fingertips to the pool floor. For a few seconds, I stayed down longer than I needed. I wished the cool water could make every memory, every detail of that day vanish. But absolutely nothing could erase it.
When my lungs began to burn as if they were going to burst, I pushed up and I sucked in huge breaths as I broke the water’s surface. I wiped the water out of my eyes and swam over to my raft, ignoring the I’m-your-big-sister-and-I-know-you’re-thinking-about-it look from Becca.
“What’s Taylor doing this weekend?” Becca asked. She knew I could talk about my boyfriend for hours.
“He’s busy,” I said. “But we’re going out on Friday.”
“At least your boyfriend goes to your school,” Becca said. “Grant has swim practice today and his stepwitch is dragging him to a fancy polo match on Saturday that’ll be filled with olds and snobs.”
I shot her an apologetic glance. “But you guys must have plans for next week, right?”
“Wednesday night,” Becca confirmed. “We’re doing homework at his house and after, we’re going to see a movie.”
“Cool. That’ll be fun.”
Becca kept me talking as we floated in the pool. The more we talked, the more hopeful I felt—about my jumping skills and Canterwood. Talking about Taylor and my friends made me happy and, for the rest of the afternoon, not a single memory about my accident resurfaced.
GROOM AND GOSSIP
AFTER SCHOOL, I HURRIED UP BRIAR CREEK’S gravel driveway eager to get my lesson over with and go on a leisurely trail ride that Brielle and Ana and I had planned for after our session. We deserved it after a crazy week at school.
I spotted Cricket grazing in the pasture with a few of Kim’s school horses. Some of the fences had noticeable cribbing marks. Kim had been talking for months about how she’d get the boards replaced soon, but I liked them the way they were. It made me feel comfortable—unlike some of the chi-chi stables I’d been to before. They’d felt like a fancy house where everyone was afraid to sit on the couches or touch anything that looked as if it would cost a zillion dollars to replace.
I knew how lucky I was to have grown up like I did. My parents had always done well and provided me with whatever I needed. Competing and traveling wasn’t inexpensive and Mom and Dad had made sure I’d pitched in. I’d always groomed my own horse, cleaned stalls, and done stable chores, unlike many of my competitors. The girls who’d worked their horses to a sweat and passed them off to waiting groom had never been my friends. They thought having money made them better than everyone else, but really, it just made them people I never wanted to call friends.
I brought my bag of riding clothes into the tiny bathroom and closed the wooden door behind me, sliding the lock shut. The orange walls had tiny cracks near the ceiling, but everything was spotless. My phone chimed as I finished zipping up my heather gray Mossimo hoodie over my favorite PINK brand T-shirt—black with a red metallic heart and silver stitching. My parents had just started to let me shop the Victoria’s Secret PINK clothing and pajama line last year, and I spent almost every cent of my allowance there. The whole collection was bright and colorful with pretty, delicate designs adorned with sprays of glitter and sometimes even tiny sequins that made you look très-glam even in loungey clothes. If Audrey Hepburn were alive today, I’d bet she’d shop PINK all the time. There was something to be said for sparkling even while you slept. I was so into PINK, I even followed them on Chatter.
I grabbed my BlackBerry from my purse and opened BlackBerry messenger.
Ana:
Brielle & I r 10 mins away. U there yet?
I typed a message back.
Lauren:
Here! Grabbing Cricket from pasture & going 2 outdoor arena 2 practice. C u there.
Before I put away my phone, I typed a quick Chatter update: Abt 2 ride w @AnaArtiste & @BrielleisaBeauty. Hoping 2day’s lesson goes well! 4:28 p.m.
I got a Chat back from Ana immediately. @LaurBell 4:29 p.m.
I finished packing my school clothes into my bag and took it to my cubby in the room where students kept their stuff. Nothing had locks because we didn’t need them. At my last stable, security was so tight I’d been surprised there hadn’t been any armed guards. Every rider had a locked space and there were signs everywhere warning riders that if expensive items like phones, laptops, or iPods went missing, it was the rider—not the stable—that was liable.
I didn’t need a lead line to get Cricket, but I did want to take her a treat. I rifled through my tack trunk, took out a few snacks from the Jolly Goodies bag that I’d ordered from State Line Tack, and walked toward the pasture. Treats in hand, I undid the semirusty chain on the metal gate and closed it behind me. Once I was a ways into the pasture, I stopped, letting out the piercing whistle that Cricket knew well.
Her head snapped up from the grass and looked around for me. She spotted me and broke into a trot, leaving the other grazing horses behind. Her hoof beats, muffled by the grass that had been cropped by grazing horses, made me smile. I loved that sound.
Rhythmic. Beautiful. Just like the animal herself. I’d loved everything about horses since I’d ridden my first one at a kindergarten birthday party when I was five. I’d begged-slash-whined about riding until my parents had signed me up for beginner lessons at Winding Road—a tiny stable near our Syracuse home where I’d been born. It was a short drive to the stable since the city in upstate New York wasn’t very big.
I rode at Winding Road Stable for years, moving fast from beginner, to intermediate, to advanced. My instructor, Mr. Scott, entered me in my first show at six, and from then on
, I was hooked on competition.
My parents had been hesitant at first to let me compete, but after they saw how much I loved showing, they allowed me to enter a show every few months. That turned into every couple of months, and then every few weeks as I got older. It didn’t take long for me to move through local, state, and regional shows. Mr. Scott told my parents that I was ready to compete nationally.
Eventually, I started traveling, mostly with Dad since Mom’s job as a lawyer kept her working ten hour days at the office. Dad worked from home as a freelance technical writer, which meant he wrote books and articles. I never could understand those articles—I even secretly thought it must be a pretty boring job, but he always smiled when he worked and the job meant he could accompany me to every show and I never had to travel with a chaperone or nanny like most of my teammates.
When I was eight, Mom got a better job at a bigger law firm in Brooklyn and we’d left Syracuse. Brooklyn had felt like home from the second I’d stepped into our apartment, which I hadn’t seen much of since I’d traveled a lot. When we’d moved again, I’d been glad to escape the apartment that I’d had nightmares in for weeks after my accident. I loved Union, but now, when I thought about Brooklyn, I kind of missed it. The fun memories I had from the apartment were slowly starting to overshadow the bad I’d experienced while living there.
Cricket slowed to a walk as she approached me. “Hi, girl,” I said. The dainty bay stuck her head toward my outstretched hand, inhaling the scent of apple and cinnamon. She carefully lipped the treats from my hand and I laughed at her chin whiskers tickling my palm.
Union offered an option Brooklyn hadn’t—a chance for me to have my own horse—something Mom and Dad hadn’t caved on yet. I’d wanted one since I’d started riding, but they didn’t want me to be spoiled. It had never impacted my riding, thankfully, because I’d been lucky enough to have good school horses to ride. But I was still waiting for the day when Mom and Dad said I’d earned the privilege to have my own horse.
“Time to get you groomed and ready for our lesson,” I told her, grasping the light blue halter that made her dark coat look even richer.
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