“Nice work today, ladies,” Kim said. She put her stopwatch into her back pocket. “Please cool out your horses and make sure they’re fed and watered and have clean stalls before you leave. I’ll see you at the next lesson.”
We dismounted and followed Kim back to the stable.
“Whoa,” Ana said, leading Breeze next to me. The mare, working off a slight hay belly, was sweating around her saddle pad. “You really went for it—that was awesome!”
“Totally,” Brielle said, reaching my other side. “I didn’t think you were going to do it, but you did. That was great.”
“Guys, stop,” I said, waving my free hand. “It was one good round. Your rides were clean, too.”
Ana and Brielle both raised their eyebrows at the same time.
“Fine, fine,” Brielle said in a singsong voice. “Whatever you say. Just don’t do that every time. I’m the jumping queen.”
“Got it,” I said, laughing.
Walking our horses close together, the three of us talked and laughed the entire way back to the stable. And just like that, glee didn’t feel like enough anymore.
WHAT IF . . . ?
I HEADED OUTSIDE TO THE STABLE PARKING lot and waited for Dad. Brielle and Ana left with Ana’s mom. The two of them lived in the same neighborhood on the opposite side of town from me and my family.
While I waited for Dad, I played on my phone. I updated my Chatter status, an addiction of mine that Mom called the biggest waste of time ever, but I loved it. It was like a public diary.
A few months ago, I’d gone back and read a bunch of Chatter updates I’d posted over a year ago and realized something: they’d all been about riding. I thought back to some of the status updates as I leaned against the stable.
Swept the 3 day event! #1! 6:08 p.m.
Bad lesson. Fell off twice. Practicing 3x as long 2mrw. 11:14 p.m.
Starting @ new stable. Hope I like it. 2:09 a.m.
That had been my last round of riding-only related Chats. After I’d started at Briar Creek and enrolled at Yates, my Chats had changed. I scrolled through my last three Chats.
@AnaArtiste U have the English hmwk? 3:40 p.m.
Ahhh! @BrielleisaBeauty & @AnaArtiste I wish you guys were here right now! Just dropped ice cream on new black ballerina skirt—fashion fail! 12:15 p.m.
Waiting 4 news on something. Something kinda big. Rlly big, I guess. 9:07 p.m.
Now I had real-life friends following me, reading my thoughts, and my life didn’t revolve solely around the stable.
My priorities had shifted, but it didn’t mean I loved horses any less. Instead I found out I actually loved a bunch of things all at once.
And I was still as in love with riding as ever.
My phone buzzed and the symbol for a BBM appeared.
Taylor:
How was ur lesson?
I knew he would BBM me. Tay, an athlete like me, understood how important lessons and practice sessions were. We always BBM’d or spoke to each other after one of us had swim practice (him) or a riding lesson (me). He understood me in a way that no other guy did.
I typed back.
Lauren:
U know what? Awesome! My horse jumped rlly well—I’m happy.
Taylor:
Your horse wasn’t the only one who did well, LT. V cool!
Lauren:
Oh, pls. ;) Still @ BC I’m waiting 4 my dad. U?
Taylor:
Hmwk. Then backyard kickball w Sam. Mom asked me 2 so she could study.
Taylor’s mom was going back to school to get her master’s degree in psychology. She’d been at home with Taylor and his little brother, Sam, since they’d been born, but Mrs. Frost had decided to go back to school last fall.
Lauren:
Don’t beat him 2 bad. ;)
Taylor
Ha. Plan = kick the ball into the Pearsons’ yard and hope it lands in their garden—aka “the jungle.” It’ll take him hrs 2 find it.
Lauren:
Tay!
I laughed. Taylor talked a big game, but I knew he’d never play dirty with Sam. He loved his little brother—they’d probably have so much fun that they’d play until dark.
The sound of gravel crunching beneath tires made me look up from the BlackBerry’s lit-up screen. Dad’s black SUV crawled up the driveway. He always made sure to drive extra slow, so as not to spook the grazing horses.
Lauren:
Dad alert. TTYL & say hi 2 Sam.
Taylor:
Done. TTYL, LT.
I locked my phone’s keypad before shoving it into my bag and climbing into the passenger seat.
“Hello, Laur-Bell,” Dad said. He lifted my heavy bag from my struggling grasp, tossing it onto the backseat like it was filled with feathers. “How was your lesson?”
“Well . . .” I said. “We jumped today.”
Dad’s eyes shot over to me, then back to the driveway. “How’d that go?” Dad asked. I recognized the Dad-tone in his voice—the one that tried so hard to be casual.
“Really, really well.” I exhaled.
Dad unclenched his fingers from their white-hard grip on the steering wheel.
“I had a clean round and the fastest time of anyone,” I continued.
Dad rolled to a stop before pulling onto the main road. “That’s great, Bell! I’m so proud. Wait ’til Mom hears this! What did Kim say to you?”
I played with the star-shaped stud in my ear. “She said I took a risk, but”—I rushed to get the rest out—“a good risk. Just by galloping before a jump. I haven’t felt that good about jumping since, well, then.”
I could practically see the brief wave of pain roll over Dad. But I also saw what followed: He shook it off and smiled a genuine smile at me.
“My girl looks happier than I’ve seen in a while—that’s what I care about.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I grinned, looking down. A stack of mail was tucked in the partition between the seats next to Dad’s travel mug.
I tried, unsuccessfully, to keep from staring.
“Anything good?” Now I heard my own forced casual voice.
I didn’t have to say anything else.
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry,” Dad said. “Those are just bills I brought to look over in case I had to wait for you.”
Again, a bunch of different emotions washed over me. Relief that there wasn’t a yes, happiness that there wasn’t a no. Impatience. And, stronger than the rest, grateful that today would still just be the day that I killed the jumps at practice.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I know it’s going to be a few more weeks before I hear from Canterwood.”
Dad glanced at me. “How are you feeling about Canterwood these days? We haven’t talked about it in a while.”
“Honestly? I don’t know yet how I feel,” I said. “It changes every time I think about it.” I looked at the stack of envelopes. “Or every time I see mail,” I added.
Dad laughed. “How do you mean?”
I let his question rattle around in my head before answering. “Well, half of the time, I’m disappointed when there’s no acceptance letter. The other half of the time, I’m relieved there’s no letter because it could mean a no. And then I go back and forth about getting in. The school is so amazing, Dad. I want it—I want to be chosen so bad. But then . . . what happens if I actually get what I want?”
“Then you’ll go and you’ll do great,” Dad said, his eyes crinkling as he smiled.
Suddenly my seat belt was constricting my chest. I tried to pull on it, but it only tangled and locked in place. “Maybe I won’t, though! I could get in and completely drop the ball. Academics there are hard. Everyone talks about how tough classes are and the pace there is so fast. I might not be able to keep up with school and riding. What if I fail, Dad?” I paused, feeling my fair cheeks burn with the weight of all my unanswered questions. “What if I fall?”
“Laur-Bell,” Dad leaned over and touched my hand. “You’re a smart girl. Y
ates is not an easy school, and you’re taking the most difficult and fullest course load possible there. I know how hard you work.”
“What about falling?” I asked again.
Dad laughed. “Where’s the girl I just picked up from practice? The one who got in the car and told me how she kicked everyone’s butt at jumping today?”
Smiling, I leaned back into my seat and stared out the window at the cars and trucks whizzing by on the highway.
“She’s right here,” I asserted.
Now I wanted that envelope to come more than ever.
LAUREN’S ADDICTION
I ♥ wknds! So xcited 2 hang w Tay 2nite! 5:18 p.m.
Once I updated my Chatter status, I put my phone on my desk. Taylor and I were going to the movies and then out to grab a slice of pizza. His dad would be here to pick me up at seven. I needed something distracting—seven seemed so far away!
I picked up my baby blue leather messenger bag, letting out an ooof! as I set it on the bed. It was so full, it barely closed, and I was sure the straps were going to break. I pulled out the books I needed for the weekend’s homework. Each book was bigger than the one before.
Math.
Science with workbook.
French II textbook.
English textbook and Animal Farm.
Art history.
American history.
And those were just the books I needed to read from. The rest of the weekend’s homework was posted on Yates’s Web site. To top it off, at some point I needed to log in and post a discussion question for creative writing and offer replies to at least four other students’ questions.
In general, weekends definitely weren’t work-free in the Towers’s household. Becca had started her homework early this morning, so she was already out with her bestie, Casey. I’d decided to ease into the day. I slept in, watched a little TV, then spent some time on IM chatting with Ana and Brielle.
I stacked my books in a neat pile on my desk and decided to dive into the art history that would be due on Tuesday. But for me, homework was a finely tuned ritual and I could not even write one word until I had my go-to homework drink. Brielle’s was Diet Coke. Ana loved cappuccinos with sugar. Lots and lots of sugar. I’d actually gagged when I’d accidentally taken a tiny sip from her cup once. That was a mistake I’d never make again for fear of going into a sugar coma.
I headed downstairs to the kitchen. I could tell by the shiny marble tiles that Ellen had been here this morning. I looked around the house. Everything was sparkly clean, exactly the way I liked it. I reached into the light wooden cabinet above the stove and took out last year’s Christmas present from Aunt Cathy—a stainless steel Krups teapot with a black rubber handle. I filled the pot with water from our Brita filter and turned the gas stove on high until the tips of the mostly blue flames licked the outer circumference of the teapot.
Next, I opened another cabinet door and took out a wicker basket that had been painted bronze. I carried the basket to the breakfast nook and sat at the small round table, peering into my basket. I treated the basket as if it contained diamonds, but what was really inside was tea. Tea, tea, and more tea. I had boxes and bags of every imaginable kind—herbal, black, green, red, white.
I’d started drinking tea back when we lived in Brooklyn—mostly because our house was a three-floor brownstone with just one tiny radiator to heat the entire place. It had always been so freezing that the entire family started drinking tea, just to have a warm cup clasped between their palms at all times.
Tea, Dad always told me, kept you warm from the inside out. Back then, Becca and I were too young and, therefore, banned from caffeinated tea. So Mom always had a box of our favorite flavors of caffeine-free Celestial Seasonings on the center of the kitchen table. Becca’s was Gingerbread Spice. And mine was Sugar Cookie Sleigh Ride—it tasted best with actual sugar in it.
Now, even though our house was warm, tea had become a total obsession. All of my friends and family knew to get me tea whenever they saw a unique flavor. It was like a game for them to find a kind I hadn’t tried. I even kept a tea journal and recorded each kind I tasted, and I rated them from + to . Sometimes tea was so bad it needed a negative star. In my bedroom on my bookcase, I had books about tea, and I’d learned interesting facts about it—like the history of the leaves, how to make a perfect cup, and where to find the most exotic teas.
I had tea for all occasions: pulling all-nighters (Vanilla Black Twinings), calming down before bed (chamomile Bigelow), rainy days (Perfectly Pear White Celestial Seasonings), cold weather (Winter Spice Twinings), bad days (Sugar Cookie Sleigh Ride Celestial Seasonings—it was still my favorite), and sick days (Peppermint Celestial Seasonings).
It was Saturday night, so I wanted something spiked with caffeine and cooling since it was warm out.
I moved boxes of Tazo, Celestial Seasonings, Twinings, and Harney & Sons until I found what I wanted—Organic Green Tea With Mint.
Très parfait. Caffeinated and cooling. Ooh la la!
I took the pyramid-shaped tea bag out of the larger zipped bag and got up when the teapot started to whistle. Ana and Brielle loved to tease me about my tea habit. They thought it was weird that I had to use a stove-top teakettle for tea and called me a snob—pushing the tips of their noses in the air and lifting their chins when I wouldn’t use a microwave to heat water just because it was faster. I had tried to explain that there was something about the ritual of boiling the water on the stove that I liked, but they only rolled their eyes.
I picked out my favorite homework teacup—a powder blue one with a small, delicate daisy painted on it. It had a matching saucer and tiny stirring spoon. I took my cup of steaming tea upstairs and placed it on my bedside table, beside the magazines I was reading before I went to bed. I had a mix of everything—fashion, gossip, and horses.
I opened the double doors to my closet and flipped up the light switch. My closet was the most embarrassing example of my inner neat freak. My clothes were arranged by color, even down to shades within the same color category. I’d always loved clothes, but most of my shopping had been limited to online purchases that Dad and I quickly added to various carts while I traveled on an insanely busy show circuit. Back then, I’d had practically zero time to go to actual stores. But in Brooklyn, Mom and I could never resist the local boutiques or making special trips to the bigger stores in Manhattan like Bloomingdale’s, Bergdorf, or—on a very special occasion—Barneys.
Now that I’d taken a break from showing, I’d spent a lot of time doing things I’d never had time for when I was younger—even simple things like exploring my neighborhood, shopping with my friends in actual stores, where I could actually try on clothes, and going to free concerts in the park.
I took in each section. The black and white sections, which were adjacent to each other, I thought of as my “Audrey Hepburn sections” because she wore a lot of those two simple colors and made them look stunning. The section I thought of as the “sister section” was all shades of purple (Becca’s favorite color) and blue (my favorite color). I selected an outfit for tonight while my tea cooled. I took my time, running my fingers over all of the different fabrics and cuts, each item hanging from a silk ivory hanger adorned by a tiny ribbon-bow where the base of the hook was.
I started at the Audrey Hepburn section and plucked a black, summery A-line skirt covered with dozens of fleur-de-lis designs that were stitched on with fine, silver thread. I stayed in the same section to select a delicate scoop-neck tissue tee in soft white.
I grabbed a cardigan sweater from the sister section—a grape-y purple button-down with sparkly rhinestone buttons that Becca convinced me to purchase from J.Crew just last weekend. I felt the thin microfiber material between my thumb and index fingers, grateful to be holding a sweater my sister had picked out, that I’d tried on and realized ran small and swapped it for a size up, one that we bought in the store together and that I assumed she wanted me to get because it was her favorite
color and she’d borrow it before I even got to wear it once.
A sweater that surprised me because, here I was, cutting off the tags to wear it out on a date with Tay, my boyfriend—not some guy I met and competed against in the arena. Just a boy I liked hanging out with—an athlete, like me, who got why I had to take a break after my fall, who got why I only drank tea with kettle water, and why spending a whole night just watching a movie and going out for a slice of pizza felt like a luxury. A boy Lauren Towers a year and a half ago wouldn’t even have time to text.
An ambulance siren wailed, making me feel queasy. I’d been dreading today for a while—it was the grand opening of a new hospital a few blocks away. It had been all over the news that today had been Union County Hospital’s ribbon-cutting ceremony. I hated the h-word, and just hearing the far-off siren brought back memories I didn’t want to think about.
I sat down on the closet floor, squeezing my eyes shut as I leaned my back against the shoe wall. Memories of a time before sweater shopping and movie dates and getting to know more about a boy than how many blue ribbons he’d snagged wanted to invade! Memories about a girl before she fell, before it was splashed across the news in slow-motion on every channel. A busy, thrilling, whirlwind competitive time and the way it all halted so fast. The sound of a shocked, worried crowd, those memories—the darkest, scariest ones—I’d tried to stop thinking about were coming back.
The ambulance siren I’d just heard sounded just like the ones I’d heard when I’d been on the ground. Everyone around me had looked so worried.
“I’m fine,” I assured them.
Mr. Wells asked me to wiggle my fingers and toes, which I did without a problem.
“Everything feels fine,” I said again. But something wasn’t right. I felt . . . fear.
But this had been my first serious spill. There hadn’t been any warning at all. One second, I was galloping toward a jump—the final jump. My body had already gotten comfortable, and in my head I was excited about finishing.
The next thing I knew, I was lying on the ground, aching all over.
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