by S. E. Hinton
Molly was leading Silver Hawk out of the arena, picking up a yellow ribbon on her way out.
"You really got a good deal on that pony," Casey was saying. "He's going great for her."
"Yes," said the mom. "But, well, I wish we'd found a chestnut."
Casey looked blank. "A chestnut?"
"You know Sarah Jerome has that little palomino that just matches her hair. They look so cute together."
"Matches her hair," Casey repeated calmly.
Travis felt he had to do something quick, so he said, "I know, you can dye Molly's hair white."
While the mom gave him a you-smart-ass look, he pulled Casey along with him.
"Jennifer's in the schooling ring, come on, she's late."
They were across the road when Casey spoke again. "I won't have to dye my hair to match my horse. Another year in this business will turn it solid gray. Match her hair! My God!"
And suddenly she gave him a slap on the back and said, "Good for you, kid."
The schooling ring was chaos. There were two jumps set up in the middle of the ring, side by side. Trainers stood by the jumps, yelling instructions, praise, abuse, while the riders came from both directions, sometimes narrowly missing head-on collisions. There were frantic yelps of "Heads up!" which Travis took to mean "Watch out!" And all around the ring people were warming up, trotting or cantering, the horses bucking and kicking if a stranger got too close behind. Travis thought the whole mess looked like some bizarre sort of horse bumper-cars.
"Leg-in-front-of-the-jump."
Travis recognized the voice and realized Casey had dodged through the traffic to stand by a jump, and Jennifer and Sandman were taking it.
"Again," Casey shouted. "And don't jump out in front of him."
Sandman cleared the poles easily and beautifully, barely missing a little girl on a black pony.
Travis heard the announcer on the loudspeaker. "Beautiful Day on deck. One away, Forget Me Not. Two away, Sandman. Three away..."
"You know your course?" Casey shouted, and Jennifer shook her head. Travis handed her the number as they left the schooling ring to stand with the others just outside the gate of the big indoor arena.
"Oh, bless you," Jennifer breathed, tying the strings around her waist so the number 263 was clear across her back.
A girl on a dark bay was in the arena.
"That first line should be an easy five, let him start rolling in the warm-up circle. The second inside diagonal is the tricky part--use all your ring, deep in the corner--see there, see there--"
The bay slid to stop and his rider nearly went over his neck onto the jump--"She cut in too quick, didn't give him enough distance. Be sure and go deep in the corner. And, Jenna, don't get antsy on that last single. Just stay the same, you don't have to be making any moves. It'll seem like you're not seeing the spot, but just wait for it. It'll be there. Now, what's your course?"
"Outside, diagonal, outside, diagonal, single."
"Okay, try to let him move on out right away--but the first line can be a short six if it has to, just make it smooth."
Travis said, "A short six what?"
"Strides. Twelve feet. A normal horse stride is twelve feet. You allow six feet on either side of the jump. The course is set for a certain number of strides between jumps. If you goof up, too fast, too slow, take the jump too big or too close, you have to decide to lengthen or shorten to the next jump." Casey used her teaching voice.
"Oh," Travis said. And he had thought the big deal was to stay on. He didn't see how Jennifer learned the course from watching one person go --he wasn't sure which jump she was supposed to take first, much less the order of the rest of them. The girl on the bay pulled him up into a finishing circle and left by a gate at the other end of the arena. Casey opened the entry gate and Jennifer trotted in.
"On course, two sixty-three Sandman, ridden by Jennifer Hailey."
Jennifer circled, picking up a canter, and Casey leaned on the rail, muttering to herself--once, as Jennifer went by, she said, "Clear into the corner," and as she came at the last fence, "Steady, steady," but to Travis it looked as though she'd had a perfect round--at least Sandman cleared all the jumps and hadn't stopped anywhere.
Casey ran outside to be there as Jennifer came out.
"Not bad, not bad, late with that second lead change and he chipped in a little at the gate, but you've got a shot at pinning."
Jennifer nodded, too breathless to speak. She smiled at Travis, her lipstick unnaturally bright in her white face.
"I always forget to breathe, on course. Casey, wait--listen, what time do you think it'll be over tonight?"
Casey paused. "Look, you know I can't time these things."
"I'm sorry," Jennifer apologized. "I just have piano recital tonight."
"You're in the last class and it's your shot at a medal, so you decide." Casey disappeared into the schooling ring again.
Jennifer slid off. "She's trying to quit smoking," she said. "It's making her mean. Well, we had a good first round, anyway, didn't we baby?" She patted Sandman's neck. "Such a good boy. Such a good boy."
Travis winced. It was a wonder the horses didn't puke.
"That was real pretty, honey." An older woman in jeans and a western jacket paused beside Jennifer. "You looked real nice."
Jennifer shivered. "Oh, thanks, Mrs. Kencaide. I'm just glad it's over. I'm not like Casey, I'm scared to death before every class."
The woman said simply, "Then why, child, do you do it?"
Jennifer opened her mouth, then shut it. You could tell she couldn't come up with a real good reason and hadn't tried to before.
"You must be Katherine's new groom."
Travis was still uneasy with the word groom. It made him feel like he should be standing on top of a wedding cake.
"Uh, I'm workin' for Casey Kencaide."
"That's right. K.C.--Katherine Caroline. I'm her momma."
Oh. So that was where she'd gotten her name. Hastily Travis said, "Nice to meet you," and shook her hand. He'd be nice to her and get her to talking--he'd learned from Ken and Teresa it was easy to get somebody talking about their kid. So now he knew her real name--who knew what he could pick up next?
"I'll see you around," he called, as Amber ran up, wanting help with her bridle.
The show went real slow. It seemed to Travis that there were hours of nothing to do--messing around at the stalls, hanging out in the stands watching the rounds (he was bored after ten minutes); able to tell if someone fell off, or if the horse stopped at a jump, but other than that having no idea what the judges were judging by.
Casey was either running from one arena to the other--the ponies and low jumps were showing in the smaller barn, the more advanced riders and horses in the larger arena--or shouting instructions in the schooling ring, or hanging out with the other trainers, comparing horses and riders.
Travis watched Kelsey slink out of the ring after the off-course whistle blew, her hands held over her face, squealing, "Ohmigod, I'm so embarrassed"; Amber's black pony refused three times and she was dismissed from the ring; the older lady, Mary, had a perfectly smooth round, which would net her a third, and Travis heard Casey remark, "The kids are more supple, the kids are braver, but the older riders can think."
He overheard something else. He ducked into the curtained-off tack stall to look for Amber's spurs. Casey was in the stall right behind him, hidden by the curtains, brushing the bay gelding she was riding in the pregreen classes, and he heard someone say, "God, Casey, where'd you get that foxy groom?"
"He's Ken Harris's nephew. At first I wondered how a classy guy like Ken could have such a sleazy punk relative, but he's really okay. He's good with the horses."
"Well, watch out for him. I think some of the girls are planning to kidnap him. Is that your pregreen?"
Travis didn't stay any longer. He ducked into the men's room and stared, puzzled, into the cracked and dirty mirror.
Sleazy punk. She must be c
razy. His hair was way too long to look punk. Damn hicks around here probably had never even seen a punk! And sleazy?
Suddenly he thought of something else: Ken saying, "Sorry, kid, you haven't given me the impression you could write a complex sentence."
And Ms. Carmichael saying, "I don't believe you wrote this book." And just last week his English teacher had kept him after class to say, "You know, your attitude problem is really starting to bug me. And I thought you might like to know that behavior is counted in my grading."
He had been shocked and outraged. What attitude?
"So what am I doing?" He certainly wasn't talking in class--he wasn't talking much in school.
"Oh, you know, slouching back there with that sneer on your face--if you get your grade knocked down much lower you'll flunk."
"Big flunkin' deal," Travis had said, and she'd sent him to the principal. She must have had PMS.
Now, though, he wondered about this weird impression people were getting of him. Sleazy punk. Was that what everybody thought?
He stared miserably at the mirror and a wave of homesickness almost knocked him down. He'd been so cool at home...
He made sure he sat next to Casey's mom during the pregreen class.
"You ever get nervous about Casey jumping?" he asked her. Earlier one of the pony-kids' moms had gotten hysterical when the kid fell off and had the wind knocked out of her.
"Hell, no, honey. Life's way too short to get nervous about."
Mrs. Kencaide looked older than she was, brown and weather-beaten, her short brown hair teased up like a lot of ladies her age--like at one point in their lives they'd learned The Hairstyle and never ever thought about getting another. Travis's mom wore her hair almost the same.
She lit up a cigarette and Travis was suddenly horrified to realize all those little lines around her mouth came from inhaling...
For the first time in three years he thought about quitting smoking.
"No, I was a barrel racer myself, and I always thought Katherine would want to rodeo--then my brother took us to the big Charity Horse Show one year, I reckon Katherine was eleven, and we saw the jumping. She says, 'Momma, I got to do that,' and I says, 'Okay, honey, let's figure you out a way'--'cause I knew Katherine, and her mind was made up."
She paused. Travis had had a hard time understanding her drawl--she sounded so country-western, and that was one kind of music he couldn't stand.
"So, what'd you do, get her lessons?"
"Sorry, honey, I was just watchin' that round. Those ol' quarter horses are the kind I like. That one is quicker than a cat, ain't he? Some of these skinny ol' Thoroughbreds look like poor feeders to me. Oh, yeah, well, I couldn't afford any fancy lessons, but my brother, he's a horse trader and an auctioneer and he asked around about jumpin' trainers, and he heard this lady, Jessie Quincy, was supposed to be the best. And I drove Katherine over there and she talks Ms. Quincy into lettin' her work in exchange for lessons; Ms. Quincy done that with a couple of other little gals and sometimes it worked out, and sometimes it didn't; but she never had anybody who worked like Casey, both groomin' and ridin'. Time she's sixteen she was gettin' paid to ride, she was giving lessons.
"About a year ago she turned pro, and at the same time my brother tells us Ken Harris is lookin' to lease his barn. There was a crazy bronc out at the Circle J racing stables that keeps jumpin' out of his paddocks. Real fast, my brother says, but so loco none of the jockeys want to mess with him. The owner was ready just to put him down.
"Casey came back from lookin' at him and she says, 'Momma, this is it.' "
"Is what?" Travis asked.
He saw that Mrs. Kencaide was watching the entry gate where Casey had ridden up on the bay.
It took him a couple of seconds to recognize her; she'd been wearing a sweat suit over her riding breeches and white shirt to keep them clean. She was in a dark gray riding jacket and black velvet hard-hat; her long legs in knee-high black boots. She looked like an elegant Park Avenue preppy. It was the first time he'd seen her wearing lipstick.
"On course, Casey Kencaide on Secret Sam."
All the horses had barn names, what everyone called them at home, and show names, that they went by at shows. Travis thought it was kind of goofy. Secret Sam was called Stinker at home.
Casey made a large warm-up circle, trotting the bay around several of the jumps. A lazy, almost deadhead horse on the flat, Stinker got nervous jumping, and Travis realized Casey was letting him get a look at the jumps. She put him into an easy canter for the first line, got him back under control as he tried to run away after the second--he spooked out at the red brick wall, but Casey made him come back and drove him over it to finish the course.
There was a smattering of applause from the stands, but as Casey left the ring she looked back to the stands to her mother and smiled.
"That's my gal," Mrs. Kencaide said. "I knew I had me a lion cub right from the start."
Travis had a sudden bite of envy, mixed with homesickness, mixed with missing his own mom and being disgusted with himself for it. He left the stands hastily.
So why does she have to be the only kid I know who likes a parent? he thought sourly as he took Stinker's reins.
"Cool him off a little before you untack him," Casey said.
She was the first person he'd seen coming out of the arena breathing normally.
"I'd have whacked him one for running out like that," he said.
"He hasn't jumped enough to know if he likes it. I want him to like it. I hope Amber's in the schooling ring."
Casey ran off and Travis ran the stirrups up the stirrup straps so they wouldn't flap around.
"I'll cool him off for you." It was Kelsey.
"No, it's my job," Travis snapped at her. He was vaguely aware that Kelsey had a crush on him, just as he realized the mild commotion he was causing at the show. Males were few and far between in this sport. But he was so sick of girls. Just one night, just one night of cruising with his old buddies and tossing down a few beers and talking, really talking...
Something grabbed him around the leg. The first thing that flashed across his mind was a sex-crazed dog--it was Christopher.
"Hey," he said, "don't scare the horse."
"You wouldn't say hi." Christopher looked up at him with Teresa's dark eyes. "We said hi."
"Geez, kid, you do live in outer space half the time, don't you?"
Travis realized that Ken was standing right in front of him, trying to get his attention.
"What's up?" he said finally.
"We've been to get haircuts."
It shows, Travis thought. A haircut shouldn't look, well, new like that. For a panicked second he wondered where he'd go around here--surely there was a SuperCuts somewhere...
"And your mom called. She's been trying to tell you she'll sign the contracts after all. She wants you to call her later."
"Oh." So he'd won! Beat ol' Stan out on this one! "Great."
"Whooee." Another guy about Ken's age came up to them, holding a little girl by the hand. He was staring around at the riders. "This is paradise."
Dirty old geezer, Travis thought.
"This is my friend Steve Slade," Ken said. "My nephew, Travis."
"The famous writer?" Steve said, shaking his hand. Travis looked at Ken, who shrugged.
"So I bragged a little."
Travis felt like laughing out loud. Everything suddenly looked brighter. "What's up?"
"We bachelor dads are going to go eat pizza and watch football and let the kids kill each other."
Travis had a second of longing to go with them ... Geez, just to be around some guys--
"Daddy," the little girl said suddenly, "I want a pony."
"Sure, honey," Steve said. "We'll see."
"I must have a pony," she insisted. Ken and Steve laughed.
Travis watched her watching the ponies, and knew Steve had nothing to laugh about.
"So, you gonna sign the contracts?"
&
nbsp; He didn't mean to sound so sharp--the day at the horse show had just about done him in. He'd missed Casey's hunter round on the Star Runner (there seemed to be some big difference between "hunter" and "jumper" classes, but he hadn't figured out what) because he was rushing around helping Amber tack up--and it turned out to be the wrong class anyway.
And the Star Runner had slammed on the brakes at a four-foot wall and Casey went over his head to land on it. Travis was convinced she had broken some ribs, but she refused to go to the emergency room and had actually laughed when he suggested not riding tomorrow.
So even though he was glad to talk to Mom, and excited about the contracts, it was hard to get his mind off the show. It was like his mind had turned into a seesaw, sometimes the book was the high part and everything else disappeared, sometimes it was Casey and these goddamn horses, and sometimes it raced up and down till he was dizzy.
"Yes, I am, hon. You were right, the book is something you did on your own--"
"How's Stan takin' this?" he asked suddenly. "He's not beatin' up on you?"
"Oh, no, hon, Stan's never beat up on me. Travis, where'd you get such an idea?"
Are you nuts? he wanted to shout, but instead said, "Must be my vivid writer's imagination."
"Honey, you know except for those two times when he was unemployed and I was naggin' him, Stan's never hit me."
Travis didn't say anything and she added, "And if you'd been halfway nice to him you wouldn't have gotten hit either."
She sounded like she was crying. Travis rolled his eyes. This'd teach him to call home.
"Hey"--he changed the subject--"how's Joe doin'?"
"I don't know, he hasn't been around lately." She sniffled. "How's the cat?"
The cat. Travis suddenly realized Motorboat hadn't been around much lately either.
"He's in the barn a lot, there's mice out there."
Motorboat, in fact, had become obsessed with the mice, and Travis couldn't get his attention. And the cat had sort of fallen in love with Silver Hawk, leaping from the gate to his back, where he huddled and did happy paws, purring like an electric drill. He sat in the pony's food box while it ate, and rolled in the dirt in front of the jumps when Molly rode, apparently never dreaming he could be trampled.
And now Travis realized he'd been so preoccupied himself he hadn't really cared.
"Well, I'm glad he's earning his keep."
