“Let’s see you keep trotting, applying your leg against his side and using half-halts at various points around the circle when you feel him speed up.”
I pressed my leg against Logan’s side. Immediately he started to speed up again. I took once on the reins and then softened my hand like Chris said to.
“Good,” Chris said. “Keep doing that until you get the hang of it. A rider’s tendency is to use the reins for balance and therefore we feel uncomfortable letting go of the horse’s mouth. It’ll get easier as you get stronger and more in tune with him. Keep going.”
Even though his words were far from incredible praise, they were positive and they washed over me warmly. I don’t think I’d ever heard Jamie say something to me as positive as “good.”
I trotted more revolutions around Chris, working on pushing Logan from my leg into my hand.
“More leg,” Chris said. “I know it feels backwards, but you need more leg, not more hand. There—” Logan started to soften through his neck and come down onto the bit. “Feel that?”
“Yes!” I did feel it and it was magical for a moment. Logan was becoming more supple to my aids. But then that feeling was gone again and Logan was racing forward, his head high.
“You’ll have him for a few strides and then lose it. That’s the way it happens—slowly. When you get it, don’t completely throw the reins away at him. You never want a slack in the reins. You want to keep a constant feel, a constant connection to his mouth and that connection can vary slightly from half-halt to giving back, but no slack or constant pulling. Good. There he’s listening and you can soften to him a little. Just like that. That’s his reward for doing what you ask. Excellent. There you have him again. You’ll get him for a few strides and then lose him again, he’ll quicken and then it’s push him to your hand and half-halt again and give back and all over again.”
Between listening to Chris’s voice and feeling the first moments of progress I’d ever felt with Logan, I was actually enjoying my ride, which was something I hadn’t felt since I’d ridden Dobby. This was why I liked riding—I thought to myself—I remembered this!
“Let’s go ahead and canter.”
I picked up the left lead canter and immediately Logan surged forward.
“It’s the same thing at the canter, only harder. Don’t just pull against him on the reins at the canter—that will only make him go faster. Take and give. Don’t forget to use your leg.”
I sat deep into the back of the saddle using my leg to push Logan toward my hand. But Chris told me I was driving him more and to lighten my seat and try to sit only on the front of my seat bones. Logan began to slow down and I relaxed as the circle began to take longer and longer to complete.
“That’s right,” Chris said. “He likes to get mad and do whatever he pleases, but now you’ve got him between your leg and your hands, which is correct. Now he’s listening. Good. Just like that. Just like that! Excellent and let him walk.”
Instead of coming back to the walk right away Logan rambled on from the canter to the trot and then finally to the walk.
“We have to get your transitions sharper too,” Chris said. “He needs to be listening to you in everything he does.”
I nodded and reached down to pat Logan. After a brief rest, we changed directions and worked on the canter again. It was Logan’s easier direction and for a few more moments I felt him round his neck and back and collect underneath me. My transition back to the walk was still weak, though.
Chris looked at his phone. “We better call it quits for today.”
“We’re not going to jump him?” I was actually exhausted from all the flatwork, but with Jamie we never just flatted. So this was it, one lesson with Chris and it was going to be all on the flat?
“Not today.”
“But that’s the worst part. That’s where I need the most help.”
“We’ll get to it,” Chris said.
I smiled. So this wasn’t my one and only lesson with Chris. For whatever bizarre reason, he was interested in teaching me again. And for the first time in forever, I felt I’d actually learned something from a lesson.
“Thanks,” I said.
Chris nodded. “Tomorrow, same time.”
“Great. That would be great. Um, what do I owe you?”
“Nothing,” he said.
“Really?”
“Yes, I’m certain about that.”
I looked out over the empty show grounds. The jump standards were grouped in the middle of the rings with the rails leaning against them. Mondays were strange, like everyone had disappeared overnight.
“Chris?”
“Yeah?”
“What about Jamie? What if someone saw me and tells her I was out riding?”
“Say you thought he needed a good hack, that’s all. She won’t find out because no one else is going to know, okay? We’ll do it super early and keep this between you and me.”
“Right,” I said.
Chris nodded. “We’ll fix him. I promise.”
I knew I should look away from Chris, but I couldn’t and we were both kind of staring at each other. Finally, Chris said, “Well, see you later.”
I walked back to the barn on a total high. The fact that I’d gotten no sleep, was tired from my lesson, and still had all my morning barn chores to do didn’t matter in the slightest.
Zoe called me later that morning when I was sitting on my tack trunk having a protein bar. “Was I hallucinating or did you and Chris leave together?”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t like that. I just drove him home.”
“No kissing? No car-groping?”
“No, definitely not.” I wanted to tell Zoe Chris was helping me, but he had said we should keep it a secret. Zoe didn’t exactly seem like the type who could keep a secret.
“How was . . . well, you know, with Dermott?”
“Amazing. I really think this could be something, you know? He was super sweet when we said good-bye this morning.” Zoe gave an audible yawn. “Okay, I’m going back to sleep. I just had to check in with you. I didn’t think anything happened with Chris, but I had to check. I mean, you and Chris Kern? No way.”
So there it was—no way.
Chris was helping me with Logan and I had to forget about it being anything more than that.
Chapter 11
But forgetting about Chris wasn’t so easy, especially when he was giving me a lesson every morning. I got used to seeing him and hearing his voice on a daily basis. I kept waiting for him to say the lessons were over, or just not show up one morning. But he was always there, coffee mug in hand. Six o’clock became my favorite hour of the day, and I looked forward to it with a fierce intensity I didn’t know I was capable of. I lived for that hour with Chris.
I kept thinking we would start to jump, but all we did was flatwork. At the end of each lesson, we would generally stare at each other for a few prolonged moments and then one of us would awkwardly say something and we’d head off in our separate directions.
For the rest of each day, I kept tabs on where Chris was as much as was humanely possible between my own riding and taking care of Logan. What Zoe had taught me about picking out Logan’s stall was definitely helpful and whether I liked it or not, I was getting better at mucking out too. I developed a little routine. First pick out any big piles of manure. Then bank clean shavings, get the heavy pee-soaked shavings, and any errant manure balls that rolled down the banks. More banking, since I became obsessive about getting out every last piece of manure. Then bring the banks down somewhat, add however much new bedding was needed, and spread it all out neatly. I never thought I would admit it, but there was a weird satisfaction in finishing Logan’s stall and having it all clean and perfect for him.
Logan kept pooping in his water buckets. Not every day, but a few times a week. I swear on those days he came right over to greet me when I got there in the morning like he was saying, “Hello, look what I have in store for you today!” It se
emed like it was his own little way of saying FU to me. I laughed about it with Mike. Instead of making me madder at Logan, in a weird way I almost respected him for it. The not-so-little bugger had a mind of his own. It became our own personal inside joke—if you can have an inside joke with a horse. I’d arrive in the morning, see the poop, and say, “Poop in the water bucket again, Logan? Can’t you be a little more creative? It’s getting very stale. You gotta up your game, bud.”
When I had gotten Logan put away, fed him his morning grain, scrubbed the water buckets with bleach-water as Mike had shown me to do when the pooping became a recurring thing, and refilled them, I was usually pretty beat. But I still managed to go up to the food truck and get a bagel. I’d linger around the jumper rings, trying to be inconspicuous while I scoped out where Chris might be that particular day. He had his two grand prix horses and a few young horses that he showed in the 1.30 meter classes. He didn’t have any customers, though, so he was mostly showing in the grand prix ring. From the spectator tent or bleachers I could watch him walk the course, warm up, and show without him noticing me. Or so I thought.
It was clear from watching him that he was well liked. In the course walk, riders were always talking to him and even the course designer stopped to chat with him. When he schooled his horses, his barn manager, Dale, set his jumps. I couldn’t imagine not having a trainer, but Chris seemed able to do it all himself. In the ring, he rode flawlessly, in sync with his horses. Some jumper riders had unorthodox styles—rounded backs, legs swinging back in the air, or toes down in the stirrups. These were things I’d never really noticed before but then again I’d never spent much time watching before. I arrived for my lessons, rode, and went home. And when I showed I came for my classes and then left. Now that I was at the show more, I was seeing a whole new world I’d missed.
Chris, on the other hand, had impeccable equitation. Some riders rushed around, pulling and pumping. Maybe they ended up with clean rides, but they never looked good doing it. Every round Chris rode looked smooth and effortless. His horses seemed to love him. They trusted him and wanted to do their best for him. With the young horses he seemed to take his time and not rush a horse in the jump-off.
In between classes, he spent time either back at his barn, which was two tents away from Jamie’s, or hanging out around the rings. Often he’d be on his phone and I’d wonder whom he was talking to, and a few times I saw him talking to a girl who rode in the amateur-owner jumpers.
The rest of the hours of the day I stalked Chris in my mind, imagining everything he was doing and often imagining interactions we might have, should we bump into each other at the food truck, tack store, or in-gate.
Meanwhile, Zoe was doing some actual stalking of Dermott, trying to figure out what was going on between them. He was nice enough to her when he saw her, but there was nothing more than that and Zoe said it was like they hadn’t ever slept together. On Thursday, I went with her to watch the $10,000 Welcome Class. She thought I was going solely to support her, but I had the ulterior motive that Chris was showing in the class too.
Dermott had two to ride and Chris one. Dermott wasn’t one of the top Irish riders. He wasn’t a fixture on the Irish team, but maybe someday he’d be. He’d jumped over the pond for the summer with a bunch of horses to sell. His father owned a breeding yard outside of Dublin and they knew they could get a bunch of horses sold if Dermott showed them and people got to watch them and try them. He’d also brought a good grand prix horse that wasn’t for sale—unless someone offered an obscene price. That horse, Gendarme, was his shot for the next Olympics. All this information Zoe told me as we watched Dermott walk the course. She’d gleaned some of it from talking to Dermott, some from asking around, and some from the osmosis of hanging around the jumper in-gates.
There was a general air of cockiness and swagger about Dermott that I didn’t like. I’d noticed it at the bar and it was even more evident at the show. But, if anything, his attitude seemed to draw Zoe to him. After the course walk, Dermott and Chris warmed up. Dermott ordered his ground crew around, barking at them to “raise this” or “change that.” He could ride—there was no doubt about that. But he wasn’t exactly a picture of beauty. I noticed how he posted high in the saddle at the trot, and sat behind the motion at the canter. His back was rounded and when he rode to a distance his elbows poked out. With his first horse, he had a rub that managed to stay up and after he exited the ring he was joking loudly with Nate McLean.
“You got so lucky, man,” Nate said.
Dermott grinned. “I always get lucky.”
Chris was the opposite of Dermott. Everything he did was controlled, meticulous, and quietly serious. He was polite to Dale and to the in-gate guy. I tried not to stare too much at him, afraid Zoe would notice, although she was too busy staring at Dermott. She seemed to think his sexual jokes were funny, not offensive.
“He says if he sells all his horses his father might ship another batch and he’ll stay through the fall. He said he likes it here.” Chris came into the ring and Zoe added, “He’s already sold one.” Zoe looked at Chris and shook her head. “I still can’t believe you crashed into him.”
“It was so embarrassing. But he was really nice about it. Anyway, can we just forget about it by now?”
“He’s a nice guy,” Zoe said. “He deserves to find someone this summer.”
Me, I thought. But I’d never say it.
“And we totally need to find a man for you.”
Chris was clean halfway through the course. Every jump he rode, I felt a kind of spasm in my stomach, but I tried to hide any emotions from Zoe.
“I’m not really looking for a relationship.”
“I’m not talking about a relationship. I’m talking about a circuit fling.” Zoe looked wistful. “I remember my first circuit fling—T.J. Jones.”
“Wasn’t he like ten years older than you?
Zoe shrugged. “Yeah, so?”
I couldn’t imagine what it was like to be her, traveling the show circuit at age fourteen, having sex with T.J. Jones. And I had thought Chris, at twenty-three, was too old for me! But Zoe didn’t seem sad about it. If anything it seemed like good memories.
“T.J. was so sweet. The day after the first time we slept together he put roses on the windshield of my car. We actually stayed together a while after the summer, then it kind of fizzled.” Zoe looked at me. “Who was your first?”
I swallowed and I must have looked embarrassed because she said, “Oh my God, really?”
I expected her to start giving me a hard time, but instead she said, “That’s cool. I get it. Waiting for the right guy is worth it. I’ve been with some assholes and I’m glad T.J. was my first. I’ll always look back and be happy about it. So we have to find you someone super sweet and nice. What kind of guys do you like? Older? Your age? Tall? Short?”
I snuck a look at Chris, who was clean going to the last jump. “I haven’t really had many boyfriends.”
“Seriously? Because you’re super pretty. Guys probably like you, but think you’re too smart for them or something.”
I felt touched that Zoe thought I was pretty and smart, instead of just a hopeless dork.
“You could have a lot of guys,” she added.
So far there was only one guy I wanted. Chris had jumped the last jump clean and was leaving the ring.
“We’ll find you the right guy. You don’t want to go to college a virgin. I think it’s better to find someone nice this summer. This is my new mission.” Zoe smiled. “This’ll be fun.”
“You’re not going to, like, tell anyone?”
“What? No. Not even Jed, unless you say it’s okay. He can be helpful—good gaydar. One summer I spent the whole circuit chasing after this guy and he turned out to be gay. I mean he didn’t really know it yet, but Jed can tell even before guys know it themselves. He’s got a serious skill.”
“I guess it’s okay if Jed knows. As long as you think he won’t go telling othe
r people.”
“No way. He’s the master at keeping secrets. Kids at his school don’t even know he’s gay.”
“Seriously?”
“He’s waiting till college to come out to the world, although his parents know.”
I couldn’t imagine keeping a secret that big. The toll it would take. There had been openly gay kids in my school, but the suburb I lived in was wealthy, educated, and probably more tolerant than the town Jed was from. “Where’s he going to school?”
“NYU.”
“That’ll be a change.”
“For the better. Where are you going again?”
“Tufts.” I hesitated and then said, “You’re not going to school?” I wasn’t sure, but I’d heard rumors.
“No. I’m going to ride for a living anyway so what’s the point. I’m not very good at school stuff.”
Zoe scanned the in-gate. “I’m looking at everything with a whole new eye now. Looking for the right man for you.”
I didn’t know what Zoe was seeing, but my eye fell squarely on Chris.
Chapter 12
Zoe, Jed, and I became kind of a pack. I’d never been part of a pack before and it was as good as it had looked when I was the one on the outside watching the packs of friends hanging out together at school. We cheered each other on whenever possible. Jed and I watched Zoe a lot. She was such a good rider and she got asked to catch ride all the time, especially in the junior hunters. She was qualified for the equitation so she just did the Washington and the Talent Search. She was busy riding a lot of the time, but when she wasn’t on a horse, she and I went to watch Jed. He had a nice large junior hunter and he did the eq too.
On Friday, Zoe had an unusual break from riding and came with me to watch Jed in the Medal. He was qualified for the Maclay, but had suffered a string of bad luck mishaps in the Medal and still needed a few points. Zoe took a water out from her ring bag and we sat on the sidelines. We stopped talking when he entered the ring. We had to be silent or else we’d jinx him—that had become our superstition when any of us were in the ring. Although the whole show could be silent and it wouldn’t be enough to help me. I felt like Chris’s daily lessons were helping me figure Logan out on the flat, but it hadn’t really translated into my classes yet. I kept having stops, only sometimes getting around the whole course. When I did get over all the jumps I usually had at least one or two rails and lots of time faults. Jamie yelled at me some days and other days said very little. I had the feeling she wished I wasn’t riding with her.
Summer Circuit (The Show Circuit -- Book 1) Page 5
