“Camping,” Rudy answered as though it were clear as crystal. “You’re not going to get far in the wild without it.”
“I am so jealous!” Kit piped up. “Camping with my dad is awesome!”
“I went camping once in France with my cousins,” Will said. “It was really good. We had this awesome yurt thing.”
“A yurt?” asked Kit. “Aren’t they those big round tents with furniture in them?”
Defending his yurt, Will declared, “Yeah, but we only had cold running water.”
“Not quite, I suspect, what Mr. Bridges has in mind,” said Nav.
“It was still outside. We went fishing and stuff. Anyway, when have you ever slept in anything other than a feathery bed?” Will directed the question to Nav, who glared back at him.
Rudy regarded the bickering boys. “Looks like we could use some team bonding here, anyway,” he commented.
Elaine couldn’t resist it anymore. This was simply the most wonderful conversation she had heard in quite a long time, say, ever since Rose Cottage lost the House Cup! She turned in her seat to face the so-called winners. “Ooooh, camping! Sounds fun, boys. I’ll be thinking of you while I’m tucked up cozy in bed tonight.”
When she turned back around, Sally was struggling to contain laughter. They exchanged a look of triumph. Yes, order had been restored at Covington.
Revenge was a sweet treat, indeed.
After English class, Kit went to the student lounge to research her mother’s past. However, things quickly went pear-shaped, a British slang term that meant that nothing was working out at all.
When Will sauntered up, munching on his favorite prawn-flavored snack crisps from the tuckshop, she said to him, “This is so weird. Westingate, the place where my Mom grew up? It doesn’t seem to exist.”
Will’s mouth was full, but he answered anyway. “Maybe you got the wrong name?”
Kit shook her head. “Nope. I checked with my dad and everything. She used to talk about this nearby beach she went to as a kid — Wilco Sands. But I can’t find it, either.”
“Sometimes places change,” said Will.
Kit thought it over. Maybe he was right. Maybe Westingate had been some tiny village that later became part of a larger town or something. Things like that happened in America, so they probably happened everywhere else. But how was she supposed to do a report on her mom if the information wasn’t there?
Will interrupted her thoughts. “How did it go with Lady C?”
That was one question that Kit could easily answer. “I have to follow all the rules, or I get booted out of Covington.”
“You’d think forcing a runaway to stay would be a better punishment,” Will mused, stuffing more crisps into his mouth.
Was that supposed to be a joke? Kit decided it had to be. Will’s idea of humor kind of went sideways compared to most people’s. Kit was no runaway. Although she now knew that rushing off by herself to find a horse in France hadn’t been the brightest move she’d ever made, Kit still considered herself a brave adventurer. I do not run away from my problems, she thought proudly. I run at them. And sometimes into them. Which kind of hurts when they turn out to be walls, but hey. Out loud, she added, “And I have to ride . . . another horse, I guess.”
“But you can’t. You already tried. You don’t remember fainting at the sight of a little pony?”
Kit almost got angry, but this was Will, after all. She just grinned. “You sure know how to reassure a girl.”
Will looked properly embarrassed. “Elaine says I’m awful at talking to girls. I think I’m awful at talking in general, really. Like, about feeling-y stuff. You know?”
“I get it. Have you met my dad?”
Will laughed, fiddling with the crisps bag. “I polished TK’s tack for you. For when he comes home? ‘Cause you’re going to get him back, Kit. I know you will.”
Kit beamed at him. Finally! This was the Will she lo — err, this was the Will she liked so much, the Will who believed in her. “I have no idea how,” she confessed, “or where to start, but I’m not giving up on TK. Not now, not ever. So thank you.” Her throat tightened up as she added, “For not giving up, either.”
This time when she smiled at him, Will smiled back.
Riding class.
It was time for Kit to go to her dad’s riding class.
She had managed to zombie-walk her way through lunch with Anya, but Kit had hardly heard her friend’s happy chatter. All she could think about was the totally awful disaster-to-be that would occur after lunch: riding class.
Usually she and Anya went straight from the dining hall to their room and dressed for class together, replacing their academic uniforms with their required Covington riding gear: tan breeches instead of skirts and tights, a warm blue jacket with red side panels over their regular shirts and blazers (and those totally dorky school ties, which Kit called their Covington baby bibs), tall black riding boots instead of the usual black tasseled loafers, and of course, their helmets.
Today, Anya dressed alone. Kit just wasn’t sure she could ride another horse, even though she’d promised Lady Covington that she would.
“Do you remember what you told me?” Anya asked her before leaving. “How horrible it was when I left Covington? Well, if you don’t ride, then you’ll have to leave, and I’ll miss you.” Tears appeared in her eyes. “I’ll miss you so much! So you have to try, Kit. Promise me you’ll try to ride.”
The heartfelt plea almost made Kit cry, too. “I’ll . . . I’ll do what I can,” she said. It was all she could promise.
Anya looked like she understood. “Okay. Maybe you could get dressed and show up, at least? That way, maybe Lady Covington will see that you intend to try, but you’re just not ready yet.” She gave Kit a hug and then hurried out.
Kit flopped onto her bed. It doesn’t matter what stupid clothes I wear, she thought. The clothes aren’t the problem! Getting on any other horse than TK is the problem! But she thought of what Anya would go through otherwise. And you promised Lady C you would ride, she reminded herself.
She got to her feet. “I’m going to do this!” she told the empty room. “I have to do this, not just for me but for Anya, and my dad, and”— she smiled — “and for you, Mom.” She gazed up at the ceiling. “You never gave up on anything, did you? If you wanted to achieve something, you went for it. I don’t remember ever seeing you back off or hearing you say I can’t.” Kit squared her shoulders. “And neither will I!”
Fifteen minutes later, Kit finished tacking up Coco Pie in the stable. The little mare turned out to be quite a prankster. She nose-bumped Kit several times, nickering playfully and lipping the frayed edge of Kit’s cable-knit sweater.
“I never meant to insult you,” Kit babbled as she put on her riding helmet and led Coco Pie outside. “It’s just, you’re not TK, you know?”
Coco Pie’s ears flicked back, and she snorted.
“Sorry. I did it again — I insulted you.” Kit stopped. “I’m going to need your help, CP. I mean, really truly. Will you do your best for me? Please? I’ll never insult you again. In fact, I like your whiskers even more than I did before.”
Coco Pie raised her head, looking Kit up and down, taking Kit’s measure. Then she nudged Kit in the chest and nickered, as if to say, “No worries. I’ve got your back, little rider.”
Kit glanced around to make sure nobody was watching. The coast was clear, so she wrapped her arms around Coco Pie’s neck. “Thank you.” Then she continued to the practice ring, giving herself a quiet pep talk as they walked.
When she reached the ring, Rudy was critiquing Josh’s posture while the boy rode Whistler past him, first one way and then the other. “That’s it, Josh,” she heard her father say. “Good. Much better.”
Kit heard the words, but they held little meaning. Her father was a blur, while Josh and Whistler were a bigger blur. The rest of the class, lined up along the far rails with their horses, were more blurs all mushed together. Ki
t’s heart was hammering, and she felt her body go stiff and heavy with dread the closer she got to her dad. “TK will come back, and I’ll ride him,” she kept repeating to herself. “But today I’m going to ride CP. I’m going to ride. I can do it. I’m going to ride. . . .”
“Kit,” said Rudy in surprise when he saw her.
Kit thought she might faint. “Hi, yeah, I’m going to ride, I, uh, I have to.” Her words came out as feeble half whispers.
Rudy leaned closer. “You okay?”
“Uhhh, yeah, I’m going to be fine. I’m going to ride. I have to, so I’m going to ride. I have to.” After repeating herself, she tried to take a deep breath, but the air wouldn’t go in. She tried again, determined to stay strong, but it was so hard, just so hard. There. Good, she got one good breath in. That was a good start, breathing. Yeah, breathing was good.
“Okay,” said Rudy, closely watching her. “Well, let’s just go slowly, huh?”
Slowly? How could he possibly want her to go slowly? “There is no slowly,” she said, her desperation giving her energy. “I’ve wasted enough time already, and he’s getting farther and farther away every day, and she wants me to ride, so I’m going to ride!” Kit spun on her heel and glared up at the second floor of Covington’s main building. It was where most classes took place, and it was where Lady Covington’s office was located.
Rudy’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at the window, too.
She’s standing right there, Kit thought. She’s watching, so I can’t mess this up!
Her dad held Coco Pie steady as Kit took her position at the horse’s side. Coco Pie was short enough that Kit didn’t need any help mounting. Grab the saddle, lift your left foot into the stirrup, swing your right leg over, and sit! she thought as she accomplished each move.
She saw a look of hope in her dad’s eyes, but once she was in the saddle, every sense Kit possessed cried out Noooo! Coco Pie, for all of her cute mannerisms, was the wrong horse. All horses are the wrong horse! Kit thought. She clutched the reins, trying to force her heart to slow down, trying to breathe. “It’s not the same. I can’t do it.” Her arms tingled in warning, and her legs felt tight, and her chest turned to ice, and she had to get out of that saddle and back to ground level before she cracked into pieces so tiny that nobody would be able to put her back together again. “No, I can’t. I just . . . I can’t . . .” Once her feet were back on hard soil, she yanked off her helmet. “I just, um, need a breather!”
She ran away before anyone could tell she was crying.
Kit was still crying by the time she got to Rose Cottage. Ten minutes later, she was still crying as she lay sprawled on her bed, alone. Once again, she had failed. She had tried to ride, as Lady Covington had ordered her to, and she had failed.
TK was gone. Soon she would be gone, too, expelled from Covington. What would her dad do? What would he say? What could he say? He had watched her fail! It was that simple! She had failed! She was Kit Bridges, Big Fat Failure Girl!
Someone knocked on the door.
The last thing she wanted was company. She debated yelling out, “Go away!” but maybe it was important . . . like somebody delivering a note from the headmistress’s office saying, “FAIL FAIL FAIL FAIL FAIL FAIL! But thanks for trying. Buh-bye!”
When she opened the door, Lady Covington stood there, wearing a jacket and scarf. “Come along,” the woman said briskly. “We’re going for a ride.”
“I can’t,” said Kit. What else was there to say? “I’ll never ride again. Not without TK.”
The headmistress spoke softly. “Pack your tears away. We’re going.”
Didn’t the woman ever listen? “I don’t have TK! And any other horse feels like a betrayal, so I can’t meet your rules or conditions or whatever you call it.”
“I know your thoughts and feelings, Katherine. It’s time to go.” She held out a helmet.
Kit was caught off guard — it wasn’t a riding helmet. Well, it was, but not for riding horses. “This is a bike helmet,” she said, reaching for it.
“Sharp as ever,” the headmistress quipped. “Come on.”
Later that afternoon, Rudy stood in the stable courtyard, waiting for the Juniper boys to arrive with their gear. It was time to start their house victory hike to a beautiful little spot by a stream that Rudy had been told was perfect for overnight camping.
Several boys had already arrived, appropriately geared up. Rudy didn’t have to worry about them. But the main troublemakers of Juniper Cottage? They had yet to arrive.
He finally spotted Josh and Will approaching. Josh had clearly been camping before. He wore sturdy hiking boots and carried a backpack that appeared to be pretty stuffed with — well, Rudy could only hope it contained useful, practical items and not, say, twenty bags of marshmallows. Will, on the other hand, must have expected another yurt to be available at their camp.
“Sneakers and a comic book,” Rudy noted. “Do you plan to survive the night, son?”
“This is all we had when we went camping in France,” Will responded.
Rudy decided that the joys of nature would teach Will more than a lecture ever could, so he said nothing — until Nav appeared. “Nicely done!” he exclaimed. Nav was decked out in a rugged raincoat and hiking boots, and he was carrying a small pack and a bedroll. “I didn’t think you’d know the first thing about camping.”
Suave as ever, Nav whipped off his very expensive-looking pince-nez sunglasses. “Thank you, Mr. Bridges,” he said. “Now, who’s going to carry the rest of my belongings? Or should I call my driver?” As he spoke, some Juniper Cottage boys whom he’d recruited set down a collection of large cardboard boxes.
“What’s all this?” asked Rudy.
“A portable television, a Blu-ray player, a battery-powered fridge, a solar-powered shower . . .” Nav gave Rudy a self-satisfied look.
Josh pointed straight up. “My money’s on cold showers, boys. Those clouds aren’t letting Mr. Sun through anytime soon.”
Everybody looked up, including Rudy. The lovely blue sky of a few hours ago had definitely clouded up, and those clouds were growing darker.
Will adopted a casual pose. “That’s all right. I can handle a little bit of rain.”
“So can I,” Nav said, his tone challenging. “I’ve survived monsoons.”
“I’d like to see you survive a wet weekend in Wales,” Will retorted.
“I’d like to see you trek across the Argentine pampas in forty-degree heat.”
“I’d like to see you two stop bickering!” snapped Rudy, though Nav’s comment actually sounded pretty impressive. This was England, so Nav was talking forty degrees Celsius, which translated into 104 degrees Fahrenheit. That was pretty hot!
Will looked unimpressed. “It’s not my fault if he can’t handle coming in third.”
“You betrayed me!” Nav declared. “Though I ought to thank you, because I’d rather be stuck living with Josh than dealing with your two-faced behavior!”
Josh, ever stuck in the middle, said, “Dude, what? Stuck with me? I thought roomies were supposed to have each other’s backs!”
“Well,” Nav said, glaring at Will, “so did I.”
Rudy observed this word war between his charges and knew he could never stop it. These guys had to work it out between themselves. His interference would only make it worse. So, as thunder began rumbling in the distance, he briskly organized his hikers and herded them to the trailhead.
The winds picked up, and the clouds grew nearly black. Rain fell in torrents, cold and sharp, and it kept on falling as Kit parked her bike next to Lady Covington’s in an alcove near the school’s main building. Headmistress and student then ran giggling to the front door, took off their coats, and hustled upstairs to Lady Covington’s office, shivering. Kit feared her fingertips would freeze solid and fall off, but the office fireplace flickered with lively and wonderfully hot flames. She must have arranged to have it ready for when we came back all wet, Kit thought. She planne
d this whole thing out — for me?
“I thought you were way too ladylike to go skidding through the puddles and mud like that!” Kit said, putting her helmet down on the table.
“Being afraid of a little dirt shows signs of poor character. One must be willing to muck in no matter what the weather.”
They stood before the fire, rubbing their hands. “When I was little,” Kit said, “my mother used to send me out into the rain on purpose. She said no matter how wet you get, you can always get dry. Maybe she meant the same thing.”
“Perhaps.” Lady Covington pushed strands of wet hair from her face and loosened her drenched scarf. “You know, when I was younger, I rode my bicycle through the entirety of this country, from the most southern point in England all the way up to the northern tip of Scotland. And every night, I would set up camp.” She laughed, picking up a blanket from the sofa. “One night we had a huge thunderstorm. It was really quite frightening and also very soggy. But, oh, the sunrise the next morning! I’d never seen anything like it!” She wrapped the blanket around Kit’s shoulders. “And yes, I did get dry eventually.”
Kit digested this information, holding the blanket close. Just that morning she had wanted to scream her lungs out at the woman standing before her, and now Kit just gaped at her in awe. Lady Covington had taken her out on a bicycle ride! Through the countryside! They’d ridden along smooth paths, bumped over uneven trails, and dodged their way down tree-edged roads where overgrown branches whipped their faces and leaves threatened to tangle in their wheel spokes.
When the storm had started, they’d kept right on going, sometimes pedaling right into the rainfall so that the cold fat drops stung their cheeks and forced them to squint so hard Kit could barely see in front of her. One time, as they’d raced down a steep hill, Lady Covington had actually yelled out, “Whoohooooo!” At least, that’s what Kit thought she’d heard. Through all the wind and rain she couldn’t be certain, but what she’d heard had either been the headmistress or a coyote — and England didn’t have coyotes.
The Search for TK Page 6
