The Canterwood Crest Stable of Books

by Jessica Burkhart

  “Sasha?” Mom called from behind the stall door. “Wow! This is such a nice space for Charm.”

  “I know, isn’t it incredible?” I asked.

  Dad glanced at me sideways. “You look upset. Everything okay?”

  If I was going to make it, I couldn’t be crying to my parents about every little thing. “Everything is fine. I’m just excited to see the dorms.”

  “Let’s go, then!” Dad said.

  2

  WINCHESTER A. BUTKIS HALL

  I HAULED MY BAGS UP TO WINCHESTER A. Butkis Hall.

  That’s right: Butkis. It was the worst hall name in history.

  All of the halls were named after famous Canterwood graduates—Reynolds, Yule, and Hollis. Those names conjured up images of senators and stony college campuses. I had been stuck with Winchester A. Butkis residence hall.

  “Need some help?” A girl with mousy hair peeked her head out of a room labeled DORM MONITOR’S HEADQUARTERS.

  “Hi,” I said, “I’m Sasha. Are you the dorm advisor?”

  “Yes, I’m Livvie Davis.” She had on a gray suit jacket and neatly pressed khaki pants. Her face, pale and smooth, would be even prettier with a dab of lip gloss. I looked around her immaculate office. A tin of newly sharpened pencils, a foot-high stack of paper and a black laptop filled the desk. A word-of-the-day desk calendar had a red circle around Friday and “move in” was written on the page. A clay jar with a “Just Study!” logo on the lid sat beside her lamp.

  “That’s cute.” I said, reaching to touch the jar.

  “Oh!” Livvie cried. “Don’t—”

  I yanked my hand back and looked at her, surprised. Oops. Was I going to mess up everything today?

  “My paper clips are in there,” Livvie said, as if that explained everything. She picked up the jar, set it down out of my reach, smoothed her sleeves, and smiled. “It took forever to arrange them by color and size.”

  I started to laugh at her joke, but realized that she was serious. About paper clips.

  “I’ll show you to your room. Your roommate, Paige Parker, moved in a couple of days ago. She’s probably around here somewhere.”

  Paige and I had chatted on the phone two weeks ago. She was a seventh grader like me and it was her second year at Canterwood. Over the phone, Paige told me she knew exactly what we needed.

  “Could you bring a microwave and minifridge?” Paige asked.

  “Anything else?”

  “I don’t mind bringing all of the important stuff,” Paige said.

  Fingers crossed for a plasma-screen TV. “Like what?” I asked.

  “Like lint brushes, a vacuum, bathroom cleansers, a good mop and broom. You know, things like that,” Paige said. “My last roomie was a rider, so I know what it takes to keep a room fresh and allergen free.” Her tone had been cheerful enough, but I’d wondered if she thought I was messy just because I was a rider.

  Livvie led me toward my room, where Mom and Dad eventually caught up with us. Livvie dangled a silver key in front of my eye.

  “Here is your dorm key,” she said. “I’ll be back in a little while to answer any questions about your orientation packet.”

  My fingers clutched the rough metal.

  I stuck the key into the lock and turned it. The room was beautiful—spacious, with polished wood floors and furniture. There were two big windows with a gorgeous view of campus over each of our beds. Paige’s bed, nestled under the second window, was directly across from mine. We each had a nightstand. Piles of books lined Paige’s stand. She was definitely a reader, just like me. Even the closets were huge! The soft beige walls looked as if they’d been painted yesterday.

  A small coffee table in the center of the room had a vase of dahlias in the center. A few magazines were piled neatly on the table. Paintings of the Eiffel Tower and a blooming orchid made the walls pop. Paige must have done this.

  Mom and Dad shuffled inside the dorm, arms laden with containers and bags of supplies. Dad placed some plastic trunks on top of my bed beneath a curtainless window.

  Mom and I put away clothes while Dad sat on the bed and rested a minute from carrying all the heavy boxes. In the closet, Paige’s outfits hung neatly on the right side. My jeans and T-shirts looked a little sad next to Paige’s designer labels. Belted dresses, a box of pointy high heels and at least two dozen ballet flats of every color filled Paige’s half of the closet. My metal shoe rack with my tennis shoes, boots, and flip-flops looked shabby next to Paige’s shiny shoeboxes. My fingers skimmed the gold leather on one of the shoes. Size seven—like me. Maybe we could share! I knew Paige was from New York City—I hoped she wasn’t a Manhattan fashionista who would mock my clothes.

  While Mom and I finished the closet, I unloaded my study supplies onto my desk. Pink and purple were my choice pen colors, but Dad made me bring a couple of boring black and blue ones in case rainbow colors weren’t serious enough for Canterwood. I hooked up my laptop and printer while Dad plugged in my electric blue desk light and stacked my notebooks next to the printer. It was looking more and more like my room.

  “Excuse me, Silver family,” Livvie said, popping her head in the dorm. “Sasha, I wanted to take a second to highlight the major rules before your parents leave.”

  “Okay,” I said, sitting on my bed beside Mom and Dad.

  Livvie took my desk chair.

  “You’ve all read over the rules in the orientation booklet, right?” Livvie asked.

  We all nodded. There were so many rules. When I’d gotten my orientation booklet in the mail a few weeks ago, I’d beeen so excited! But the more I read, the scarier everything seemed. Classes were known to be superhard at Canterwood—it was one of the best schools in the entire state of Connecticut. Back home, I had report cards filled with As. I worried that it might not be as easy to get those As here.

  Livvie smiled. “Great! Then you already know that no boys are ever allowed in the dorms, you have to go to bed by ten thirty, and you have to keep a log of your study time. A half hour of studying is required each night per class. You’ll turn in a study journal every Saturday.”

  Mom and Dad smiled at each other.

  I tried to pay attention to what Livvie was saying, but my mind, and my eyes, wandered. Outside my window, a cute guy with a Zac Efron shaggy haircut walked down the sidewalk toward the parking lot. His sunglasses were nestled casually on top of his head. He grinned and slapped palms with a guy who passed him. I almost fell off the couch watching him.

  “Finally,” Livvie said, jarring me out of my ogling, “you’ll have to give me notice and get permission in advance if you want to do anything other than regular Canterwood-approved activities.” Livvie got up and shook Mom and Dad’s hands. “Come see me if you have any questions.”

  “We will,” Mom said. “Thank you.”

  “Let’s grab your spare riding boots from the car before we leave,” Mom said. My stomach dropped. I didn’t want to be reminded that they’d be leaving soon.

  We left Winchester and in the parking lot, I spotted Heather a couple of cars away, standing next to a tall man.

  “Your mother just told me about your report card!” the man, presumably her dad, yelled. His tone pierced my eardrums. He wore a suit. “Your grades will be better this semester or you’re going home.”

  Heather glanced around. “I’ll do better,” she said.

  Heather’s dad yanked open the door of his car, got in, and drove out of the parking lot. The SUV’s tires squealed and kicked up gravel.

  Heather set her jaw and tilted her chin up.

  “Hi,” I called softly.

  She looked at me and turned quickly, hurrying away.

  Dad grabbed my boots from the backseat and handed them to me. I wrapped him up in a tight hug. “Thanks,” I said.

  “What for?” he asked.

  “For being such a good dad.”

  He let me go and put an arm around my shoulder as we started to walk back toward Winchester Hall.


  “Well, this is it,” Mom said. “This is where we leave you.”

  “I’m a little nervous,” I said. I tried to keep my voice even. I didn’t want to start crying. “It’s weird that you aren’t meeting my teachers like you always do.”

  “It’s perfectly normal to be nervous,” Mom said, giving me a squeeze.

  Dad’s hazel eyes searched my face. “Remember, we got that plan so we can text, e-mail, and talk on the phone anytime you need us. And you’ll be coming home for a long weekend soon.”

  “Right,” I said. I thought of my cozy bed and familiar school back home. It was getting harder to stand there, knowing they were about to leave. I could already feel the heat behind my eyes. “Three weeks.”

  Mom gave me a final hug. “You’ll be fine. We love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  With a final wave, I turned back to my dorm room.

  3

  HOT BOY POSTERS AND MAC ’N’ CHEESE

  INSIDE MY ROOM, A GIRL WITH LONG RED HAIR and fair skin flipped through a glossy teen mag. She looked up at me. “Sasha?” she asked.

  I nodded. “Paige?”

  Paige flashed a dazzling smile and perched on her bed, the image of a Manhattan girl, dressed in black leggings and a pair of ballet flats. “It’s so nice to meet you! I came two days ago to get the dorm ready for us. But my parents and I had errands to run. Do you like the furniture placement? If not, we can change it up.”

  “It looks great,” I said. “I couldn’t have made it look this nice in two days.”

  Paige shrugged and rifled through her tan shoulder bag. She pulled out a cereal bar. “Want one?”

  “Sure, thanks.”

  “Organizing is my thing,” she said. “I’m freakishly neat and if I have a kitchen to work in, I can’t stop cooking or baking.”

  “Wow. I can cook mac and cheese, but that’s it.”

  “I can teach you a few dishes sometime,” she said. “If you want.”

  “That would be great.” I looked at my wall and saw my bookcase still had an empty shelf. I pulled two seasons of Southampton Socialites out of my bag.

  With eyes locked on the DVDs, Paige asked, “You’re a fan?”

  “All the way,” I said, grinning. “I’m completely obsessed.”

  She nodded so hard her earrings rattled against her neck. “I’ve only seen a couple of episodes, but I love—”

  “Hunter Miller!” I finished, laughing.

  “Exactly!”

  I wrapped my arms across my chest and sunk back into my pillow. “I also love Tokyo Girls, Heaven’s Kitchen, and Model Mania. When I’m utterly bored, I’ll watch The Rose or something mindless like that.”

  “You’re so lucky,” Paige said with a sigh. “I’m not allowed to watch TV at home. I only got to sneak a few episodes at my friend’s house this summer.”

  “No TV? Really?” My jaw almost dropped.

  “Really.” Paige frowned. “I’m only allowed to watch educational stuff. My mom’s on this learning-enrichment committee for our district, so that means no cable for the Parker household.”

  “I brought tons of TV shows on DVD. You can watch whatever you want.”

  Paige’s face brightened. “That’s so cool! The only DVD I brought was from a ballroom dancing competition from the eighties. My mom only has three thousand DVDs of those things.”

  “I love TV dancing shows,” I confessed.

  Paige finished her snack and pulled a box from under her bed. She dug around until she found a photo. In it, Paige was decked out in a flowing green gown, arm in arm with a tall guy in a tux as they did what appeared to be ballroom dancing.

  “My mom makes me do ballroom dancing,” Paige said. “I’ve been doing it for years. Once, I asked her if I could try salsa and she almost had a coronary. She thinks that Latin dancing is too sexy for me.”

  We burst into giggles.

  “So,” I said. “I happen to have a gorgeous poster of Hunter. Should we put it up?”

  “Are you kidding? Get that thing up on the wall!”

  Shoving a box aside, I dug in a container for the drool-worthy poster. I whipped it out with flourish and Paige handed me the tape.

  “You do the honors,” I said, bowing to her and Hunter in an I-am-not-worthy pose.

  Paige put the last piece of tape on the wall and dreamy Hunter gazed at us—bronzed six-pack and all.

  Paige stepped over to our tiny counter with two cabinets for snacks. We were allowed to have a microwave and minifridge, but that was it. We had to get permission if we wanted to cook in the dorm kitchen. The cabinets overflowed with crackers, boxes of raisins, and packages of trail mix.

  Paige gestured toward the cabinet. “My dad stocked this yesterday,” she said. “He gets an awesome discount on all kinds of food since he runs a restaurant.”

  We settled on my bed, snacks between us, and began a chat session that took us through two Southampton reruns. “Why aren’t you rooming with your old roommate?” I asked.

  Paige paused. “Well, Steph was supposed to make the intermediate riding team last year so she could try out for the advanced team this year. But she didn’t ever get past the beginner level, so there was no way she could try out for the advanced team this year. It was so hard on her. She quit the team and transferred out of Canterwood.”

  “That’s awful.” My stomach flip-flopped. Is that what Paige would be saying about me next year? “So, what’s the scoop on Canterwood?” I asked, eager to change the depressing topic.

  Paige’s eyes lit up. She twisted around to face me. “As I’m sure you’ve already heard, Canterwood has a long, long legacy of turning out Ivy Leaguers and famous equestrians. I’m here because of Canterwood’s reputation for academic excellence—my mom really wants me to go to an Ivy. But because of Steph, I know a little about the equestrian scene here, too.”

  “Spill,” I said. I paused the Southampton DVD and flopped back onto my pillow.

  Paige reached for a bottle of pearly pink nail polish on her nightstand and began painting her nails as she talked. “This is only what I heard, so I can’t be completely sure. But supposedly, the riding instructor Mr. Conner, is incredibly tough on his riders.”

  My stomach flipped again.

  “There aren’t many guys on the team, so you’re going to be competing against mostly girls. Girls like—” She stopped and looked away.

  “Like what? What were you going to say?” I asked.

  Paige bit her bottom lip. “Well, they’re really competitive. Last year, this girl paid a rider’s roommate to set back the girl’s alarm clock so she’d miss the van leaving for the horse show.”

  “No way.” My eyes widened.

  “The girl got lucky, though. One of the other riders came over and woke her up, so she made it in time.”

  Whoa. Nothing like that had ever happened at Briar Creek. “Did the other girl get caught?”

  “Well,” Paige leaned forward. “Steph said the girl was caught by a teammate. The girl who caught her made her promise never to do anything like that again or she’d tell Mr. Conner.”

  “That was lucky. Hopefully, there aren’t any girls here like that now. I had enough to deal with this morning.”

  “What happened?” Paige asked.

  “Long story, but my horse got loose and knocked a girl off her horse.”

  Paige winced. “Maybe it wasn’t as bad as you thought?”

  “It was, unfortunately,” I confessed. “I’m nervous about the team meeting on Sunday. I test that day, too.”

  “What kind of test is it?” Paige asked.

  “All of the new people have to ride for Mr. Conner. He’ll decide if we ride for the beginner, intermediate, or advanced riding team. Apparently, there’s a show next month, too. What if I’m not good enough?”

  “If you’re here,” Paige said, “then you’re good.”

  “I hope so.” My voice sounded small. “But I guess I’ll find out on Sunday.”

&
nbsp; We turned our attention back to Hunter and company. For the rest of the show, I couldn’t concentrate. I took one of my deep yoga breaths. Sure, I could have stayed at Briar Creek, but there would have been no room to advance. Other riders would have moved up the ranks and I would have been stuck.

  Now, I would be riding with the best. Canterwood was what I wanted.

  Wasn’t it?

  Two hours and four Southampton episodes later, Paige sat up and stretched. “Are you hungry?”

  “Starving,” I said, stifling a yawn.

  Paige checked her watch. “We usually have to go to the cafeteria, but it’s not mandatory on Friday nights. I could whip up something in the dorm kitchen if we ask Livvie first.”

  “That sounds great!” It was official—I had the perfect roommate.

  “Is grilled cheese and vegetable soup okay?” Paige asked.

  “Perfect. I’ll help.”

  We found Livvie in her office organizing her bookshelf. Classical music streamed softly from a CD player on the bookcase.

  “Livvie?” Paige called, knocking on the open door.

  “Hi, girls,” Livvie said, barely looking up from her book pile. Her khakis were wrinkled and it looked like more paperwork had piled up on her desk.

  “Is it okay if we make soup and grilled cheese sandwiches?” Paige asked. “I make them all of the time at home.”

  “Don’t you want to go to the cafeteria?” Livvie asked. “It’s not too late. If you go straight there and back, it’s fine.”

  “Well…,” I started, not wanting to admit I was nervous about eating with a bunch of new people.

  “I’d really love to make my grilled cheese for Sasha,” Paige said. “You haven’t had a real one until you’ve tried mine.” She grinned at Livvie.

  “Okay, okay,” Livvie said. “But you’ll have breakfast in the cafeteria tomorrow, right?”