Competing for the Cup

by Bobbi JG Weiss

  “Oh, of course,” Kit said. She grabbed up her bag and asked her friend, “Meet you downstairs so we can walk to class?”

  Anya nodded, and Kit left mother and daughter to talk.

  With Kit gone, Anya faced the woman, who regarded her sternly. “This is how you greet me after all this time?” the woman asked. “Didn’t I teach you better manners?”

  Anya was so glad to see her governess, and now she could finally show it. “Madhu!” she cried, throwing herself into Madhu’s waiting arms. “I missed you so much! But . . .” She stepped back. “What are you doing here? Is everything okay with Mother and Father?”

  “They’re both fine,” Madhu replied, hefting up a garment bag and laying it carefully on a chair. “But there is an important ball they must withdraw from at the last moment. And so”— she unzipped the bag —“it is to be your public debut. This is what your mother selected.”

  Inside the bag lay a gorgeous anarkali dress of deep-red silk with sparkling gold-embroidered trim. Anya gasped at the sight of it. Then the obvious occurred to her: “But I can’t. I have school.”

  “Lady Covington has excused you from afternoon classes.”

  “I can’t!” Anya repeated. “My classmates don’t even know who I am, I just —” She immediately stopped when Madhu held her hands palms up. She was a sweet woman, but she was also strict. As a governess, she had basically raised Anya from a little baby to the young woman she was now. Anya always obeyed her, not because it was expected or because it was the rule, but because she loved Madhu deeply. Madhu always treated her with firm but loving respect, and the two were almost as close as a mother and daughter. Anya would do anything for Madhu, but skipping class would damage the “normal girl” persona she’d so carefully cultivated since she’d arrived at Covington.

  Palms still up, Madhu simply said, “It is your royal duty.” Bowing slightly in a namaste gesture, she added, “Pardon me for saying so, Your Highness, but you may not say no.”

  Anya knew when she was beaten. And it wasn’t that she didn’t want to go to a ball or wear that spectacular dress. But keeping her rank a secret meant everything to her. What if someone saw her and guessed the truth?

  She felt doomed.

  Kit waited outside Rose Cottage until Anya joined her. Then they walked to class, chatting about Mrs. Patel and the fact that Anya had to skip afternoon classes for an important doctor’s appointment she’d forgotten about.

  “You’re lucky you’re escaping this aft,” Kit said. “Did you see the new training schedule Elaine posted for the House Cup?”

  “Is it brutal? She’ll be in a fit for a while. The cup determines our first official league standings.”

  “You’d think we were going to the world championship. She wants us to go running at six every morning!”

  “Hey, Kit!”

  Kit turned to see her dad coming around the corner.

  “Where were you?” Rudy asked. “I had a pile of pancakes as big as TK ready and waiting.”

  Thoughts of the House Cup and meeting Mrs. Patel and her upcoming history class blew right out of Kit’s head, replaced by images of her dad and Sally eating dinner together and laughing. Her expression grew hard. “Thought you might be busy,” she said sharply. “With something else. Or someone.”

  “Nope,” said Rudy. “Just me and the barn cats.”

  “My mistake, then. Gotta go.” Kit tried to walk past, but Rudy gently stopped her.

  “Hey,” he said softly. “It’s me. Dad.”

  Yeah, it’s you, Kit thought. And it’s me, and we don’t need anybody else! It’s like you’re looking for ways to mess everything up!

  Rudy stared into her eyes. “Are you okay?”

  “Just busy.”

  “How about after class?”

  “Tutoring with Elaine.”

  Anya had a suggestion. “I got excused from classes today to spend some time with Madh — my mother. Perhaps you could request the same for Kit?”

  No! Kit thought. Anya, you don’t know what you’re doing!

  Rudy pointed his Stetson at Anya, pleased. “I knew I liked you, Anya.” To Kit, he said, “Stand by, kid. I’m making it happen.” He headed for Lady Covington’s office.

  Kit hated feeling angry at her friend, but she just couldn’t hide it. “Gee, Anya. Thanks,” she said sarcastically. There was nothing else to do now but go to class, so she did, turning her back on her roommate, who clearly had no idea of the trouble she’d just caused.

  “You’re welcome,” Anya called after Kit, delighted that she had helped. She had hardly gotten the words out when Josh appeared and pulled her aside.

  “Spill, dude,” he said eagerly. “Is there some kind of a maharaja-queen-lady here today or something?”

  “Just my governess,” Anya replied. “Kit assumed she was my mother, and I just kind of rolled with it.”

  “Whoa, what’s she here for?”

  Anya trusted Josh, so she confessed, “It’s dreadful! They’re making me go to this horrible royal charity thing tonight. I’m dying of nerves!” She wasn’t pleased when Josh laughed.

  “Whaaat?” he said, snorting. “Do you have any idea how many people would, like, die to be in your shoes right now?”

  “I won’t know anyone there!” Anya complained. “Who will I talk to? And who will make sure I don’t get lost on my way to the loo? These palaces are extraordinarily confusing — you can’t understand. And first I have to get out of here without anyone catching on!”

  “Maybe you need some backup.”

  Anya was preoccupied debating her options. “Do I have time to dig a tunnel? Or should I fake an injury and call in the paramedics?”

  Josh just shook his head. “You’re really not good at this double-life thing, are you? Okay, look. What you need, Princess Dude, is a wingman.”

  Anya was at the end of her tether. “I don’t have one of those!”

  “Um, yeah, yeah, you do.” Josh pointed to himself. “You know? Distract? Misdirect? Smoke screen?”

  Anya wasn’t getting it.

  “Look, I’ve got it all covered. C’mon.” Josh threw his arm around her shoulder and got them both to history class before the bell rang.

  Rudy entered Lady Covington’s office and took the seat in front of her desk.

  As for Lady Covington, she appeared extremely busy, moving from table to table to gather up folders and papers until she had a handful. Rudy knew from experience that asking for a favor when the headmistress was busy might earn him a lecture, but he felt this situation was worth the risk. Kit was worth the risk.

  “What could possibly be so urgent that it must interrupt my schedule?” Lady Covington inquired, sitting down and shifting the folders and papers around as if to emphasize how busy said schedule was.

  She seemed a little more than busy to Rudy. Her voice was unusually sharp and crisp, her motions abrupt. She probably had an important meeting or something, and he was only adding to the pressure. Well, that was just too bad. Rudy felt that his request was as important, perhaps more important, than mere school matters. “Could Kit have afternoon classes free today?” he asked. “Please?”

  “Is she ill?” the headmistress responded. “She ought to see the nurse.”

  “Oh, no, no, no, it’s nothing like that. It’s just . . .” Rudy cleared his throat, annoyed at himself for feeling so nervous. “Today is her mom’s birthday.”

  Thinking it over for only a few seconds, Lady Covington stated, “That is not a sufficient excuse for absenteeism. Good afternoon.” She turned her attention back to her papers and folders.

  Rudy sat there, stunned. When he’d been a kid, he’d never liked being shut down by an adult, especially when they assumed that what was important to him wasn’t important at all. He felt that way now, and he didn’t like it one bit. “Excuse me,” he said, rising to his feet so that he was the one to look down at her. If she wanted to play I’m Bigger Than You Are, he could do the same. “This kid lost her
mother. I’d like to spend some time with her, share some memories —”

  Lady Covington gazed up at him with tired eyes. “That is what weekends are for.”

  Rudy decided to set down his Stetson before he accidentally ruined its shape by squeezing it in a sudden fist. “Let me get this straight — I’m supposed to tell her not to feel anything until it’s convenient?”

  “You may wish to choose some different words, but that is the essence.”

  “She’s a kid. Without a mom. She misses her. And frankly, ma’am, so do I.” Rudy’s voice quavered with emotion on that last bit, but instead of feeling embarrassed about it, he felt proud. He had loved his wife, Elizabeth, more than Lady Covington would ever know. He would never ever be embarrassed by that.

  Lady Covington seemed to be in her own world, one that did not apparently include affection for others. “Many people miss many people, Mr. Bridges,” she stated. “It does not excuse them from their duty. We are here to show these kids how to excel. Up to this point, your daughter seems to excel only in causing chaos and exhibiting zero respect for authority.”

  “Okay, so Kit can be a handful,” Rudy had to agree. “She’s spirited, like her mother, but —”

  “You are also a faculty member,” Lady Covington went on. “I do not excuse faculty members without notice. Certainly not to ‘share memories.’ Is that how you think things operate around here?” In a scolding tone, she added, “Really, Mr. Bridges.”

  That was it. Rudy had to exercise extreme control to keep his temper in check. But he let the anger burn in his eyes as he said, “Thank for your time.” He picked up his Stetson, adding a reluctant “Ma’am” before heading for the door.

  “Mr. Bridges.”

  Rudy paused but didn’t turn around.

  “I am sorry for your loss.” Lady Covington’s voice carried a softer tone, but Rudy still felt it wise not to respond. He didn’t trust his own voice to come out soft at all. So he nodded and left.

  Sally Warrington’s English students sat around waiting for their teacher to arrive. Kit’s desk was behind Nav’s, so they automatically began a conversation. “I saw your horse in the pasture this morning,” Nav said. “He was fleeing from a duck. He’s quite the challenge to tame.”

  Kit screwed up her face. She hated to hear about TK’s weirdness, especially now that she was to compete in the House Cup. But she tried to convince herself that knowing these things was at least better than not knowing them. Still — TK ran away from a duck? “I can barely tame his mane,” she said. “He looks like he’s had an electric shock half the time.”

  “Wet his mane,” Nav suggested. “Put in some tiny braids once or twice a week. It’ll get retrained.”

  “Ooh, thanks! I wish all his other issues were that easy to fix.”

  Nav turned more in his chair so that he could better face Kit. “Try me.”

  “I think he’s scared of red. The color. Every time I try to walk him even near the red-striped poles in the ring, he freaks.” Kit paused and glanced to her right. Will, sitting several rows away, was looking at her. He quickly looked away, and she resumed talking to Nav. “Plus he tried to eat Anya’s red sweater, and once he pooped in a red flower bed and —”

  Nav stopped her there. “That is quite a solid collection of evidence.”

  “I have to convince him not to hate on red, or he’ll never jump!” Kit went on. And I’d better hope there are no ducks in the ring during the cup, either, or I’ll have a double freak-out on my hands, she thought.

  Kit’s worries slid sideways, however, when Nav said, “I’m sorry to inform you, but horses are not able to see red.”

  “What? C’mon!” If it wasn’t the color red, then what was TK’s problem? Sweaters, flower beds, and ducks?

  Sally entered the classroom, her arms full of reference books. Kit caught the title of one of them: Eighteenth- and Nineteenth-Century Literature: A Critical Analysis. She steeled herself for a dull class hour.

  It wasn’t that she disliked literature; it was just that she found it hard to relate to the Brontës. They were a famous trio of nineteenth-century sisters who wrote the kind of romances that the BBC always turned into long, lavish TV series. Kit read some of the notes Sally had already written on the blackboard: Why did the Brontë sisters use pseudonyms when they published their work? Which Brontë sister wrote Jane Eyre? Which Brontë sister wrote Wuthering Heights?

  All Kit wanted to know was how women in those days could breathe while wearing fourteen layers of petticoats. She was so happy she lived in a time that didn’t involve corsets.

  “All right,” said Sally, “in your seats, everyone! We have a lot to cover today!” She set down her books. “Katherine Bridges? May I speak to you for a moment?”

  Surprised, Kit went up to the front desk.

  “I understand it’s a very important day for you,” Sally said quietly.

  “I don’t . . .” Kit got nervous. “I can’t . . .”

  “You need to mark this day,” Sally told her. “It’s important. Someone is waiting for you in the tack room. Someone who shares your feelings.”

  Kit grinned but couldn’t move.

  “Go on, then,” urged Sally. “Quickly!”

  Kit gathered her stuff and hurried out as Sally said to the class, “Right! Open your textbooks to page twenty-nine . . .”

  Kit hesitated just outside of the tack room. So many emotions were roiling around in her chest that it actually hurt. Now that she had a moment to devote her undivided attention to her mother’s memory on this most special of days, she just felt sick with grief.

  Maybe that wasn’t entirely true. Sally had been so kind to her just now that Kit also felt happy to have such a sweet adult friend — even if that friend did make her read classic literature. And even though Kit had left her pal Charlie behind in Montana, she had made so many new wonderful friends at Covington. Plus, her dad was waiting right through the door for her.

  She couldn’t really wrap her head around the fact that her dad had also become a friend during the past year. She had always loved him like crazy, but as a dad. Somehow he had managed to create a new dual identity with her, Dad plus Pal. The two didn’t always overlap. Dad was still the authority, though he could also be fun. Dad-Pal was a new person, a guy who saw her as a young lady, not just a daughter for whom he was responsible. Dad-Pal treated her as an adult, let her take chances, cheered her when she did well, and helped her back into the saddle, sometimes literally, when she failed.

  Oh, it was all so weird! She shoved the ugly roiling emotions down and let the anticipation of seeing her father fill her up with joy. That’s what her mother would have wanted, and that’s what Kit wanted, too.

  She stepped into the tack room.

  “There’s my best girl,” Rudy said, pushing his Stetson farther back on his head. Kit saw his cute crooked smile and smiled back — sometimes he could look just like a little kid!

  “Hi,” she said a bit shyly. She felt bad about skipping out on pancakes and for brushing him off when he asked about it.

  But Rudy seemed to have moved on. “Well, kid,” he said, removing the Stetson and setting it down, “are you ready to toast the most wonderful person we’ve ever known?” He picked up two glasses hidden behind him and handed one to her.

  “Are those”— Kit studied the dark glop inside —“Mom’s mud pies? In a glass?”

  “She always did something that scared her on her birthday.”

  Now Kit got it. “And nothing’s scarier than your cooking, Dad.”

  Rudy laughed, a laugh definitely aimed at himself. They sat down. “Oh, before you start . . .” He picked up his Stetson again to reveal something hidden underneath.

  Kit recognized the object immediately. “The Ugly Brooch!”

  It was indeed ugly. About the size of Kit’s palm, the brooch was an orange-tinted glass flower with some kind of sparkly blue-green leaves on one side and a sweeping silver . . . thing . . . on the other. A l
ittle horn stuck out from the bottom. At least, it looked like a horn. Kit’s mom had never been able to identify exactly what it was supposed to be. All together, the thing was garish and ugly. Truly, honestly, mind-bogglingly ugly.

  Kit’s mother had loved it for exactly that reason, and she’d hauled it out and worn it on her birthday every single year. Funny, Kit thought. She never told us where it came from. Kit presumed it was something her mom had found in a thrift store. I hope she didn’t pay more than a dime for it.

  Rudy was still holding the brooch out to her. Kit shook her head. “I am not wearing that horror show!”

  “Somebody has to. It’s a tradition. It looks lousy on me. I already tried.”

  Knowing that it was hopeless to resist, Kit took the brooch and pinned it on. It looked even uglier against the deep blue of her Covington uniform blazer. Mom would be so proud! she thought.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d show up,” Rudy confessed. “You had kind of an attitude this morning. Everything all right, kid?”

  Kit couldn’t look him in the eyes. Now that Sally had been so kind to let her leave lit class, Kit was no longer in the snit she’d been in earlier about her dad’s dinner date. Maybe she was jumping to conclusions. Even if she wasn’t, maybe she was being unfair by expecting her dad to stay exactly the way he was. He had the right to reach for happiness, too. She was the one who always said change was good, wasn’t she? Who was she to judge?

  So she explained her recent behavior by saying, “Just . . . teenage mood swings. You probably don’t remember them because it’s been sooo long since you’ve had one. You know, with you being ancient and all.”

  Rudy gave her one of his special wide grins and chuckled. Then he grew serious again. “Missing her doesn’t get any easier, does it?”

  Kit met his sad eyes and shook her head. It didn’t.

  But they were there together, so they clinked glasses and sampled Rudy’s horrible cooking.