Kit gripped TK’s brush and lovingly ran it through his long silky tail. She wanted him to look his best for their dressage test. As she moved the brush along, she gave him a blow-by-blow of that morning’s embarrassing pep talk.
“Miss Warrington was about to let us compete, and then Elaine had to jump right in there with Respectfully, Miss Warrington. She wouldn’t even give me a chance!”
TK blew hard through his nose — his version of a big sigh of understanding and camaraderie.
Kit laughed. “I hear you. Well, we’ll just have to go and kill it in the dressage ring.”
TK nodded.
“Just really crush it!” Kit continued, amused as TK nodded again. At least he agrees with me, she thought.
Nav approached the stall, dressed in a competition uniform.
“Whoa.” Kit scanned him up and down, especially noting his white silk tie. “You look super swag.”
Nav gave her one of his patented suave smiles. “I came to wish you all the best in the field today,” he said graciously.
“You, too,” said Kit. “And thank you so much. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Nav maintained his smile, but there was a pinch of confusion in it now.
“The sticky notes,” Kit reminded him. “They made all the difference.”
“Sticky notes?” He seemed to think it over. “What notes?”
Before Kit could answer, the Covington House Cup announcer said over the stable speakers, “All first-round dressage competitors to the ring.”
Then “You’re joking, right?” she continued to Nav. “Is it all part of the secret admir — uhh . . .” Kit suddenly understood. Whatever was going on, Nav was not the sticky-note writer, which meant that he was not her secret admirer, as she had thought. Quickly she covered her almost-blunder with “Uh, I mean, the whole secret-adviser-dude thing?”
Nav chuckled at her stumbled words, probably thinking that she was just nervous about competing. “Concentrate on your ride,” he said. “Go be stellar.” Then he flashed his perfect smile one more time and left.
Kit looked at TK. “If he’s not my note writer, then who is?”
If TK could have shrugged, he probably would have.
The central corridor of Covington’s main building was serving as the welcoming point for family members of the House Cup competitors. A blue-and-gold banner declaring COVINGTON HOUSE CUP hung over the entryway. Beyond it, a lavish refreshment table offered the finest teas and nibbles from polished silver urns and trays, while several smaller tables scattered here and there offered other tasty tidbits. The floor sparkled, the woodwork gleamed, and even the flower displays were fuller and brighter than usual. Parents and family members meandered about, nibbling and admiring the artwork.
This was Lady Covington’s territory. Here she greeted each family as they arrived, offering the kind of formal chitchat expected at an elite institution such as Covington. Dressed in a fine black skirt suit, she was currently speaking to one of the school’s most prestigious donors. “Ah, Mr. Jasper-Eton. It’s lovely to see you, and I love your tie. You must have a look at our new media room on your way out to the grounds. Thank you so much for making that happen.” She shook his hand gratefully.
As Mr. Jasper-Eton left, a Scottish-accented voice called out, “Lady Covington!”
An older man and woman stalked toward her. The man did not look happy, so the headmistress turned her charm factor up to ten. “Ah, Mr. Chatfield!” She held out her hand to him.
Mr. Chatfield did not take the offered hand. Instead he grumbled, “Our request for the front row was submitted eons ago.” As he spoke, his voice grew louder and louder until he was yelling. “Our Nelly deserves to see her parents — who have traveled all the way from Fife — in the front row!”
“Of course she does,” Lady Covington heartily agreed, and she held up her copy of the seating chart. “And there you are, there, right there,” and she pointed to two seats in the front row.
But now Mr. Chatfield was glaring at a newcomer who wanted Lady Covington’s attention. “Señora Covington!” shouted the newcomer in a heavy Spanish accent.
Lady Covington recognized Nav’s mother, Luciana, a stern woman who was towing not only her silent husband but several little Andradas of varying ages. “Hello, Mrs. Andrada —”
“This is unbelievable! You have seated me in the back row with the pigeons!”
Lady Covington again consulted her seating chart. “Mrs. Andrada, see? You’re right there in the front row.”
“No!” Mrs. Andrada cried out in a voice that could shatter glass. “I’m not. I’m with the pigeons!” Her voice suddenly went low and dangerous. “The competition is about to begin, and if I miss my Navarro’s round due to the utter incompetence of your little operation here . . .” From that point, she lapsed into Spanish, leaving Lady Covington unable to help her at all.
Mr. Chatfield decided to join in with “I’m with her!” as Mrs. Andrada started naming off her children one by one, pointing them out and, Lady Covington guessed, threatening to enroll them in schools other than Covington when they came of age.
With all the English grace and manners she could muster, the headmistress proceeded to calm her patrons down.
The commotion ten minutes later in the viewing stands was nothing short of comical, with rich, well-dressed people shuffling back and forth, trying to find their assigned seats. But no matter how many times they checked their seating charts, they could not match the assignments up with the actual seat labels. They pushed around one another in the narrow aisles, sitting down with relief and then getting caught up in arguments when someone else claimed the same seat. They dropped jeweled handbags and expensive hats in the muddle and stepped on one another’s stylish shoes. The continuous muttered chorus of “Excuse me,” “Ouch!” and “That’s my chair!” grew gradually louder and louder.
Nav gazed at the scene, enjoying every second of parental chaos. He pulled out his mobile phone and started to record the whole thing, snickering in delight. When Will walked up, wondering what was going on, Nav laughed, “Look at my mother!” Imitating her, he said, “It is simply ridiculous that I am not in the VIP section of the VIP section next to the VIPs!” He kept recording, adding, “Before today, the woman didn’t even know what a back row was!”
Will felt his stomach do a threatening flip-flop. He pulled out his copy of the master seating chart and checked it. Everything looked right to him. Then Nav’s words back row echoed in his head. With a sinking sensation, he turned the seating chart upside down — that was the way it was supposed to be! He had labeled all the seats backward!
“Uh-oh,” he said.
What’s with all the drama?” asked Josh as he joined them.
“Ask Will,” Nav said, his evil grin widening. He patted Will’s back. “Best of luck with that mess. I’ve got a competition to win.”
“Uh-oh,” Will said again.
“Hey, does he know about our bet, dude?” Josh asked. “Because I just cannot wait to beat him and get that nice room for myself.”
Will didn’t care about that. All he could focus on was Sally Warrington heading his way, angrily waving at him. “Not now, Josh,” he said, and dashed away.
“I’ve already voodooed Nav,” Josh called after him, “and performed my never-fail precompetition ritual. Tune in, bro!”
The next half hour was an uncomfortable mixture of ego soothing, official apologies, and plenty of bowing and scraping, but eventually Lady Covington got all the family members, sponsors, and spectators seated correctly in the bleachers. She herself then took a seat up in the back row “with the pigeons,” as Mrs. Andrada had put it.
Finally, it was time. The event began.
“Riding for Rose Cottage, Elaine Wiltshire,” droned the House Cup announcer over the speakers.
Elaine guided her chestnut gelding, Thunder, over the jumps, sitting tall and confident in the saddle while Thunder cantered with controlled precision up
and over, up and over, jump after jump. Elaine made no mistakes, and Thunder performed beautifully, receiving a perfect score.
Outside, Nav was walking Prince around the lawn. Standing and waiting were not skills that either Nav or his mount were particularly good at, so they waited their turn at a lazy walk, breathing in the cool countryside air before having to face the harsh lights and tension of the ring.
“Hey!” said Josh, joining them. “You seen Kit, buddy?”
“Sure,” Nav replied distractedly. “In the stables.” He was deep in his mental preparations for the competition, and he didn’t like being disturbed. But Josh did seem concerned about something.
“Coolness,” Josh said. “I’m just kind of worried about him — you know, our friend.”
“Who?” asked Nav. “Mr. Bridges?”
“No, Will. It’s just, he’s so bummed about not being able to ride in the cup, and now he’s going to catch it for the whole seating catastrophe thing, too. And I just think he could use a little cheering up, right? And Kit, being such a decent person and all, she’s going to be all over making him feel better. Life, huh?” He smiled. “Good luck today. You know, big day.” He cast his eye on Prince. “Looks good.” He gave Nav a final nod and left.
Nav frowned. He knew very well that Josh was trying to unsettle him just before his ride. How typical. And how childish, to try to beat your competition by rattling their nerves seconds before they perform. Annoying, that’s what it was. Disgusting, really.
He heard his name announced, so he walked Prince into the ring. As he began the course, he realized that he did feel a bit guilty. Will really was taking a lot of punishment this term, and a lot of it had been for his sake. Nav wondered if he’d been fair to Will lately.
The first jump seemed to come out of nowhere. Nav snapped back to reality, guiding Prince up and over. But Prince balked as he approached the second jump, and his back hooves brushed the pole as he went over. The next few jumps were clean, and Nav thought all would be well until, at the very last jump, he glanced into the stands and locked eyes with Josh for the fleetest second. What was it Josh had said, about Kit comforting Will? Wait, did that mean Kit liked Will? But he liked Kit! Jealousy shot through Nav like a lightning bolt, and Prince, instantly detecting his rider’s unease, knocked down the final jump.
The announcer said, “I’m afraid Nav Andrada has accumulated four faults. That will cost his standing.”
Struggling to keep raw fury from showing on his face, Nav rode Prince out of the ring, deliberately looking away from the people in the stands. He could feel the disappointment from Lady Covington and the sympathy from Rudy Bridges. He presumed that Josh was grinning.
The reception hallway of Covington’s main building was empty now, as everyone had gone to watch the competition. Only a few students milled around, stationed there to attend to anyone who might happen by.
Peaches wandered into the long empty space, wondering why she was there. She was holding her saddle, but there weren’t any horses around. And was she wobbling or was everything else wobbling? It was all quite mysterious. So she just kept walking.
Elaine rushed up to her, looking frenzied, as though she had been looking everywhere. “Peaches! You’re going the wrong way!” Peaches didn’t stop, forcing Elaine to physically block her path. “If you need to go to the toilet, you should have thought about that earlier. Oh”— Elaine took a good look at her lackey —“you look . . . flushed.”
That was one way to put it. Peaches’s cheeks were red with fever, her eyes half-lidded, her skin slick with sweat.
“In fact,” Elaine said, “you look rather like a piece of smoked salmon.”
In a slow, thick voice, Peaches insisted, “I — I feel absolutely ace!”
“Oh, Peaches . . .”
“You were right. . . .” Peaches moaned before she slowly crumpled to the floor, dropping her saddle to clutch at her stomach. “It was the fish. . . .”
At that precise moment, Elaine’s view of the world changed. Her logical, disciplined, ever-rational mind suddenly accepted the illogical, the undisciplined, and the irrational. Why? Because everything was going wrong for Rose Cottage, and it had been going wrong ever since Sally noticed the missing Rose Cottage good-luck horseshoe.
“I believe,” she found herself muttering. “I believe.” She started to run back outside, declaring, “I believe in the curse!”
In the tack room, Will was trying to defend himself. Sally had finally cornered him and dragged him to see Rudy. “I didn’t do it on purpose!” Will told Rudy. “Honestly! The seating chart was the wrong way around!”
“Lady Covington was not pleased,” Sally added.
Rudy paused in his pacing. “You don’t say.”
Sally looked at Rudy imploringly. “What do we do? She’ll want an explanation for what happened.”
“I just want to go hide in my room and give her some time to calm down,” said Will. “I messed up — again. That’s all there is to it. That’s all I know how to do, apparently.”
Rudy looked him straight in the eye and made a decision. “That’s not true. Tack up.”
Both Will and Sally spoke at the same time: “What?”
“You heard me.”
“But Lady Covington said —”
“I am the stable master,” Rudy said, cutting Will off, “and I am telling you to tack up and get out there.”
Unable to believe his ears, Will obeyed as the House Cup announcer said over the speaker, “Katherine Bridges, please report to the dressage ring.”
Kit led TK out of his stall. She was ready, TK was ready, everything was ready! “We’re good,” she told her horse as they headed for the dressage ring. “We’ve got this. If you nail it, I promise you, like, a thousand carrots!”
TK seemed to like that idea. He whuffled and bumped her shoulder with his nose.
Oh, good, he’s happy! Kit thought. We are going to really do this right, and Lady Covington will be so pleased, and everything will be great!
Just then, Elaine ran into the stable. “You’ll have to do dressage later,” she panted. “You’re up right now. For jumping.”
A million different responses collided in Kit’s mind, but only one word made it out of her mouth: “What?”
Instead of offering encouragement, Elaine merely said, “I know. Not ideal.” And she rushed back out, leaving Kit with her jaw hanging.
Riding for Juniper Cottage,” said the House Cup announcer, “Josh Luders and Whistler.”
Josh rode Whistler out into the ring. Centering his mind, he signaled Whistler to start, and the round began. Up and over, up and over poles of different bright color combinations, Josh urged his mount to keep a steady pace and an even steadier mind. He was completely focused on each obstacle as it came, maintaining energy while keeping Whistler in control. The gelding attentively heeded his rider’s signals, and at the end of their round, the announcer said, “A clear ride for Josh Luders. Nicely done!”
Josh saw the scoreboard and gave Whistler a pat on the neck. “Yyyyes!”
As he rode past the stands and out of the ring, Nav was there to say, “Good show,” as he went by.
“Thanks, dude,” Josh replied, ignoring the disappointment on Nav’s face. All he cared about was that new dorm room he was going to get. No more awful roommate, either — score!
In the stable, Kit was trying to come to grips with her future, specifically, the next ten minutes or so.
First off, she had to tack up TK all over again. He was wearing a dressage saddle, which was designed with a deep seat to keep the rider sitting with a very straight back and even straighter legs. Now she had to put a jump saddle on him, which was designed to keep the rider’s legs bent so that they could lift themselves up out of the shallower seat over jumps. TK accepted all of Kit’s fussing and even let her babble at him at ten thousand miles an hour as she worked.
“I cannot believe that I’m going to jump! It’s a good thing I don’t have t
oo much time to think about it, because the Best/Worst game could go on for hours. Like, I could start you off too fast and mess up the first jump, and that would just ruin it right off the bat, right? Or a bee could fly into your ear, or you could throw a shoe, or I could get so nervous that I throw up in front of the whole school. But I think the very worst of the worst has to be the girth going loose and me simply falling out of the saddle like a sack of potatoes. That would be the worst, right?” She said this as she tightened the girth a second time, making sure the jump saddle was secure but not too tight around TK’s barrel. “There! I think that’s it, boy. We’re ready!” She petted TK’s nose. “As ready as we’re going to get, anyway.”
Her eye caught a glimpse of yellow on top of the new saddle. Peering closer, Kit saw that it was a yellow sticky note that read, I BELIEVE in you! She peeled the note free and looked around, unable to see anyone who might have left it. So she walked around TK to check his other side.
Will stood there, looking handsome indeed in a crisp competition uniform.
“These were you?” Kit asked, holding up the note, dumbfounded.
“Maybe,” Will answered nervously. “Is . . . is that a good thing?”
Was it a good thing? Kit had only one answer to that. She ran to him and kissed him on the cheek. “So good!”
Will blushed. “I . . . I, um . . . I didn’t think you’d ever forgive me, you know, after the whole Guy thing.”
“Well, I do. And I’m so glad for you, that you get to ride today!” Kit looked up at him and got lost in his smile. Words flitted through her mind, words that were so corny and yet so accurate: Will’s eyes were soulful, his smile dazzling, his eyebrows so expressive! She was sure she was blushing, too.
“William Palmerston to the ring,” said the House Cup announcer over the speaker. “William Palmerston.”
Will tore his eyes from Kit as he heard his name. “That’s me.”
Competing for the Cup Page 14
