by Toni Mari
My mouth fell open and I ducked, his words hitting me like a slap in the face this time. I couldn’t tear my eyes from the back of his head.
“You have never gotten an F in your life. What is going on with you?” my mother said quietly, the puzzlement and hurt in her tone more damaging than any punishment she could have doled out.
I closed my eyes; my arms lead weights hanging from my shoulders. “I’ll do better. I promise.”
“Your father told you this would happen. Why can’t you ever listen?” All the joy and camaraderie of our shopping trip had vanished. She left me in the foyer. The springs of the couch squeaked as she sank down next to my father. Their low tones were indecipherable.
I stood alone, staring at my shoes. Were they talking about me? Of course they were. When had they become so mean? Not mean, I guess, just wanting something different from me than I ever expected. All right, I didn’t expect to fail college courses, but now that I had, it wasn’t the end of the world. I would just retake them. My parents just needed time to cool off, and then I would talk to them. I would promise to be more focused and work hard and get As. I dropped the shopping bags next to my mom’s and slipped out the front door.
Cory made hot chocolate in his tiny kitchen and set the mug in front of me as I explained the scene at my house.
“I told you all of that sneaking around wasn’t going to do you any good. How could you just dump your studying?”
“I didn’t dump it. I had a lot going on. I didn’t realize how hard the exams would be.”
Cory shook his head, rolling his eyeballs. “I don’t get you. You have the opportunity to go to college and you’re screwing it up.”
“It’s like, I know that I have to get a degree and all, but I am doing so well on Windsong. I don’t want to give that up just for a few grades.”
Cory gave his mug a last stir as he sat down across from me. “Those grades add up to your future.”
I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands and rested my forehead on them. Without looking at him, I sighed. “You and I both know this is probably Windsong’s last chance. If I wait, he will be too old to compete at these levels. And if I take a break from training him, his heart may not allow me to bring him back to this level of fitness.”
I raised the mug to my lips and took a long, slow sip. “If I keep going, I can show at Grand Prix this spring. It could be years before I have a Grand Prix horse again. If I keep going with Windsong and get my scores for my Gold Rider Achievement Award—the highest award a rider can earn!—my reputation will be made and people will recognize me as a professional rider.”
“So? You’ll be a professional rider with no degree, and no means of financing your next horse, anyway, let alone all of those horse shows.” He quickly dismissed my argument.
Cory had lost his talented performance horse, but that was after he had been able to take Jet all the way to a world championship. Now he didn’t have a horse to show, but Lakota had the potential. Cory worked with him every day, training him for the very thing he was telling me not to focus on. He was holding himself back from earning good money training because he certainly didn’t lack the skills or the knowledge. Did he—like my father—believe that if you weren’t wearing a suit and making a living in an office, you weren’t really a success? I didn’t believe that.
I drained my cup and stood. “I’m going to head home. I need to come up with a way to clear this up with my dad.”
On the way home, I pulled into the parking lot of the supermarket, parked, and sat in the warm car, thinking. I needed the opinion of another college kid. I called Carly.
She answered with a cheerful hello.
“Did you get your grades?”
“Yep. All As. How about you?”
“I failed Statistics and History.” Cringing, I waited for her criticism.
“That sucks, but, really, I didn’t think you could pull your grades up even if you studied for your exams.” Her tone was even; I couldn’t detect an ounce of judgment. “Realistically, you should have withdrawn or something; you had a lot going on. You’ll just have to retake the classes. People do it all the time, you know. It’s not like you were slacking off partying. You did some big things.”
A lump formed in my throat. She didn’t think I was stupid or the scum of the earth because I failed my courses. “Thank you for saying that. My father went through the roof.”
She laughed. “I could imagine. It’s not the end of the world. You’ll do better when you can concentrate. And I promise to make sure you study before I drag you out to parties next semester.”
Next semester, when I was supposed to just study and not go home to ride every weekend. A semester of sitting at my desk staring at books and writing essays. A semester without the feel of Windsong’s soft coat and warm breath.
“It feels like the end of the world. They are trying to get me to quit riding while I am in school.”
“That’s crazy! You need to ride like a duck needs to swim. It is vital for you to thrive.”
“I know! I can’t imagine not preparing for my next show. What would my goals be? What would I do on the weekends if I didn’t ride?”
“And after getting all the way to Nationals, why would you stop there? They’re not making sense. Give them a few days, be the perfect daughter, then talk to them again. Sometimes I cook dinner for my mom or clean the bathroom when I want to ask for something. That always softens her up.”
Snowflakes dotted my windshield, and I unclicked my seat belt. “That’s a great idea. You’re the best. Talk to you soon.”
My parents weren’t making sense. They were overreacting. People got Fs, just like people got low scores at horse shows, for making mistakes. They learned from it, went back, practiced—or, in this case, studied more—and came back stronger, readier, and tried again.
That’s what I would do.
I stepped out of the car and held up my hand. Taking a deep breath, I looked straight up, letting the tiny icy particles melt on my skin. We were going to have a white Christmas.
I slid back into the car and started it up, thinking about what Carly said.
I parked on the street in front of my house and stepped onto the curb, stopping to admire our decorations. Twinkle lights lined the gutters and the porch, wreaths with red velvet bows hung in all the windows and on the door, and glittering wire reindeer grazed on the lawn. Grinning, I let the holiday anticipation turn my mood festive and hopeful. I quietly let myself in the house and tiptoed up to my room. Tomorrow there would be time enough to smooth things over with everyone.
Chapter 18
Both of my parents had Christmas Eve off from work, and I spent the morning helping my mother prepare an elaborate dinner. My aunt and uncle with their two kids, as well as my grandparents, were coming for the feast and gift giving. Cory was coming, too, since his mother had to work. We planned on having dinner with her after her lunch shift on Christmas Day.
I placed the last piece of my mother’s silverware on the table and stepped back to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything. Smiling, I pulled out my phone and took a picture. It looked as beautiful as any magazine spread.
My mom slid an arm around my shoulders. “It looks fantastic.”
Taking Carly’s advice, I was helping my mother get things ready for our guests. “Thanks. Is there anything else you need? I am going to meet Cory at the barn to give Windsong his holiday carrots and apples, and then we’ll come back here.”
“Nope.” She kissed my cheek. “Don’t be late.”
By tacit agreement, no one had brought up the subject of school or my grades all day. As I set Cory’s small, carefully wrapped present on the passenger seat, I wiggled and shimmied. I loved this season, and I couldn’t wait for Cory to open that box.
I brought Windsong into the barn and slipped off his waterproof blanket. “What do you think of this snow? You feel all snuggly in your blankie.” I groomed and sprayed his sleek black coat and cleaned hi
s feet. He didn’t protest when, instead of his saddle, I tossed his blanket over his back and began fastening the buckles. “Even hard-working superstars like you get the holidays off.”
Cory came in as I was mixing the chopped treats with some warm water and bran mash for Windsong’s Christmas dinner.
Windsong nodded as the yummy scent hit his nostrils. He pawed at his bucket, using his nose to fling it to the side and make as much noise as he could.
“I can’t dump it in if you’re knocking the bucket around, silly.” Tipping the container up, the gooey, lumpy mixture plopped into his feed tub. He plunged his muzzle deep into the warm food and slurped some up. Before I could get out of the way, he nudged me with his dripping nose and left a long smear on my coat sleeve.
After latching the door, Cory and I watched him enjoy his special treat. I grabbed Cory’s arm. “Come on. I am dying for you to open your present.”
We climbed to the hay loft with our gifts. Cory arranged the bales so we would be comfortable, and then set down a large, rectangular box covered in bright red paper with a big gold bow. It was so perfectly done, he must have had it wrapped by the store. The eight-inch-square box that I brought looked less than spectacular next to that fancy gift, but I didn’t care. I knew Cory would love what I had got him.
“Ladies first.” Cory set his hat down on the hay bale next to him.
Grinning, I tore off the gorgeous paper, ripping it to shreds. I lifted the lid off the box and then leapt up, gasping, as I pulled the green, stylish barn coat out. Immediately, I unbuttoned my old one and shrugged out of it.
Cory stood and helped me put the new coat on and leaned down to kiss my neck. “I thought if my arms can’t keep you warm up at school, then the jacket I gave you will and you won’t forget about me,” he explained.
How thoughtful and romantic! I turned in his arms and gave him a smacking kiss on the lips. “I love it! I will imagine it is your arms every time I put it on. Now, do yours.” I pushed the small box into his hands.
With gentle fingers, Cory untaped the paper and opened the lid. He lifted the delicate ceramic figurine from the soft tissue paper. It was a bay horse executing a sliding stop. Dirt spit up from around his legs, his nostrils were flared, and sweat darkened his coat. The cowboy’s white Stetson sat low on his brow, and he had one hand on the reins and the other positioned precisely over the little horse’s withers. The statue was so detailed you could see the steely determination in the cowboy’s blue eyes.
Cory turned and twisted the figure, closely examining it. “It almost looks like me and Jet,” he said with wonder.
“It is. I had it made for you.”
Tears glistened at the edges of Cory’s eyes, and the look of warmth and love he gave me was exactly why I didn’t want him to open this gift in front of everyone. He carefully wrapped the statue in the paper, put it in the box, and set it aside. He placed my palm over his thumping heart. “That gift is so thoughtful, you are so thoughtful. Sometimes I can’t believe you are with me. Feel that? You own that, forever.” And he kissed me, sliding his hands under the coat and pushing it off my shoulders.
Conditioned for twelve years to return to school right after New Year’s Day, I felt funny sleeping late, treating every day like Saturday for the next few weeks before I had to return to college. Winter break—I wished it would last forever. Even with my new determination to do well in my courses, I still wasn’t looking forward to it.
On the last weekend, my father turned serious as he handed me his empty dinner plate. “Before we turn on the movie, I would like to have a family meeting.”
Noisily stacking dishes in my arms, I tried to stall. “Can we do it another day, please? I am supposed to meet my friends at the bowling alley tonight. It’s our last Friday out before we all go back to school,” I pleaded.
I knew what was on his mind and was hoping to head off that conversation. If I could just get back to school and bring home some good grades, maybe my father would forget about his new rules for the semester.
“No. Sit down.”
His face brooked no argument, and I lowered the plates to the table. Sinking onto my chair, I crossed my arms and pressed my lips tight together.
“You’ll be going to school on Sunday. As I said last semester, you will only be allowed to come home once per month. This time, though, I expect emails that include all test scores and other grades with copies of the actual papers attached. If you get any grades lower than As and Bs, I will call Kate and tell her to sell the horse.”
His calm, matter-of-fact tone didn’t prepare me for the severity of his threat.
I sat up, leaning on my elbows. He gazed at me. Just a glimmer of smugness that he tried hard to hide settled on his face.
So, this was what it felt like to be threatened, this hollow coldness in my gut and this ringing in my ears. Shaking my head, I returned his stare. “Windsong is mine. You can’t sell him. And I already told you that I learned my lesson. I will be more diligent with my studies.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about, do you?” One eyebrow lifted.
Searching my memory, I couldn’t come up with a time when he had had to threaten me before. I was a good child and did as I was told. I freely admitted that I was spoiled, that I got everything I wanted from my parents. My father had always been affectionate and supportive.
He had bought Windsong for me, or at least he approved of the purchase. He had taught me to be thorough and conscientious in everything I did. He had comforted me when life got rough. He had consoled me when I did badly at a horse show, telling me to buck up, work a little harder, and try again.
Where was this menacing demeanor coming from? This strong-arm tactic? I had made a mistake, but was it so grave that my own father thought he needed to bully me into proper behavior as if I were caught using drugs and needed an intervention?
“I’m not on drugs.”
“I didn’t think you were. This is about making sure you work this semester.”
“I promised to work. You don’t have to threaten me!”
“I’m not threatening you. I am making you a promise. This is just insurance that you will make an effort. Because if you don’t, I will know about it. And I will not have any trouble keeping my promise.” If this were a western movie, he would lay a revolver on the table to underline his meaning.
He didn’t need a gun. I got the message. “You’re treating me like a child. Like you don’t trust me.”
“It’s not about trust. Think of it as an incentive.”
“It feels more like intimidation.” I stood up abruptly, banging the platters into a pile with a satisfying clatter. “Don’t expect me home tonight.”
I dumped the dishes in the sink, plucked my coat from the hook, grabbed my purse, and slammed the door as hard as I could when I left.
Chapter 19
I spent Saturday at the barn with Windsong and Cory, avoiding both of my parents and not answering my phone when my mother called.
I didn’t deserve to be threatened. And using Windsong like he was a toy to be taken away because I was being a naughty child was downright wrong. I was an adult and deserved to be treated like one. I had admitted my mistakes and promised to do better. That should have been enough.
If they ever actually sold Windsong, they might as well forget about having a relationship with me. I would rather be with my horse than with parents who treated me that way.
After dinner out with Cory, I slipped back in the house. I planned on avoiding both parents and leaving for school the next morning while continuing the silent treatment. I hung my coat on the coat rack in the hall and turned to go upstairs.
My father stood in the foyer, his body stiff and rigid, his face a cold mask of rage. My hand dropped off the banister and I swallowed loudly.
He threw an opened envelope at my feet. “Trust you to keep your promise? Believe what you tell me? After this, I can’t do that. You don’t even deserve my respect.” He whirled
and stomped down the hall.
I looked at my mother, who stood in the doorway with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, but she just shook her head. “I can’t believe you would go and do something like this.”
My face heated under her glare. Which “this” was she talking about?
She held up her hand when my mouth opened to ask. “Save it,” she said coldly. “We’re done listening to your lies.” She turned and, with slumped shoulders, followed my father.
I stuck my thumbnail between my teeth and ripped. Shaking off the pain, I stooped to pick up the envelope. The United States Dressage Federation logo was on the top left corner. My hands shook. Could I be disqualified for riding without my parents’ consent? No, that was ridiculous; legally, I was an adult. But what bad news in this letter had my parents livid?
Swallowing, I slid the letter out. I took a deep breath and, before my knees gave out, sat on the bottom step. I started to read.
My heart beat faster and faster as I scanned the words. The USDF didn’t want my ribbon back. This was unreal. Slowly, my quivering lips spread in a shaky grin, and by the time I reached the end of the page, I wanted to leap in the air for joy. This was good news, excellent news! My parents’ reaction was baffling to me.
My heart lightened, and I stood, holding the letter to my chest. I had done it. It had all been worth it.
The USDF was inviting me to participate in the Festival of Champions in April! Only the top fifteen nationally ranked riders—out of the thousands and thousands who competed—were invited, and I was number nine in the Open Intermediate I division. I hugged the paper to my cheek. I couldn’t wait to tell Kate. She was going to scream.
Last year, Kate had taken me to the Festival to see Robert and Erica, along with many other well-known riders, perform. The show was held in New Jersey, and we had stayed overnight, without my parents. Watching the best riders in the country had inspired me. Erica and Santos’s performance had captivated me, and Robert was so cool and professional.
